The Project Gutenberg EBook of The New York Times Current History of the
European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915, by Various
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Title: The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915
Author: Various
Release Date: July 27, 2005 [EBook #16363]
Language: English
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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW YORK TIMES CURRENT ***
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[Transcriber: The original document contained a number of errors.
Obvious spelling mistakes have been corrected and a notation
included for each. There were three places with missing text that
have also been annotated. In addition, there were also a number of
inconsistencies in spelling (ex. Perceval Gibbon vs. Percival
Gibbon; Rennekampf vs. Rennenkampf) which have not been changed or
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[Illustration: FIELD MARSHAL SIR JOHN FRENCH
Commanding the British Forces in France and Belgium
(_From Painting by John St. Helier Lander._)]
[Illustration: GEN. SIR HORACE SMITH-DORRIEN
One of the British Corps Commanders
(_From Painting by John St Helier Lander._)]
THE NEW YORK TIMES
CURRENT HISTORY OF THE EUROPEAN WAR
JANUARY 23, 1915.
Sir John French's Own Story
The Famous Dispatches of the British Commander in Chief to Lord
Kitchener, Secretary of State for War.
I.
*First Report from the Front*
7th September, 1914.
My lord: I have the honor to report the proceedings of the field force
under my command up to the time of rendering this dispatch.
1. The transport of the troops from England both by sea and by rail was
effected in the best order and without a check. Each unit arrived at its
destination in this country well within the scheduled time.
The concentration was practically complete on the evening of Friday, the
21st ultimo, and I was able to make dispositions to move the force
during Saturday, the 22d, to positions I considered most favorable from
which to commence operations which the French Commander in Chief, Gen.
Joffre, requested me to undertake in pursuance of his plans in
prosecution of the campaign.
The line taken up extended along the line of the canal from Conde on the
west, through Mons and Binche on the east. This line was taken up as
follows:
From Conde to Mons inclusive was assigned to the Second Corps, and to
the right of the Second Corps from Mons the First Corps was posted. The
Fifth Cavalry Brigade was placed at Binche.
In the absence of my Third Army Corps I desired to keep the cavalry
division as much as possible as a reserve to act on my outer flank, or
move in support of any threatened part of the line. The forward
reconnoissance was intrusted to Brig. Gen. Sir Philip Chetwode with the
Fifth Cavalry Brigade, but I directed Gen. Allenby to send forward a few
squadrons to assist in this work.
During the 22d and 23d these advanced squadrons did some excellent work,
some of them penetrating as far as Soignies, and several encounters took
place in which our troops showed to great advantage.
2. At 6 A.M., on Aug. 23, I assembled the commanders of the First and
Second Corps and cavalry division at a point close to the position and
explained the general situation of the Allies, and what I understood to
be Gen. Joffre's plan. I discussed with them at some length the
immediate situation in front of us.
From information I received from French Headquarters I understood that
little more than one, or at most two, of the enemy's army corps, with
perhaps one cavalry division, were in front of my position; and I was
aware of no attempted outflanking movement by the enemy. I was confirmed
in this opinion by the fact that my patrols encountered no undue
opposition in their reconnoitring operations. The observations of my
aeroplanes seemed also to bear out this estimate.
About 3 P.M. on Sunday, the 23d, reports began coming in to the effect
that the enemy was commencing an attack on the Mons line, apparently in
some strength, but that the right of the position from Mons and Bray was
being particularly threatened.
The commander of the First Corps had pushed his flank back to some high
ground south of Bray, and the Fifth Cavalry Brigade evacuated Binche,
moving slightly south; the enemy thereupon occupied Binche.
The right of the Third Division, under Gen. Hamilton, was at Mons, which
formed a somewhat dangerous salient; and I directed the commander of the
Second Corps to be careful not to keep the troops on this salient too
long, but, if threatened seriously, to draw back the centre behind Mons.
This was done before dark. In the meantime, about 5 P.M., I received a
most unexpected message from Gen. Joffre by telegraph, telling me that
at least three German corps, viz., a reserve corps, the Fourth Corps and
the Ninth Corps, were moving on my position in front, and that the
Second Corps was engaged in a turning movement from the direction of
Tournay. He also informed me that the two reserve French divisions and
the Fifth French Army on my right were retiring, the Germans having on
the previous day gained possession of the passages of the Sambre
between Charleroi and Namur.
3. In view of the possibility of my being driven from the Mons position,
I had previously [Transcriber: original 'previouly'] ordered a position
in rear to be reconnoitred. This position rested on the fortress of
Maubeuge on the right and extended west to Jenlain, southeast of
Valenciennes, on the left. The position was reported difficult to hold,
because standing crops and buildings made the siting of trenches very
difficult and limited the field of fire in many important localities. It
nevertheless afforded a few good artillery positions.
When the news of the retirement of the French and the heavy German
threatening on my front reached me, I endeavored to confirm it by
aeroplane [Transcriber: original 'areoplane'] reconnoissance; and as a
result of this I determined to effect a retirement to the Maubeuge
position at daybreak on the 24th.
A certain amount of fighting continued along the whole line throughout
the night and at daybreak on the 24th the Second Division from the
neighborhood of Harmignies made a powerful demonstration as if to retake
Binche. This was supported by the artillery of both the First and Second
Divisions, while the First Division took up a supporting position in the
neighborhood of Peissant. Under cover of this demonstration the Second
Corps retired on the line Dour-Quarouble-Frameries. The Third Division
on the right of the corps suffered considerable loss in this operation
from the enemy, who had retaken Mons.
The Second Corps halted on this line, where they partially intrenched
themselves, enabling Sir Douglas Haig with the First Corps gradually to
withdraw to the new position; and he effected this without much further
loss, reaching the line Bavai-Maubeuge about 7 P.M. Toward midday the
enemy appeared to be directing his principal effort against our left.
I had previously ordered Gen. Allenby with the cavalry to act vigorously
in advance of my left front and endeavor to take the pressure off.
About 7:30 A.M. Gen. Allenby received a message from Sir Charles
Fergusson, commanding the Fifth Division, saying that he was very hard
pressed and in urgent need of support. On receipt of this message Gen.
Allenby drew in the cavalry and endeavored to bring direct support to
the Fifth Division.
During the course of this operation Gen. De Lisle, of the Second Cavalry
Brigade, thought he saw a good opportunity to paralyze the further
advance of the enemy's infantry by making a mounted attack on his flank.
He formed up and advanced for this purpose, but was held up by wire
about 500 yards from his objective, and the Ninth Lancers and the
Eighteenth Hussars suffered severely in the retirement of the brigade.
The Nineteenth Infantry Brigade, which had been guarding the line of
communications, was brought up by rail to Valenciennes on the 22d and
23d. On the morning of the 24th they were moved out to a position south
of Quarouble to support the left flank of the Second Corps.
With the assistance of the cavalry Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien was enabled
to effect his retreat to a new position; although, having two corps of
the enemy on his front and one threatening his flank, he suffered great
losses in doing so.
At nightfall the position was occupied by the Second Corps to the west
of Bavai, the First Corps to the right. The right was protected by the
fortress of Maubeuge, the left by the Nineteenth Brigade in position
between Jenlain and Bry, and the cavalry on the outer flank.
4. The French were still retiring, and I had no support except such as
was afforded by the Fortress of Maubeuge; and the determined attempts of
the enemy to get round my left flank assured me that it was his
intention to hem me against that place and surround me. I felt that not
a moment must be lost in retiring to another position.
I had every reason to believe that the enemy's forces were somewhat
exhausted and I knew that they had suffered heavy losses. I hoped,
therefore, that his pursuit would not be too vigorous to prevent me
effecting my object.
The operation, however, was full of danger and difficulty, not only
owing to the very superior force in my front, but also to the exhaustion
of the troops.
The retirement was recommenced in the early morning of the 25th to a
position in the neighborhood of Le Cateau, and rearguards were ordered
to be clear of the Maubeuge-Bavai-Eth Road by 5:30 A.M.
Two cavalry brigades, with the divisional cavalry of the Second Corps,
covered the movement of the Second Corps. The remainder of the cavalry
division, with the Nineteenth Brigade, the whole under the command of
Gen. Allenby, covered the west flank.
The Fourth Division commenced its detrainment at Le Cateau on Sunday,
the 23d, and by the morning of the 25th eleven battalions and a brigade
of artillery with divisional staff were available for service.
I ordered Gen. Snow to move out to take up a position with his right
south of Solesmes, his left resting on the Cambrai-Le Cateau Road south
of La Chaprie. In this position the division rendered great help to the
effective retirement of the Second and First Corps to the new position.
Although the troops had been ordered to occupy the Cambrai-Le
Cateau-Landrecies position, and the ground had, during the 25th, been
partially prepared and intrenched, I had grave doubts--owing to the
information I had received as to the accumulating strength of the enemy
against me--as to the wisdom of standing there to fight.
Having regard to the continued retirement of the French on my right, my
exposed left flank, the tendency of the enemy's western corps (II.) to
envelop me, and, more than all, the exhausted condition of the troops, I
determined to make a great effort to continue the retreat till I could
put some substantial obstacle, such as the Somme or the Oise, between my
troops and the enemy, and afford the former some opportunity of rest and
reorganization. Orders were, therefore, sent to the corps commanders to
continue their retreat as soon as they possibly could toward the general
line Vermand-St. Quentin-Ribemont.
The cavalry, under Gen. Allenby, were ordered to cover the retirement.
Throughout the 25th and far into the evening, the First Corps continued
its march on Landrecies, following the road along the eastern border of
the Foret de Mormal, and arrived at Landrecies about 10 o'clock. I had
intended that the corps should come further west so as to fill up the
gap between Le Cateau and Landrecies, but the men were exhausted and
could not get further in without rest.
The enemy, however, would not allow them this rest, and about 9:30 P.M.
a report was received that the Fourth Guards Brigade in Landrecies was
heavily attacked by troops of the Ninth German Army Corps, who were
coming through the forest on the north of the town. This brigade fought
most gallantly, and caused the enemy to suffer tremendous loss in
issuing from the forest into the narrow streets of the town. This loss
has been estimated from reliable sources at from 700 to 1,000. At the
same time information reached me from Sir Douglas Haig that his First
Division was also heavily engaged south and east of Maroilles. I sent
urgent messages to the commander of the two French reserve divisions on
my right to come up to the assistance of the First Corps, which they
eventually did. Partly owing to this assistance, but mainly to the
skillful manner in which Sir Douglas Haig extricated his corps from an
exceptionally difficult position in the darkness of the night, they were
able at dawn to resume their march south toward Wassigny on Guise.
By about 6 P.M. the Second Corps had got into position with their right
on Le Cateau, their left in the neighborhood of Caudry, and the line of
defense was continued thence by the Fourth Division toward Seranvillers,
the left being thrown back.
During the fighting on the 24th and 25th the cavalry became a good deal
scattered, but by the early morning of the 26th Gen, Allenby had
succeeded in concentrating two brigades to the south of Cambrai.
The Fourth Division was placed under the orders of the general officer
commanding the Second Army Corps.
On the 24th the French cavalry corps, consisting of three divisions
under Gen. Sordet, had been in billets north of Avesnes. On my way back
from Bavai, which was my "Poste de Commandement" during the fighting of
the 23d and 24th, I visited Gen. Sordet, and earnestly requested his
co-operation and support. He promised to obtain sanction from his army
commander to act on my left flank, but said that his horses were too
tired to move before the next day. Although he rendered me valuable
assistance later on in the course of the retirement, he was unable for
the reasons given to afford me any support on the most critical day of
all, viz., the 26th.
At daybreak it became apparent that the enemy was throwing the bulk of
his strength against the left of the position occupied by the Second
Corps and the Fourth Division.
At this time the guns of four German army corps were in position against
them, and Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien reported to me that he judged it
impossible to continue his retirement at daybreak (as ordered) in face
of such an attack.
I sent him orders to use his utmost endeavors to break off the action
and retire at the earliest possible moment, as it was impossible for me
to send him any support, the First Corps being at the moment incapable
of movement.
The French cavalry corps, under Gen. Sordet, was coming up on our left
rear early in the morning, and I sent an urgent message to him to do his
utmost to come up and support the retirement of my left flank; but owing
to the fatigue of his horses he found himself unable to intervene in any
way.
There had been no time to intrench the position properly, but the troops
showed a magnificent front to the terrible fire which confronted them.
The artillery, although outmatched by at least four to one, made a
splendid fight, and inflicted heavy losses on their opponents.
[Illustration: Map 1.--Showing the early stages of the retreat from
Mons, Aug. 22 to Sept. 1.]
At length it became apparent that, if complete annihilation was to be
avoided, a retirement must be attempted; and the order was given to
commence it about 3:30 P.M. The movement was covered with the most
devoted intrepidity and determination by the artillery, which had itself
suffered heavily, and the fine work done by the cavalry in the further
retreat from the position assisted materially in the final completion of
this most difficult and dangerous operation.
Fortunately the enemy had himself suffered too heavily to engage in an
energetic pursuit.
I cannot close the brief account of this glorious stand of the British
troops without putting on record my deep appreciation of the valuable
services rendered by Gen. Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien.
I say without hesitation that the saving of the left wing of the army
under my command on the morning of the 26th August could never have been
accomplished unless a commander of rare and unusual coolness,
intrepidity, and determination had been present to personally conduct
the operation.
The retreat was continued far into the night of the 26th and through the
27th and 28th, on which date the troops halted on the line
Noyon-Chauny-La Fere, having then thrown off the weight of the enemy's
pursuit.
On the 27th and 28th I was much indebted to Gen. Sordet and the French
cavalry division which he commands for materially assisting my
retirement and successfully driving back some of the enemy on Cambrai.
Gen. D'Amade also, with the Sixty-first and Sixty-second French Reserve
Divisions, moved down from the neighborhood of Arras on the enemy's
right flank and took much pressure off the rear of the British forces.
This closes the period covering the heavy fighting which commenced at
Mons on Sunday afternoon, 23d August, and which really constituted a
four days' battle.
At this point, therefore, I propose to close the present dispatch.
I deeply deplore the very serious losses which the British forces have
suffered in this great battle; but they were inevitable in view of the
fact that the British Army--only two days after a concentration by
rail--was called upon to withstand a vigorous attack of five German army
corps.
It is impossible for me to speak too highly of the skill evinced by the
two general officers commanding army corps; the self-sacrificing and
devoted exertions of their staffs; the direction of the troops by
divisional, brigade, and regimental leaders; the command of the smaller
units by their officers; and the magnificent fighting spirit displayed
by non-commissioned officers and men.
I wish particularly to bring to your Lordship's notice the admirable
work done by the Royal Flying Corps under Sir David Henderson. Their
skill, energy, and perseverance [Transcriber: original 'perseverence']
have been beyond all praise. They have furnished me with the most
complete and accurate information, which has been of incalculable value
in the conduct of the operations. Fired at constantly both by friend and
foe, and not hesitating to fly in every kind of weather, they have
remained undaunted throughout.
Further, by actually fighting in the air, they have succeeded in
destroying five of the enemy's machines.
I wish to acknowledge with deep gratitude the incalculable assistance I
received from the General and Personal Staffs at Headquarters during
this trying period.
Lieut. Gen. Sir Archibald Murray, Chief of the General Staff; Major Gen.
Wilson, Sub-Chief of the General Staff; and all under them have worked
day and night unceasingly with the utmost skill, self-sacrifice, and
devotion; and the same acknowledgment is due by me to Brig. Gen. Hon. W.
Lambton, my Military Secretary, and the personal Staff.
In such operations as I have described the work of the Quartermaster
General is of an extremely onerous nature. Major Gen. Sir William
Robertson has met what appeared to be almost insuperable difficulties
with his characteristic energy, skill, and determination; and it is
largely owing to his exertions that the hardships and sufferings of the
troops--inseparable from such operations--were not much greater.
[Illustration: Map. 2.--The retreat continued. From Compiegne, Sept. 1,
to the new position south of Meaux, Sept. 3 and 4.]
[Illustration: Map 3.--Commencement of the battle of the Marne, Sept. 6
(Sunday), morning.
Concentration of the Germans on a central point, and the position of the
British force when it resumed the offensive.]
Major Gen. Sir Nevil Macready, the Adjutant General, has also been
confronted with most onerous and difficult tasks in connection with
disciplinary arrangements and the preparation of casualty lists. He has
been indefatigable in his exertions to meet the difficult situations
which arose.
I have not yet been able to complete the list of officers whose names I
desire to bring to your Lordship's notice for services rendered during
the period under review; and, as I understand it is of importance that
this dispatch should no longer be delayed, I propose to forward this
list, separately, as soon as I can. I have the honor to be,
Your Lordship's most obedient Servant,
(Signed) J.D.P. FRENCH,
Field Marshal,
Commander in Chief, British Forces in the Field.
II.
*The Battle of the Marne.*
17th September, 1914.
My lord: In continuation of my dispatch of Sept. 7, I have the honor to
report the further progress of the operations of the forces under my
command from Aug. 28.
On that evening the retirement of the force was followed closely by two
of the enemy's cavalry columns, moving southeast from St. Quentin.
The retreat in this part of the field was being covered by the Third and
Fifth Cavalry Brigades. South of the Somme Gen. Gough, with the Third
Cavalry Brigade, threw back the Uhlans of the Guard with considerable
loss.
Gen. Chetwode, with the Fifth Cavalry Brigade, encountered the eastern
column near Cerizy, moving south. The brigade attacked and routed the
column, the leading German regiment suffering very severe casualties
and being almost broken up.
The Seventh French Army Corps was now in course of being railed up from
the south to the east of Amiens. On the 29th it nearly completed its
detrainment, and the French Sixth Army got into position on my left, its
right resting on Roye.
The Fifth French Army was behind the line of the Oise, between La Fere
and Guise.
The pursuit of the enemy was very vigorous; some five or six German
corps were on the Somme, facing the Fifth Army on the Oise. At least two
corps were advancing toward my front, and were crossing the Somme east
and west of Ham. Three or four more German corps were [Transcriber:
original 'wree'] opposing the Sixth French Army on my left.
This was the situation at 1 o'clock on the 29th, when I received a visit
from Gen. Joffre at my headquarters.
I strongly represented my position to the French Commander in Chief, who
was most kind, cordial, and sympathetic, as he has always been. He told
me that he had directed the Fifth French Army on the Oise to move
forward and attack the Germans on the Somme, with a view to checking
pursuit. He also told me of the formation of the Sixth French Army on my
left flank, composed of the Seventh Army Corps, four reserve divisions,
and Sordet's corps of cavalry.
I finally arranged with Gen. Joffre to effect a further short retirement
toward the line Compiegne-Soissons, promising him, however, to do my
utmost to keep always within a day's march of him.
In pursuance of this arrangement the British forces retired to a
position a few miles north of the line Compiegne-Soissons on the 29th.
The right flank of the German Army was now reaching a point which
appeared seriously to endanger my line of communications with Havre. I
had already evacuated Amiens, into which place a German reserve division
was reported to have moved.
[Illustration: Map 4.--Sept. 6 (Sunday), evening. First advance toward
the line of the Grand Morin.]
Orders were given to change the base to St. Nazaire, and establish an
advance base at Le Mans. This operation was well carried out by the
Inspector General of Communications.
In spite of a severe defeat inflicted upon the Guard Tenth and Guard
Reserve Corps of the German Army by the First and Third French Corps on
the right of the Fifth Army, it was not part of Gen. Joffre's plan to
pursue this advantage; and a general retirement to the line of the Marne
was ordered, to which the French forces in the more eastern theatre were
directed to conform.
A new Army (the Ninth) had been formed from three corps in the south by
Gen. Joffre, and moved into the space between the right of the Fifth and
left of the Fourth Armies.
While closely adhering to his strategic conception to draw the enemy on
at all points until a favorable situation was created from which to
assume the offensive, Gen. Joffre found it necessary to modify from day
to day the methods by which he sought to attain this object, owing to
the development of the enemy's plans and changes in the general
situation.
In conformity with the movements of the French forces, my retirement
continued practically from day to day. Although we were not severely
pressed by the enemy, rearguard actions took place continually.
On the 1st September, when retiring from the thickly wooded country to
the south of Compiegne, the First Cavalry Brigade was overtaken by some
German cavalry. They momentarily lost a horse artillery battery, and
several officers and men were killed and wounded. With the help,
however, of some detachments from the Third Corps operating on their
left, they not only recovered their own guns, but succeeded in capturing
twelve of the enemy's.
Similarly, to the eastward, the First Corps, retiring south, also got
into some very difficult forest country, and a somewhat severe rearguard
action ensued at Villers-Cotterets, in which the Fourth Guards Brigade
suffered considerably.
On Sept. 3 the British forces were in position south of the Marne
between Lagny and Signy-Signets. Up to this time I had been requested by
Gen. Joffre to defend the passages of the river as long as possible, and
to blow up the bridges in my front. After I had made the necessary
dispositions, and the destruction of the bridges had been effected, I
was asked by the French Commander in Chief to continue my retirement to
a point some twelve miles in rear of the position I then occupied, with
a view to taking up a second position behind the Seine. This retirement
was duly carried out. In the meantime the enemy had thrown bridges and
crossed the Marne in considerable force, and was threatening the Allies
all along the line of the British forces and the Fifth and Ninth French
Armies. Consequently several small outpost actions took place.
On Saturday, Sept. 5, I met the French Commander in Chief at his
request, and he informed me of his intention to take the offensive
forthwith, as he considered conditions very favorable to success.
Gen. Joffre announced to me his intention of wheeling up the left flank
of the Sixth Army, pivoting on the Marne and directing it to move on the
Ourcq; cross and attack the flank of the First German Army, which was
then moving in a southeasterly direction east of that river.
He requested me to effect a change of front to my right--my left resting
on the Marne and my right on the Fifth Army--to fill the gap between
that army and the Sixth. I was then to advance against the enemy in my
front and join in the general offensive movement.
These combined movements practically commenced on Sunday, Sept. 6, at
sunrise; and on that day it may be said that a great battle opened on a
front extending from Ermenonville, which was just in front of the left
flank of the Sixth French Army, through Lizy on the Marne, Mauperthuis,
which was about the British centre, Courtecon, which was on the left of
the Fifth French Army, to Esternay and Charleville, the left of the
Ninth Army under Gen. Foch, and so along the front of the Ninth, Fourth
and Third French Armies to a point north of the fortress of Verdun.
[Illustration: Map 5.--Sept. 8. Battle of the Marne.
The great advance to the Petit Morin and the Marne, where important
captures were made by the British.]
This battle, in so far as the Sixth French Army, the British Army, the
Fifth French Army, and the Ninth French Army were concerned, may be said
to have concluded on the evening of Sept. 10, by which time the Germans
had been driven back to the line Soissons-Rheims, with a loss of
thousands of prisoners, many guns, and enormous masses of transport.
About Sept. 3 the enemy appears to have changed his plans and to have
determined to stop his advance south direct upon Paris, for on Sept. 4
air reconnoissances showed that his main columns were moving in a
southeasterly direction generally east of a line drawn through Nanteuil
and Lizy on the Ourcq.
On Sept. 5 several of these columns were observed to have crossed the
Marne, while German troops, which were observed moving southeast up the
left flank of the Ourcq on the 4th, were now reported to be halted and
facing that river. Heads of the enemy's columns were seen crossing at
Changis, La Ferte, Nogent, Chateau Thierry, and Mezy.
Considerable German columns of all arms were seen to be converging on
Montmirail, while before sunset large bivouacs of the enemy were located
in the neighborhood of Coulommiers, south of Rebais, La Ferte-Gaucher,
and Dagny.
I should conceive it to have been about noon on Sept. 6, after the
British forces had changed their front to the right and occupied the
line Jouy-Le Chatel-Faremoutiers-Villeneuve Le Comte, and the advance of
the Sixth French Army north of the Marne toward the Ourcq became
apparent, that the enemy realized the powerful threat that was being
made against the flank of his columns moving southeast, and began the
great retreat which opened the battle above referred to.
On the evening of Sept. 6, therefore, the fronts and positions of the
opposing armies were roughly as follows:
Allies.
_Sixth French Army_.--Right on the Marne at Meux, left toward Betz.
_British Forces._--On the line Dagny-Coulommiers-Maison.
_Fifth French Army._--At Courtagon, right on Esternay.
_Conneau's Cavalry Corps._--Between the right of the British and the
left of the French Fifth Army.
Germans.
_Fourth Reserve and Second Corps._--East of the Ourcq and facing
that river.
_Ninth Cavalry Division._--West of Crecy.
_Second Cavalry Division._--North of Coulommiers.
_Fourth Corps._--Rebais.
_Third and Seventh Corps._--Southwest of Montmirail.
All these troops constituted the First German Army, which was directed
against the French Sixth Army on the Ourcq, and the British forces, and
the left of the Fifth French Army south of the Marne.
The Second German Army (IX., X., X.R., and Guard) was moving against the
centre and right of the Fifth French Army and the Ninth French Army.
On Sept. 7 both the Fifth and Sixth French Armies were heavily engaged
on our flank. The Second and Fourth Reserve German Corps on the Ourcq
vigorously opposed the advance of the French toward that river, but did
not prevent the Sixth Army from gaining some headway, the Germans
themselves suffering serious losses. The French Fifth Army threw the
enemy back to the line of the Petit Morin River after inflicting severe
losses upon them, especially about Montceaux, which was carried at the
point of the bayonet.
The enemy retreated before our advance, covered by his Second and Ninth
and Guard Cavalry Divisions, which suffered severely.
Our cavalry acted with great vigor, especially Gen. De Lisle's brigade,
with the Ninth Lancers and Eighteenth Hussars.
On Sept. 8 the enemy continued his retreat northward, and our army was
successfully engaged during the day with strong rearguards of all arms
on the Petit Morin River, thereby materially assisting the progress of
the French armies on our right and left, against whom the enemy was
making his greatest efforts. On both sides the enemy was thrown back
with very heavy loss. The First Army Corps encountered stubborn
resistance at La Tretoire, (north of Rabais.) The enemy occupied a
strong position with infantry and guns on the northern bank of the Petit
Morin River; they were dislodged with considerable loss. Several machine
guns and many prisoners were captured, and upward of 200 German dead
were left on the ground.
[Illustration: Map 6.--Sept. 9. Forcing the passage of the Marne.
This day the German retreat degenerated into a rout, and many captures
were made.]
The forcing of the Petit Morin at this point was much assisted by the
cavalry and the First Division, which crossed higher up the stream.
Later in the day a counter-attack by the enemy was well repulsed by the
First Army Corps, a great many prisoners and some guns again falling
into our hands.
On this day (Sept. 8) the Second Army Corps encountered considerable
opposition, but drove back the enemy at all points with great loss,
making considerable captures.
The Third Army Corps also drove back considerable bodies of the enemy's
infantry and made some captures.
On Sept. 9 the First and Second Army Corps forced the passage of the
Marne and advanced some miles to the north of it. The Third Corps
encountered considerable opposition, as the bridge at La Ferte was
destroyed and the enemy held the town on the opposite bank in some
strength, and thence persistently obstructed the construction of a
bridge; so the passage was not effected until after nightfall.
During the day's pursuit the enemy suffered heavy loss in killed and
wounded, some hundreds of prisoners fell into our hands and a battery of
eight machine guns was captured by the Second Division.
On this day the Sixth French Army was heavily engaged west of the River
Ourcq. The enemy had largely increased his force opposing them; and very
heavy fighting ensued, in which the French were successful throughout.
The left of the Fifth French Army reached the neighborhood of Chateau
Thierry after the most severe fighting, having driven the enemy
completely north of the river with great loss.
The fighting of this army in the neighborhood of Montmirail was very
severe.
The advance was resumed at daybreak on the 10th up to the line of the
Ourcq, opposed by strong rearguards of all arms. The First and Second
Corps, assisted by the cavalry divisions on the right, the Third and
Fifth Cavalry Brigades on the left, drove the enemy northward. Thirteen
guns, seven machine guns, about 2,000 prisoners, and quantities of
transport fell into our hands. The enemy left many dead on the field. On
this day the French Fifth and Sixth Armies had little opposition.
As the First and Second German Armies were now in full retreat, this
evening marks the end of the battle which practically commenced on the
morning of the 6th inst.; and it is at this point in the operations that
I am concluding the present dispatch.
Although I deeply regret [Transcriber: original 'regreat'] to have had
to report heavy losses in killed and wounded throughout these
operations, I do not think they have been excessive in view of the
magnitude of the great fight, the outlines of which I have only been
able very briefly to describe, and the demoralization and loss in killed
and wounded which are known to have been caused to the enemy by the
vigor and severity of the pursuit.
In concluding this dispatch I must call your Lordship's special
attention to the fact that from Sunday, Aug. 23, up to the present date,
(Sept. 17,) from Mons back almost to the Seine, and from the Seine to
the Aisne, the army under my command has been ceaselessly engaged
without one single day's halt or rest of any kind.
Since the date to which in this dispatch I have limited my report of the
operations, a great battle on the Aisne has been proceeding. A full
report of this battle will be made in an early further dispatch.
[Illustration: Map 7--Sept. 10 (evening). End of the battle of the
Marne.
The Germans were driven over the Ourcq and retreated to the Aisne.]
[Illustration: LIEUT. GEN. SIR DOUGLAS HAIG
Commanding one of Gen. French's Corps
(_From Painting by John St. Helier Lander._)]
[Illustration: CROWN PRINCE WILHELM
(_Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the Berlin
Photographic Co., N.Y._)]
It will, however, be of interest to say here that, in spite of a very
determined resistance on the part of the enemy, who is holding in
strength and great tenacity a position peculiarly favorable to defense,
the battle which commenced on the evening of the 12th inst. has, so far,
forced the enemy back from his first position, secured the passage of
the river, and inflicted great loss upon him, including the capture of
over 2,000 prisoners and several guns. I have the honor to be your
Lordship's most obedient servant,
(Signed.) J.D.P. FRENCH,
Field Marshal,
Commanding in Chief, the British forces in the field.
III.
*The Battle of the Aisne.*
8th October, 1914.
My Lord: I have the honor to report the operations in which the British
forces in France have been engaged since the evening of Sept. 10:
1. In the early morning of the 11th the further pursuit of the enemy was
commenced, and the three corps crossed the Ourcq practically unopposed,
the cavalry reaching the line of the Aisne River, the Third and Fifth
Brigades south of Soissons, the First, Second and the Fourth on the high
ground at Couvrelles and Cerseuil.
On the afternoon of the 12th, from the opposition encountered by the
Sixth French Army to the west of Soissons, by the Third Corps southeast
of that place, by the Second Corps south of Missy and Vailly, and
certain indications all along the line, I formed the opinion that the
enemy had, for the moment at any rate, arrested his retreat and was
preparing to dispute the passage of the Aisne with some vigor.
South of Soissons the Germans were holding Mont de Paris against the
attack of the right of the French Sixth Army when the Third Corps
reached the neighborhood of Buzancy, southeast of that place. With the
assistance of the artillery of the Third Corps the French drove them
back across the river at Soissons, where they destroyed the bridges.
The heavy artillery fire which was visible for several miles in a
westerly direction in the valley of the Aisne showed that the Sixth
French Army was meeting with strong opposition all along the line.
On this day the cavalry under Gen. Allenby reached the neighborhood of
Braine and did good work in clearing the town and the high ground beyond
it of strong hostile detachments. The Queen's Bays are particularly
mentioned by the General as having assisted greatly in the success of
this operation. They were well supported by the Third Division, which on
this night bivouacked at Brenelle, south of the river.
The Fifth Division approached Missy, but were unable to make headway.
The First Army Corps reached the neighborhood of Vauxcere without much
opposition.
In this manner the battle of the Aisne commenced.
2. The Aisne Valley runs generally east and west, and consists of a
flat-bottomed depression of width varying from half a mile to two miles,
down which the river follows a winding course to the west, at some
points near the southern slopes of the valley and at others near the
northern. The high ground both on the north and south of the river is
approximately 400 feet above the bottom of the valley, and is very
similar in character, as are both slopes of the valley itself, which are
broken into numerous rounded spurs and re-entrants. The most prominent
of the former are the Chivre spur on the right bank and Sermoise spur on
the left. Near the latter place the general plateau, on the south is
divided by a subsidiary valley of much the same character, down which
the small River Vesle flows to the main stream near Sermoise. The slopes
of the plateau overlooking the Aisne on the north and south are of
varying steepness, and are covered with numerous patches of wood, which
also stretch upward and backward over the edge on to the top of the high
ground. There are several villages and small towns dotted about in the
valley itself and along its sides, the chief of which is the town of
Soissons.
The Aisne is a sluggish stream of some 170 feet in breadth, but, being
15 feet deep in the centre, it is unfordable. Between Soissons on the
west and Villiers on the east (the part of the river attacked and
secured by the British forces) there are eleven road bridges across it.
On the north bank a narrow-gauge railway runs from Soissons to Vailly,
where it crosses the river and continues eastward along the south bank.
From Soissons to Sermoise a double line of railway runs along the south
bank, turning at the latter place up the Vesle Valley toward Bazoches.
The position held by the enemy is a very strong one, either for delaying
action or for a defensive battle. One of its chief military
characteristics is that from the high ground on neither side can the top
of the plateau on the other side be seen, except for small stretches.
This is chiefly due to the woods on the edges of the slopes. Another
important point is that all the bridges are under direct or high-angle
artillery fire.
The tract of country above described, which lies north of the Aisne, is
well adapted to concealment, and was so skillfully turned to account by
the enemy as to render it impossible to judge the real nature of his
opposition to our passage of the river or accurately to gauge his
strength; but I have every reason to conclude that strong rearguards of
at least three army corps were holding the passages on the early morning
of the 13th.
3. On that morning I ordered the British forces to advance and make good
the Aisne.
The First Corps and the cavalry advanced on the river. The First
Division was directed on Chamouille via the canal bridge at Bourg, and
the Second Division on Courtecon and Presles via Pont-Arcy, and on the
canal to the north of Braye via Chavonne. On the right the cavalry and
First Division met with slight opposition and found a passage by means
of the canal, which crosses the river by an aqueduct. The division was
therefore able to press on, supported by the cavalry division on its
outer flank, driving back the enemy in front of it.
On the left the leading troops of the Second Division reached the river
by 9 o'clock. The Fifth Infantry Brigade were only enabled to cross, in
single file and under considerable shell fire, by means of the broken
girder of the bridge, which was not entirely submerged in the river. The
construction of a pontoon bridge was at once undertaken, and was
completed by 5 o'clock in the afternoon.
On the extreme left the Fourth Guards Brigade met with severe opposition
at Chavonne, and it was only late in the afternoon that it was able to
establish a foothold on the northern bank of the river by ferrying one
battalion across in boats.
By nightfall the First Division occupied the area of
Moulins-Paissy-Geny, with posts at the village of Vendresse.
The Second Division bivouacked as a whole on the southern bank of the
river, leaving only the Fifth Brigade on the north bank to establish a
bridge-head.
The Second Corps found all the bridges in front of them destroyed except
that of Conde, which was in possession of the enemy, and remained so
until the end of the battle.
In the approach to Missy, where the Fifth Division eventually crossed,
there is some open ground which was swept by a heavy fire from the
opposite bank. The Thirteenth Brigade was therefore unable to advance;
but the Fourteenth, which was directed to the east of Venizel at a less
exposed point, was rafted across, and by night established itself with
its left at St. Marguerite. They were followed by the Fifteenth Brigade;
and later on both the Fourteenth and Fifteenth supported the Fourth
Division on their left in repelling a heavy counter-attack on the Third
Corps.
On the morning of the 13th the Third Corps found the enemy had
established himself in strength on the Vregny plateau. The road bridge
at Venizel was repaired during the morning, and a reconnoissance was
made with a view to throwing a pontoon bridge at Soissons.
The Twelfth Infantry Brigade crossed at Venizel, and was assembled at
Bucy le Long by 1 P.M., but the bridge was so far damaged that
artillery could only be man-handled across it. Meanwhile the
construction of a bridge was commenced close to the road bridge at
Venizel.
At 2 P.M. the Twelfth Infantry Brigade attacked in the direction of
Chivres and Vregny with the object of securing the high ground east of
Chivres, as a necessary preliminary to a further advance northward. This
attack made good progress, but at 5:30 P.M. the enemy's artillery and
machine gun fire from the direction of Vregny became so severe that no
further advance could be made. The positions reached were held till
dark.
The pontoon bridge at Venizel was completed at 5:30 P.M., when the Tenth
Infantry Brigade crossed the river and moved to Bucy le Long.
The Nineteenth Infantry Brigade moved to Billy-sur-Aisne, and before
dark all the artillery of the division had crossed the river, with the
exception of the heavy battery and one brigade of field artillery.
During the night the positions gained by the Twelfth Infantry Brigade to
the east of the stream running through Chivres were handed over to the
Fifth Division.
The section of the bridging train allotted to the Third Corps began to
arrive in the neighborhood of Soissons late in the afternoon, when an
attempt to throw a heavy pontoon bridge at Soissons had to be abandoned,
owing to the fire of the enemy's heavy howitzers.
In the evening the enemy retired at all points and intrenched himself on
the high ground about two miles north of the river, along which runs the
Chemin-des-Dames. Detachments of infantry, however, strongly intrenched
in commanding points down slopes of the various spurs, were left in
front of all three corps with powerful artillery in support of them.
During the night of the 13th and on the 14th and following days the
field companies were incessantly at work night and day. Eight pontoon
bridges and one foot bridge were thrown across the river under
generally very heavy artillery fire, which was incessantly kept up on to
most of the crossings after completion. Three of the road bridges, i.e.,
Venizel, Missy, and Vailly, and the railway bridge east of Vailly, were
temporarily repaired so as to take foot traffic, and the Villiers Bridge
made fit to carry weights up to six tons.
Preparations were also made for the repair of the Missy, Vailly and
Bourg bridges so as to take mechanical transport.
The weather was very wet and added to the difficulties by cutting up the
already indifferent approaches, entailing a large amount of work to
repair and improve.
The operations of the field companies during this most trying time are
worthy of the best traditions of the Royal Engineers.
4. On the evening of the 14th it was still impossible to decide whether
the enemy was only making a temporary halt, covered by rearguards, or
whether he intended to stand and defend the position.
With a view to clearing up the situation I ordered a general advance.
The action of the First Corps on this day under the direction and
command of Sir Douglas Haig was of so skillful, bold, and decisive a
character that he gained positions which alone have enabled me to
maintain my position for more than three weeks of very severe fighting
on the north bank of the river.
The corps was directed to cross the line Moulins-Moussy by 7 A.M.
On the right the General Officer commanding the First Division directed
the Second Infantry Brigade (which was in billets and bivouacked about
Moulins), and the Twenty-fifth Artillery Brigade (less one battery),
under Gen. Bulfin, to move forward before daybreak, in order to protect
the advance of the division sent up the valley to Vendresse. An
officer's patrol sent out by this brigade reported a considerable force
of the enemy near the factory north of Troyon, and the Brigadier
accordingly directed two regiments (the King's Royal Rifles and the
Royal Sussex Regiment) to move at 3 A.M. The Northamptonshire Regiment
was ordered to move at 4 A.M. to occupy the spur east of Troyon. The
remaining regiment of the brigade (the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment)
moved at 5:30 A.M. to the village of Vendresse. The factory was found to
be held in considerable strength by the enemy, and the Brigadier ordered
the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment to support the King's Royal Rifles
and the Sussex Regiment. Even with this support the force was unable to
make headway, and on the arrival of the First Brigade the Coldstream
Guards were moved up to support the right of the leading brigade (the
Second), while the remainder of the First Brigade supported its left.
[Illustration: Map 8.--Sept. 10 to 12. Showing the Germans' headlong
retreat to their intrenched positions beyond the Aisne.]
About noon the situation was, roughly, that the whole of these two
brigades were extended along a line running east and west, north of the
line Troyon and south of the Chemin-des-Dames. A party of the Loyal
North Lancashire Regiment had seized and were holding the factory. The
enemy had a line of intrenchments north and east of the factory in
considerable strength, and every effort to advance against this line was
driven back by heavy shell and machine-gun fire. The morning was wet and
a heavy mist hung over the hills, so that the Twenty-fifth Artillery
Brigade and the divisional artillery were unable to render effective
support to the advanced troops until about 9 o'clock.
By 10 o'clock the Third Infantry Brigade had reached a point one mile
south of Vendresse, and from there it was ordered to continue the line
of the First Brigade and to connect with and help the right of the
Second Division. A strong hostile column was found to be advancing, and
by a vigorous counterstroke with two of his battalions the Brigadier
checked the advance of this column and relieved the pressure on the
Second Division. From this period until late in the afternoon the
fighting consisted of a series of attacks and counter-attacks. The
counter-strokers by the enemy were delivered at first with great vigor,
but later on they decreased in strength, and all were driven off with
heavy loss.
On the left the Sixth Infantry Brigade had been ordered to cross the
river and to pass through the line held during the preceding night by
the Fifth Infantry Brigade and occupy the Courtecon Ridge, while a
detached force, consisting of the Fourth Guards Brigade and the
Thirty-sixth Brigade Royal Field Artillery, under Brig. Gen. Perceval,
were ordered to proceed to a point east of the village of Ostel.
The Sixth Infantry Brigade crossed the river at Pont-Arcy, moved up the
valley toward Braye, and at 9 A.M. had reached the line
Tilleul-La-Buvelle. On the line they came under heavy artillery and
rifle fire, and were unable to advance until supported by the
Thirty-fourth Brigade, Royal Field Artillery, and the Forty-fourth
Howitzer Brigade and the Heavy Artillery.
The Fourth Guards Brigade crossed the river at 10 A.M. and met with very
heavy opposition. It had to pass through dense woods; field artillery
support was difficult to obtain; but one section of a field battery
pushed up to and within the firing line. At 1 P.M. the left of the
brigade was south of the Ostel Ridge.
At this period of the action the enemy obtained a footing between the
First and Second Corps, and threatened to cut the communications of the
latter.
Sir Douglas Haig was very hardly pressed and had no reserve in hand. I
placed the cavalry division at his disposal, part of which he skillfully
used to prolong and secure the left flank of the Guards Brigade. Some
heavy fighting ensued, which resulted in the enemy being driven back
with heavy loss.
About 4 o'clock the weakening of the counter-attacks by the enemy and
other indications tended to show that his resistance was decreasing, and
a general advance was ordered by the army corps commander. Although
meeting with considerable opposition and coming under very heavy
artillery and rifle fire, the position of the corps at the end of the
day's operations extended from the Chemin-des-Dames on the right,
through Chivy, to Le Cour de Soupir, with the First Cavalry Brigade
extending to the Chavonne-Soissons road.
[Illustration: Map 9.--Sept. 13 and 14. Passage of the Aisne, when
bridges were constructed under great difficulties.]
On the right the corps was in close touch with the French Moroccan
troops of the Eighteenth Corps, which were intrenched in echelon to its
right rear. During the night they intrenched this position.
Throughout the battle of the Aisne this advanced and commanding position
was maintained, and I cannot speak too highly of the valuable services
rendered by Sir Douglas Haig and the army corps under his command. Day
after day and night after night the enemy's infantry has been hurled
against him in violent counter-attack, which has never on any one
occasion succeeded, while the trenches all over his position have been
under continuous heavy artillery fire.
The operations of the First Corps on this day resulted in the capture of
several hundred prisoners, some field pieces and machine guns.
The casualties were very severe, one brigade alone losing three of its
four Colonels.
The Third Division commenced a further advance, and had nearly reached
the plateau of Aizy when they were driven back by a powerful
counter-attack supported by heavy artillery. The division, however, fell
back in the best order, and finally intrenched itself about a mile north
of Vailly Bridge, effectively covering the passage.
The Fourth and Fifth Divisions were unable to do more than maintain
their ground.
5. On the morning of the 15th, after close examination of the position,
it became clear to me that the enemy was making a determined stand; and
this view was confirmed by reports which reached me from the French
armies fighting on my right and left, which clearly showed that a
strongly intrenched line of defense was being taken up from the north of
Compiegne, eastward and southeastward, along the whole Valley of the
Aisne up to and beyond Rheims.
A few days previously the Fortress of Maubeuge fell, and a considerable
quantity of siege artillery was brought down from that place to
strengthen the enemy's position in front of us.
During the 15th shells fell in our position which have been judged by
experts to be thrown by eight-inch siege guns with a range of 10,000
yards. Throughout the whole course of the battle our troops have
suffered very heavily from this fire, although its effect latterly was
largely mitigated by more efficient and thorough intrenching, the
necessity for which I impressed strongly upon army corps commanders. In
order to assist them in this work all villages within the area of our
occupation were searched for heavy intrenching tools, a large number of
which were collected.
In view of the peculiar formation of the ground on the north side of the
river between Missy and Soissons, and its extraordinary adaptability to
a force on the defensive, the Fifth Division found it impossible to
maintain its position on the southern edge of the Chivres Plateau, as
the enemy in possession of the Village of Vregny to the west was able to
bring a flank fire to bear upon it. The division had, therefore, to
retire to a line the left of which was at the village of Marguerite, and
thence ran by the north edge of Missy back to the river to the east of
that place.
With great skill and tenacity Sir Charles Fergusson maintained this
position throughout the whole battle, although his trenches were
necessarily on lower ground than that occupied by the enemy on the
southern edge of the plateau, which was only 400 yards away.
Gen. Hamilton with the Third Division vigorously attacked to the north,
and regained all the ground he had lost on the 15th, which throughout
the battle has formed a most powerful and effective bridge-head.
6. On the 16th the Sixth Division came up into line.
It had been my intention to direct the First Corps to attack and seize
the enemy's position on the Chemin-des-Dames, supporting it with this
new reinforcement. I hoped, from the position thus gained, to bring
effective fire to bear across the front of the Third Division, which,
by securing the advance of the latter, would also take the pressure off
the Fifth Division and the Third Corps.
But any further advance of the First Corps would have dangerously
exposed my right flank. And, further, I learned from the French
Commander in Chief that he was strongly reinforcing the Sixth French
Army on my left, with the intention of bringing up the allied left to
attack the enemy's flank, and thus compel his retirement. I therefore
sent the Sixth Division to join the Third Corps, with orders to keep it
on the south side of the river, as it might be available in general
reserve.
On the 17th, 18th, and 19th the whole of our line was heavily bombarded,
and the First Corps was constantly and heavily engaged. On the afternoon
of the 17th the right flank of the First Division was seriously
threatened. A counter-attack was made by the Northamptonshire Regiment
in combination with the Queen's, and one battalion of the Divisional
Reserve was moved up in support. The Northamptonshire Regiment, under
cover of mist, crept up to within a hundred yards of the enemy's
trenches and charged with the bayonet, driving them out of the trenches
and up the hill. A very strong force of hostile infantry was then
disclosed on the crest line. This new line was enfiladed by part of the
Queen's and the King's Royal Rifles, which wheeled to their left on the
extreme right of our infantry line, and were supported by a squadron of
cavalry on their outer flank. The enemy's attack was ultimately driven
back with heavy loss.
On the 18th, during the night, the Gloucestershire Regiment advanced
from their position near Chivy, filled in the enemy's trenches, and
captured two Maxim guns.
On the extreme right the Queen's were heavily attacked, but the enemy
was repulsed with great loss. About midnight the attack was renewed on
the First Division, supported by artillery fire, but was again
repulsed.
Shortly after midnight an attack was made on the left of the Second
Division with considerable force, which was also thrown back.
At about 1 P.M. on the 19th the Second Division drove back a heavy
infantry attack strongly supported by artillery fire. At dusk the attack
was renewed and again repulsed.
On the 18th I discussed with the General Officer commanding the Second
Army Corps and his divisional commanders the possibility of driving the
enemy out of Conde, which lay between his two divisions, and seizing the
bridge, which has remained throughout in his possession.
As, however, I found that the bridge was closely commanded from all
points on the south side, and that satisfactory arrangements were made
to prevent any issue from it by the enemy by day or night, I decided
that it was not necessary to incur the losses which an attack would
entail, as, in view of the position of the Second and Third Corps, the
enemy could make no use of Conde, and would be automatically forced out
of it by any advance which might become possible for us.
7. On this day information reached me from Gen. Joffre that he had found
it necessary to make a new plan and to attack and envelop the German
right flank.
It was now evident to me that the battle in which we had been engaged
since the 12th inst. must last some days longer, until the effect of
this new flank movement could be felt and a way opened to drive the
enemy from his positions.
It thus became essential to establish some system of regular relief in
the trenches, and I have used the infantry of the Sixth Division for
this purpose with good results. The relieved brigades were brought back
alternately south of the river and, with the artillery of the Sixth
Division, formed a general reserve on which I could rely in case of
necessity.
The cavalry has rendered most efficient and ready help in the trenches,
and have done all they possibly could to lighten the arduous and trying
task which has of necessity fallen to the lot of the infantry.
On the evening of the 19th and throughout the 20th the enemy again
commenced to show considerable activity. On the former night a severe
counter-attack on the Third Division was repulsed with considerable
loss, and from early on Sunday morning various hostile attempts were
made on the trenches of the First Division. During the day the enemy
suffered another severe repulse in front of the Second Division, losing
heavily in the attempt. In the course of the afternoon the enemy made
desperate attempts against the trenches all along the front of the First
Corps, but with similar results.
After dark the enemy again attacked the Second Division, only to be
again driven back.
Our losses on these two days were considerable, but the number, as
obtained, of the enemy's killed and wounded vastly exceeded them.
As the troops of the First Army Corps were much exhausted by this
continual fighting, I reinforced Sir Douglas Haig with a brigade from
the reserve, and called upon the First Cavalry Division to assist them.
On the night of the 21st another violent counter-attack was repulsed by
the Third Division, the enemy losing heavily.
On the 23d the four 6-inch howitzer batteries, which I had asked to be
sent from home, arrived. Two batteries were handed over to the Second
Corps and two to the First Corps. They were brought into action on the
24th with very good results.
Our experiences in this campaign seem to point to the employment of more
heavy guns of a larger calibre in great battles which last for several
days, during which time powerful intrenching work on both sides can be
carried out. These batteries were used with considerable effect on the
24th and the following days.
8. On the 23d the action of Gen. de Castelnau's army on the allied left
developed considerably, and apparently withdrew considerable forces of
the enemy away from the centre and east. I am not aware whether it was
due to this cause or not, but until the 26th it appeared as though the
enemy's opposition in our front was weakening. On that day, however, a
very marked renewal of activity commenced. A constant and vigorous
artillery bombardment was maintained all day, and the Germans in front
of the First Division were observed to be "sapping" up to our lines and
trying to establish new trenches. Renewed counter-attacks were delivered
and beaten off during the course of the day, and in the afternoon a
well-timed attack by the First Division stopped the enemy's intrenching
work.
During the night of the 27th-28th the enemy again made the most
determined attempts to capture the trenches of the First Division, but
without the slightest success.
Similar attacks were reported during these three days all along the line
of the allied front, and it is certain that the enemy then made one last
great effort to establish ascendency. He was, however, unsuccessful
everywhere, and is reported to have suffered heavy losses. The same
futile attempts were made all along our front up to the evening of the
28th, when they died away, and have not since been renewed.
On former occasions I have brought to your Lordship's notice the
valuable services performed during this campaign by the Royal Artillery.
Throughout the battle of the Aisne they have displayed the same skill,
endurance, and tenacity, and I deeply appreciate the work they have
done.
Sir David Henderson and the Royal Flying Corps under his command have
again proved their incalculable value. Great strides have been made in
the development of the use of aircraft in the tactical sphere by
establishing effective communication between aircraft and units in
action.
It is difficult to describe adequately and accurately the great strain
to which officers and men were subjected almost every hour of the day
and night throughout this battle.
[Illustration: Map 10.--Sept. 15 to 28. This map shows the intrenched
positions of the Germans, many of which the Allies took with great loss
to the Germans.]
I have described above the severe character of the artillery fire which
was directed from morning till night not only upon the trenches, but
over the whole surface of the ground occupied by our forces. It was not
until a few days before the position was evacuated that the heavy guns
were removed and the fire slackened. Attack and counter-attack occurred
at all hours of the night and day throughout the whole position,
demanding extreme vigilance, and permitting only a minimum of rest.
The fact that between Sept. 12 to the date of this dispatch the total
numbers of killed, wounded, and missing reached the figures amounting to
561 officers, 12,980 men, proves the severity of the struggle.
The tax on the endurance of the troops was further increased by the
heavy rain and cold which prevailed for some ten or twelve days of this
trying time.
The battle of the Aisne has once more demonstrated the splendid spirit,
gallantry, and devotion which animates the officers and men of his
Majesty's forces.
With reference to the last paragraph of my dispatch of Sept. 7, I append
the names of officers, non-commissioned officers, and men brought
forward for special mention by army corps commanders and heads of
departments for services rendered from the commencement of the campaign
up to the present date.
I entirely agree with these recommendations and beg to submit them for
your Lordship's consideration.
I further wish to bring forward the names of the following officers who
have rendered valuable service: Gen. Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien and Lieut.
Gen. Sir Douglas Haig (commanding First and Second Corps, respectively)
I have already mentioned in the present and former dispatches for
particularly marked and distinguished service in critical situations.
Since the commencement of the campaign they have carried out all my
orders [Transcriber: original 'orders.'] and instructions with the
utmost ability.
Lieut. Gen. W.P. Pulteney took over the command of the Third Corps just
before the commencement of the battle of the Marne. Throughout the
subsequent operations he showed himself to be a most capable commander
in the field, and has rendered very valuable services.
Major Gen. E.H.H. Allenby and Major Gen. H. De La P. Gough have proved
themselves to be cavalry leaders of a high order, and I am deeply
indebted to them. The undoubted moral superiority which our cavalry has
obtained over that of the enemy has been due to the skill with which
they have turned to the best account the qualities inherent in the
splendid troops they command.
In my dispatch of the 7th September I mentioned the name of Brig. Gen.
Sir David Henderson and his valuable work in command of the Royal Flying
Corps; and I have once more to express my deep appreciation of the help
he has since rendered me.
Lieut. Gen. Sir Archibald Murray has continued to render me invaluable
help as Chief of the Staff; and in his arduous and responsible duties he
has been ably assisted by Major Gen. Henry Wilson, Sub-Chief.
Lieut. Gen. Sir Nevil Macready and Lieut. Gen. Sir William Robertson
have continued to perform excellent service as Adjutant General and
Quartermaster General, respectively.
The Director of Army Signals, Lieut. Col. J.S. Fowler, has materially
assisted the operations by the skill and energy which he has displayed
in the working of the important department over which he presides.
My Military Secretary, Brig. Gen. the Hon. W. Lambton, has performed his
arduous and difficult duties with much zeal and great efficiency.
I am anxious also to bring to your Lordship's notice the following names
of officers of my personal staff, who throughout these arduous
operations have shown untiring zeal and energy in the performance of
their duties:
_Aides de Camp._
Lieut. Col. Stanley Barry.
Lieut. Col. Lord Brooke.
Major Fitzgerald Watt.
_Extra Aide de Camp._
Capt. the Hon. F.E. Guest.
_Private Secretary._
Lieut. Col. Brindsley Fitzgerald.
Major his Royal Highness Prince Arthur of Connaught, K.G., joined my
staff as Aide de Camp on the 14th September.
His Royal Highness's intimate knowledge of languages enabled me to
employ him with great advantage on confidential missions of some
importance, and his services have proved of considerable value.
I cannot close this dispatch without informing your Lordship of the
valuable services rendered by the Chief of the French Military Mission
at my headquarters, Col. Victor Huguet of the French Artillery. He has
displayed tact and judgment of a high order in many difficult
situations, and has rendered conspicuous service to the allied cause. I
have the honor to be, your Lordship's most obedient servant,
J.D.P. French, Field Marshal,
_Commanding in Chief the British Army in the Field._
IV.
*The Battle in Flanders.*
[Official Abstract of Report for The Associated Press.]
LONDON, Nov. 29.--A report from Field Marshal Sir John French covering
the period of the battle in Flanders and the days immediately preceding
it, issued today by the Official Press Bureau, shows that this battle
was brought about, first, by the Allies' attempts to outflank the
Germans, who countered, and then by the Allies' plans to move to the
northeast to Ghent and Bruges, which also failed. After this the German
offensive began, with the French coast ports as the objective, but this
movement, like those of the Allies, met with failure.
The Field Marshal, doubtless in response to the demands of the British
public, tells what the various units of the expeditionary force have
been doing--those that failed and were cut off and those who against
superior numbers held the trenches for a month. He gives it as his
opinion that the German losses have been thrice as great as those of the
Allies, and speaks optimistically of the future.
The report covers in a general way the activities of the British troops
from Oct. 11 to Nov. 20.
Summing up the situation in concluding his report, the Field Marshal
says:
"As I close this dispatch, signs are in evidence that we are possibly in
the last stages of the battle from Ypres to Armentieres. For several
days past the artillery fire of the enemy has slackened considerably,
and his infantry attacks have practically ceased."
Discussing the general military situation of the Allies, as it appears
to him at the time of writing, Sir John says:
"It does not seem to be clearly understood that the operations in which
we have been engaged embrace nearly all of the central part of the
Continent of Europe, from the east to the west. The combined French,
Belgian, and British Armies in the west and the Russian Army in the east
are opposed to the united forces of Germany and Austria, acting as
combined armies between us.
"Our enemies elected at the commencement of the war to throw the weight
of their forces against our armies in the west and to detach only a
comparatively weak force, composed of very few of the first line troops
and several corps of second and third line troops, to stem the Russian
advance until the western forces could be defeated and overwhelmed.
Their strength enabled them from the outset to throw greatly superior
forces against us in the west. This precludes the possibility of our
taking vigorous offensive action except when miscalculations and
mistakes are made by their commanders, opening up special opportunities
for successful attacks and pursuit.
"The battle of the Marne was an example of this, as was also our advance
from St. Omer and Hazebrouck to the line of the River Lys at the
commencement of this battle. The role which our armies in the west have
consequently been called upon to fulfill has been to occupy strong
defensive positions, holding ground gained and inviting the enemy's
attack, and to throw back these attacks, causing the enemy heavy losses
in his retreat and following him up with powerful and successful
counter-attacks to complete his discomfiture.
"The value and significance of operations of this nature since the
commencement of hostilities by the Allies' forces in the west lie in the
fact that at the moment when the eastern provinces of Germany are in
imminent danger of being overrun by the numerous and powerful armies of
Russia, nearly the whole active army of Germany is tied down to a line
of trenches extending from Verdun, on the Alsatian frontier, to the sea
at Nieuport, east of Dunkirk, a distance of 260 miles, where they are
held, with much reduced numbers and impaired morale, by the successful
action of our troops in the west.
"I cannot speak too highly of the services rendered by the Royal
Artillery throughout the battle. In spite of the fact that the enemy
brought up in support of his attacks guns of great range and shell
power, our men have succeeded throughout in preventing the enemy from
establishing anything in the nature of superiority in artillery. The
skill, courage, and energy displayed by the commanders of the Royal
Artillery have been very marked. The Royal Engineers have been
indefatigable in their efforts to assist the infantry in field,
fortification, and trench work.
"I deeply regret the heavy casualties which we have suffered, but the
nature of the fighting has been very desperate, and we have been
assailed by vastly superior numbers. I have every reason to know that
throughout the course of the battle we have placed at least three times
as many of the enemy hors de combat in dead, wounded and prisoners.
"Throughout these operations Gen. Foch has strained his resources to the
utmost to afford me all the support he could. An expression of my warm
gratitude is also due to Gen. Dubail, commanding the Eighth French Army
Corps on my left, and to Gen. de Maud'huy, commanding the Tenth Army
Corps on my right."
Discussing the details of the engagement from Ypres to Armentieres,
Field Marshal Sir John French explains that he was impressed early in
October with the necessity of giving the greatest possible support to
the northern flank of the Allies in the effort to outflank the Germans
and compel them to evacuate their positions. He says that the situation
on the Aisne warranted the withdrawal of British troops from positions
they held there, as the enemy had been weakened by continual attacks and
the fortifications of the Allies much improved.
The Field Marshal made known his view to Gen. Joffre, who agreed with
it. The French General Staff arranged for the withdrawal of the British,
which began on Oct. 3 and was completed on Oct. 19, when the First Army
Corps, under Gen. Sir Douglas Haig detrained at St. Omer.
The general plan, as arranged by Field Marshal French and Gen. Foch,
commanding the French troops to the north of Noyon, was that the English
should pivot on the French at Bethune, attacking the Germans on their
flank and forcing their way north. In the event that the British forced
the Germans out of their positions, making possible a forward movement
of the Allies, the French and British were to march east, with Lille as
the dividing line between the two armies, the English right being
directed on Lille.
The battle which forms the chief feature of Gen. French's report really
began on Oct. 11, when Major Gen. Gough of the Second British Cavalry
Brigade, first came in contact with German cavalry in the woods along
the Bethune-Aire Canal. The English cavalry moved toward Hazebrouck,
clearing the way for two army corps, which advanced rapidly in a
northeasterly direction. For several days the progress of the British
was only slightly interrupted, except at La Bassee, a high position,
which Field Marshal French mentions as having stubbornly resisted.
Field Marshal French says the Second Corps, under Gen. Smith-Dorrien,
was opposed by overpowering forces of Germans, but nevertheless advanced
until Oct. 18, when the German opposition compelled a reinforcement. Six
days later the Lahore Division of the Indian army was sent to support
the Second Corps.
On Oct. 16 Sir Henry Rawlinson, who had covered the retreat of the
Belgian army from Antwerp with two divisions of English cavalry and two
divisions of French infantry, was stationed on the line east of Ypres
under orders to operate over a wide front and to keep possession of all
the ground held by the Allies until the First Army Corps could reach
Ypres.
Gen. Rawlinson was opposed by superior forces and was unable to prevent
the Germans from getting large reinforcements. With four army corps
holding a much wider front than their size justified, Field Marshal
French says he faced a stubborn situation. The enemy was massed from the
Lys, and there was imperative need for a strengthened line.
However, the Field Marshal decided to send the First Corps north of
Ypres to stop the reinforcements which might enable the Germans to flank
the Allies. The shattered Belgian army and the wearied French troops'
endeavors to check the German reinforcements were powerless, so the
British commander sent fresh troops to prevent the Germans from
executing movements which would have given them access to Channel ports.
Sir Douglas Haig, with the First Army Corps, was sent Oct. 19 to capture
Bruges and drive the enemy back toward Ghent, if possible. Meantime the
Belgians intrenched themselves along the Ypres Canal. Sir John French
commends the valor of the Belgians, who, he says, exhausted by weeks of
constant fighting, maintained these positions gallantly.
Because of the overwhelming numbers of the Germans opposing them, he
says he enjoined a defensive role upon the three army corps located
south of Ypres. While Gen. Haig made a slight advance, Sir John says it
was wonderful that he was able to advance at all, owing to the bad roads
and the overwhelming number of Germans, which made it impossible to
carry out the original plan of moving to Bruges.
The fighting gradually developed into bayonet charges. Field Marshal
French says that Oct. 21 brought forth the hardest attack, made on the
First Corps at Ypres, in the checking of which the Worcestershire
Regiment displayed great gallantry. This day marked the most critical
period in the great battle, according to the Commander in Chief, who
says the recapture of the village of Gheluvelt through a rally of the
Worcestershires was fraught with much consequence to the Allies.
After referring to some of the battles in which the Indian troops took
part, Field Marshal French says:
"Since their arrival in this country and their occupation of the line
allotted to them I have been much impressed by the initiative and
resource displayed by the Indian troops. Some of the ruses they have
employed to deceive the enemy have been attended with the best results
and have doubtless kept the superior forces in front of them at bay. Our
Indian sappers and miners have long enjoyed a high reputation for skill
and resource. Without going into detail I can confidently assert that
throughout their work in this campaign they have fully justified that
reputation.
"The General officer commanding the Indian army describes the conduct
and bearing of these troops in strange and new surroundings to have been
highly satisfactory, and I am enabled from my own observations to fully
corroborate this statement."
Sir John French goes on to say that, while the whole line continued to
be heavily pressed, the Germans' efforts from Nov. 1 have been
concentrated upon breaking through the line held by the First British
and the Ninth French Corps and thus gaining possession of the town of
Ypres. Three Bavarian and one German corps, in addition to other troops,
were all directed against this northern line.
About Nov. 10, after several units of these corps had been completely
shattered in futile attacks, the Field Marshal continues, a division of
the Prussian Guard, which had been operating in the vicinity of Arras,
was moved up to this area with great speed and secrecy. Documents found
on dead officers, the report says, proved that the Guard received the
German Emperor's special command to break through and succeed where
their comrades of the line had failed. They took the leading part in the
vigorous attacks made against the centre on the 11th and 12th, says
Field Marshal French, but, like their comrades, were repulsed with
enormous casualties.
He pays high tribute to Sir Douglas Haig and his divisional and brigade
commanders, who, he says, "held the line with marvelous tenacity and
undaunted courage." The Field Marshal predicts that "their deeds during
these days of stress and trial will furnish some of the most brilliant
chapters which will be found in the military history of our time."
High praise is also given the Third Cavalry Division under Major Gen.
Julian Byng, whose troops "were repeatedly called upon to restore
situations at critical points and fill gaps in the line caused by the
tremendous losses which occurred."
The Commander in Chief makes special mention of Col. Gordon Chesney
Wilson of the Royal Horse Guards, Major the Hon. Hugh Dawnay of the
Second Life Guards, and Brig. Gen. FitzClarence of the Irish Guards, who
were killed, and of Brig. Gen. the Earl of Cavan, who "on many occasions
was conspicuous for the skill, coolness, and courage with which he led
his troops."
Of the Flying Corps the report says:
"Every day new methods of employing them, both strategically and
tactically, are discovered and put into practice."
Concerning the Territorials who have been employed, the Field Marshal
says the conduct and bearing of these units under fire and the efficient
manner in which they have carried out the duties assigned to them "has
imbued me with the highest hope as to the value and the help of the
Territorial troops generally."
[Illustration]
*Story of the "Eye-Witness"*
*By Col. E.D. Swinton of the Intelligence Department of the British
General Staff.*
_From the beginning of the war world-wide attention has been
attracted to the reports issued from time to time as coming from
"an eye-witness at British General Headquarters." At first these
reports were erroneously ascribed to Marshal French himself, and
resulted in much admiring comment on his vivid and graphic way of
reporting. Later it became known that they were the work of Col.
Swinton, who was attached to Gen. French's headquarters in the
capacity of "official observer."_
I.
*The Battle of the Aisne Begins*
[By the "Official Observer," Col. E.D. Swinton.]
General Headquarters,
Sept. 18, 1914.
Sept. 14, the Germans were making a determined resistance along the
River Aisne. Opposition, which it was at first thought might possibly be
of a rear-guard nature, not entailing material delay to our progress,
has developed and has proved to be more serious than was anticipated.
The action, now being fought by the Germans along their line, may, it is
true, have been undertaken in order to gain time for some strategic
operation or move, and may not be their main stand. But, if this is so,
the fighting is naturally on a scale which as to extent of ground
covered and duration of resistance, makes it undistinguishable in its
progress from what is known as a "pitched battle," though the enemy
certainly showed signs of considerable disorganization during the
earlier days of their retirement phase.
Whether it was originally intended by them to defend the position they
took up as strenuously as they have done, or whether the delay, gained
for them during the 12th and 13th by their artillery, has enabled them
to develop their resistance and force their line to an extent not
originally contemplated cannot yet be said.
So far as we are concerned the action still being contested is the
battle of the Aisne. The foe we are fighting is just across the river
along the whole of our front to the east and west. The struggle is not
confined to the valley of that river, though it will probably bear its
name.
The progress of our operations and the French armies nearest us for the
14th, 15th, 16th, and 17th will now be described:
On Monday, the 14th, those of our troops which had on the previous day
crossed the Aisne, after driving in the German rear guards on that
evening, found portions of the enemy's forces in prepared defensive
positions on the right bank and could do little more than secure a
footing north of the river. This, however, they maintained in spite of
two counter-attacks delivered at dusk and 10 P.M., in which the fighting
was severe.
During the 14th, strong reinforcements of our troops were passed to the
north bank, the troops crossing by ferry, by pontoon bridges, and by the
remains of permanent bridges. Close co-operation with the French forces
was maintained and the general progress made was good, although the
opposition was vigorous and the state of the roads, after the heavy
rains, made movements slow. One division alone failed to secure the
ground it expected to.
The First Army Corps, after repulsing repeated attacks, captured 600
prisoners and twelve guns. The cavalry also took a number of prisoners.
Many of the Germans taken belong to the reserve and Landwehr formations,
which fact appears to indicate that the enemy is compelled to draw on
other classes of soldiers to fill the gaps in his ranks.
There was a heavy rain throughout the night of Sept. 14-15, and during
the 15th. The situation of the British forces underwent no essential
change. But it became more and more evident that the defensive
preparations made by the enemy were more extensive than was at first
apparent.
In order to counterbalance these measures were taken by us to economize
our troops and to secure protection from the hostile artillery fire,
which was very fierce, and our men continued to improve their own
intrenchments. The Germans bombarded our lines nearly all day, using
heavy guns, brought, no doubt, from before Maubeuge, as well as those
with the corps.
All their counter attacks, however, failed, although in some places they
were repeated six times. One made on the Fourth Guards Brigade was
repulsed with heavy slaughter.
An attempt to advance slightly, made by part of our line, was
unsuccessful as regards gain of ground, but led to the withdrawal of
part of the enemy's infantry and artillery.
Further counter attacks made during the night were beaten off. Rain came
on toward evening and continued intermittently until 9 A.M. on the 16th.
Besides adding to the discomfort of the soldiers holding the line, the
wet weather to some extent hampered the motor transport service, which
was also hindered by broken bridges.
On Wednesday, the 16th, there was little change in the situation
opposite the British. The efforts made by the enemy were less active
than on the previous day, although their bombardment continued
throughout the morning and evening. Our artillery fire drove the
defenders off one of the salients of their position, but they returned
in the evening. Forty prisoners were taken by the Third Division.
On Thursday, the 17th, the situation, still remained unchanged in its
essentials. The German heavy artillery fire was more active than on the
previous day. The only infantry attacks made by the enemy were on the
extreme right of our position, and, as had happened before, were
repulsed with heavy loss, chiefly, on this occasion, by our field
artillery.
In order to convey some idea of the nature of the fighting it may be
said that along the greater part of our front the Germans have been
driven back from the forward slopes on the north of the river. Their
infantry are holding strong lines of trenches among and along the edge
of the numerous woods which crown the slopes. These trenches are
elaborately constructed and cleverly concealed. In many places there are
wire entanglements and lengths of rabbit fencing.
Both woods and open are carefully aligned, so that they can be swept by
rifle fire and machine guns, which are invisible from our side of the
valley. The ground in front of the infantry trenches is also, as a rule,
under crossfire from the field artillery placed on neighboring features
and under high-angle fire from pieces placed well back behind the woods
on top of the plateau.
A feature of this action, as of the previous fighting, is the use by the
enemy of their numerous heavy howitzers, with which they are able to
direct long-range fire all over the valley and right across it. Upon
these they evidently place great reliance.
Where our men are holding the forked edges of the high ground on the
north side they are now strongly intrenched. They are well fed, and in
spite of the wet weather of the last week are cheerful and confident.
The bombardment by both sides has been very heavy, and on Sunday,
Monday and Tuesday was practically continuous. Nevertheless, in spite of
the general din caused by the reports of the immense number of heavy
guns in action along our front on Wednesday, the arrival of the French
force acting against the German right flank was at once announced on the
east of our front, some miles away, by the continuous roar of their
quick-firing artillery, with which their attack was opened.
So far as the British are concerned, the greater part of this week has
been passed in bombardment, in gaining ground by degrees, and in beating
back severe counter-attacks with heavy slaughter. Our casualties have
been severe, but it is probable that those of the enemy are heavier.
The rain has caused a great drop in the temperature, and there is more
than a distinct feeling of Autumn in the air, especially in the early
mornings.
On our right and left the French have been fighting fiercely and have
also been gradually gaining ground [Transcriber: original 'gronud']. One
village has already during this battle been captured and re-captured
twice by each side, and at the time of writing remains in the hands of
the Germans.
The fighting has been at close quarters and of the most desperate
nature, and the streets of the village are filled with dead on both
sides.
As an example of the spirit which is inspiring our allies, the following
translation of an ordre du jour, published on Sept. 9 after the battle
of Montmirail by the commander of the French Fifth Army, is given:
Soldiers: Upon the memorable fields of Montmirail, of Vauchamps, of
Champaubert, which a century ago witnessed the victories of our
ancestors over Blucher's Prussians, your vigorous offensive has
triumphed over the resistance of the Germans. Held on his flanks,
his centre broken, the enemy is now retreating toward the east and
north by forced marches. The most renowned army corps of old
Prussia, the contingents of Westphalia, of Hanover, of Brandenburg,
have retired in haste before you.
This first success is no more than the prelude. The enemy is
shaken, but not yet decisively beaten. You have still to undergo
severe hardships, to make long marches, to fight hard battles.
May the image of our country, soiled by barbarians, always remain
before your eyes. Never was it more necessary to sacrifice all for
her.
Saluting the heroes who have fallen in the fighting of the last few
days, my thoughts turn toward you, the victors in the next battle.
Forward, soldiers, for France!
FRANCHET D'ESPEREY,
General Commanding the Fifth Army.
Montmirail, Sept. 9, 1914.
The Germans are a formidable enemy, well trained, long prepared, and
brave. Their soldiers are carrying on the contest with skill and valor.
Nevertheless they are fighting to win anyhow, regardless of all the
rules of fair play, and there is evidence that they do not hesitate at
anything in order to gain victory.
A large number of the tales of their misbehaviors are exaggeration and
some of the stringent precautions they have taken to guard themselves
against the inhabitants of the areas traversed are possibly justifiable
measures of war. But, at the same time, it has been definitely
established that they have committed atrocities on many occasions and
they have been guilty of brutal conduct.
So many letters and statements of our wounded soldiers have been
published in our newspapers that the following epistle from a German
soldier of the Seventy-fourth Infantry Regiment, Tenth Corps, to his
wife may also be of interest:
"My Dear Wife: I have just been living through days that defy
imagination. I should never have thought that men could stand it. Not a
second has passed but my life has been in danger, and yet not a hair of
my head has been hurt.
"It was horrible! It was ghastly! but I have been saved for you and for
our happiness, and I take heart again, although I am still terribly
unnerved. God grant that I may see you again soon, and that this horror
may soon be over.
"None of us can do any more; human strength is at an end. I will try to
tell you about it. On the 5th of September the enemy were reported to be
taking up a position near St. Prix, southeast of Paris.
"The Tenth Corps, which had made an astonishingly rapid advance, of
course, was attacked on Sunday. Steep slopes led up to the heights,
which were held in considerable force.
"With our weak detachments of the Seventy-fourth and Ninety-first
regiments we reached the crest and came under a terrible artillery fire
that mowed us down. However, we entered St. Prix. Hardly had we done so
than we were met with shell fire and a violent fusillade from the
enemy's infantry.
"Our Colonel was badly wounded--he is the third we have had. Fourteen
men were killed around me. We got away in a lull without being hit.
"The 7th, 8th, and 9th of September we were constantly under shell and
shrapnel fire and suffered terrible losses. I was in a house which was
hit several times. The fear of death, of agony, which is in every man's
heart, and naturally so, is a terrible feeling.
"How often I have thought of you, my darling, and what I suffered in
that terrifying battle, which extended along a front of many miles near
Montmirail, you cannot possibly imagine.
"Our heavy artillery was being used for the siege of Maubeuge. We wanted
it badly, as the enemy had theirs in force and kept up a furious
bombardment. For four days I was under artillery fire. It was like hell,
but a thousand times worse.
"On the night of the 9th the order was given to retreat, as it would
have been madness to attempt to hold our position with our few men, and
we should have risked a terrible defeat the next day. The First and
Third Armies had not been able to attack with us, as we had advanced too
rapidly. Our morale was absolutely broken. In spite of unheard-of
sacrifices we had achieved nothing.
"I cannot understand how our army, after fighting three great battles
and being terribly weakened, was sent against a position which the enemy
had prepared for three weeks, but naturally I know nothing of the
intentions of our Chiefs; they say nothing has been lost.
"In a word, we retired toward Cormontreuil and Rheims by forced marches
by day and night. We hear that three armies are going to get into line,
intrench and rest, and then start afresh our victorious march on Paris.
It was not a defeat, only a strategic retreat. I have confidence in our
Chiefs that everything will be successful.
"Our First Battalion, which has fought with unparalleled bravery, is
reduced from 1,200 to 194 men. These numbers speak for themselves."
Among the minor happenings of interest is the following:
During a counter-attack by the German Fifty-third Regiment on positions
of the Northampton and Queen's Regiments on Thursday, the 17th, a force
of some 400 of the enemy were allowed to approach right up to the trench
occupied by a platoon of the former regiment, owing to the fact that
they had held up their hands and made gestures that were interpreted as
signs that they wished to surrender. When they were actually on the
parapet of the trench held, by the Northamptons they opened fire on our
men at point-blank range.
Unluckily for the enemy, however, flanking them and only some 400 yards
away, there happened to be a machine gun manned by a detachment of the
Queen's. This at once opened fire, cutting a lane through their mass,
and they fell back to their own trench with great loss. Shortly
afterward they were driven further back, with additional loss, by a
battalion of Guards which came up in support.
An incident, which occurred some little time ago during our retirement,
is also worthy of record. On Aug. 28, during the battle fought by the
French along the Oise between La Fere and Guise, one of the French
commanders desired to make an air reconnoissance. It was found, however,
that no observers were available.
Wishing to help our allies as much as possible a British officer
attached to this particular French army volunteered to go up with the
pilot to observe. He had never been in an aeroplane, but he made the
ascent and produced a valuable reconnoissance report.
Incidentally he had a duel in the air at an altitude of 6,000 feet with
the observer of a German Taube monoplane which approached. He fired
several shots and drove off the hostile aeroplane. His action was much
appreciated by the French.
In view of the many statements made in the press as to the use of
Zeppelins against us, it is interesting to note that the Royal Flying
Corps, who had been out on reconnoissance every day since their arrival
in France, have never seen a Zeppelin, though airships of a non-rigid
type have been seen on two occasions near Marne.
Late one evening two such were observed over the German forces. An
aeroplane was dispatched against them, but in the darkness our pilots
were uncertain of the airship's nationality and did not attack. It was
afterward made clear that they could not have been French.
A week later an officer, reconnoitring to the flank, saw an airship over
the German forces and opposite the French. It had no distinguishing mark
and was assumed to belong to the latter, though it is now known that it
also must have been a German craft.
The orders of the Royal Flying Corps are to attack Zeppelins at once,
and there is some disappointment at the absence of those targets.
The following special order has been issued today to the troops:
"Special Order of the Day,
By Field Marshal Sir John French,
G.C.B., G.C.V.O., K.C.M.G.,
Commander in Chief of the British Army in the Field.
"September 17, 1914.
"Once more I have to express my deep appreciation of the splendid
behavior of the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men of the
army under my command throughout the great battle of the Aisne,
which has been in progress since the evening of the 12th inst., and
the battle of the Marne, which lasted from the morning of the 6th
to the evening of the 10th and finally ended in the precipitate
flight of the enemy.
"When we were brought face to face with a position of extraordinary
strength, carefully intrenched and prepared for defense by an army
and staff which are thorough adepts in such work, throughout the
13th and 14th, that position was most gallantly attacked by the
British forces and the passage of the Aisne effected. This is the
third day the troops have been gallantly holding the position they
have gained against most desperate counter-attacks and the hail of
heavy artillery.
"I am unable to find adequately words in which to express the
admiration I feel for their magnificent conduct.
"The French armies on our right and left are making good progress,
and I feel sure that we have only to hold on with tenacity to the
ground we have won for a very short time longer when the Allies
will be again in full pursuit of a beaten enemy.
"The self-sacrificing devotion and splendid spirit of the British
army in France will carry all before it.
"J.D.P. FRENCH, Field Marshall,
"Commander in Chief of the British Army in the Field."
II.
*The Slow Fight on the Aisne.*
[Made Public Sept. 24.]
The enemy is still maintaining himself along the whole front, and, in
order to do so, is throwing into the fight detachments composed of units
from different formations, the active army, reserve, and Landwehr, as is
shown by the uniforms of the prisoners recently captured.
Our progress, although slow on account of the strength of the defensive
positions against which we are pressing, has in certain directions been
continuous; but the present battle may well last for some days more
before a decision is reached, since it now approximates somewhat to
siege warfare.
The Germans are making use of searchlights. This fact, coupled with
their great strength in heavy artillery, leads to the supposition that
they are employing material which may have been collected for the siege
of Paris.
The nature of the general situation after the operations of the 18th,
19th, and 20th cannot better be summarized than as expressed recently
by a neighboring French commander to his corps: "Having repulsed
repeated and violent counter-attacks made by the enemy, we have a
feeling that we have been victorious."
So far as the British are concerned, the course of events during these
three days can be described in a few words. During Friday, the 18th,
artillery fire was kept up intermittently by both sides during daylight.
At night the German centre attacked certain portions of our line,
supporting the advance of their infantry, as always, by a heavy
bombardment. But the strokes were not delivered with great vigor, and
ceased about 2 A.M. During the day's fighting an aircraft gun of the
Third Army Corps succeeded in bringing down a German aeroplane.
News also was received that a body of French cavalry had demolished part
of the railway to the north, so cutting, at least temporarily, one line
of communication which is of particular importance to the enemy.
On Saturday, the 19th, the bombardment was resumed by the Germans at an
early hour and continued intermittently under reply from our own guns.
Some of their infantry advanced from cover, apparently with the
intention of attacking, but on coming under fire they retired. Otherwise
the day was uneventful, except for the activity of the artillery, which
is a matter of normal routine rather than an event.
Another hostile aeroplane was brought down by us, and one of our
aviators succeeded in dropping several bombs over the German line, one
incendiary bomb falling with considerable effect on a transport park
near La Fere.
A buried store of the enemy's munitions of war was also found, not far
from the Aisne, ten wagon loads of live shell and two wagon loads of
cable being dug up. Traces were discovered of large quantities of stores
having been burned--all tending to show that as far back as the Aisne
the German retirement was hurried.
There was a strong wind during the day, accompanied by a driving rain.
This militated against the aerial reconnoissance.
On Sunday, the 20th, nothing of importance occurred until the afternoon,
when there was a break in the clouds and an interval of feeble sunshine,
which was hardly powerful enough to warm the soaking troops. The Germans
took advantage of this brief spell of fine weather to make several
counter-attacks against different points. These were all repulsed with
loss to the enemy, but the casualties incurred by us were by no means
light.
In one section of our firing line the occupants of the trenches were
under the impression that they heard a military band in the enemy's
lines just before the attack developed. It is now known that the German
infantry started their advance with bands playing.
The offensive against one or two points was renewed at dusk, with no
greater success. The brunt of the resistance has naturally fallen upon
the infantry. In spite of the fact that they have been drenched to the
skin for some days and their trenches have been deep in mud and water,
and in spite of the incessant night alarms and the almost continuous
bombardment to which they have been subjected, they have on every
occasion been ready for the enemy's infantry when the latter attempted
to assault, and they have beaten them back with great loss. Indeed, the
sight of the Pickelhauben [German spiked helmets] coming up has been a
positive relief after long, trying hours of inaction under shell fire.
The object of the great proportion of artillery the Germans employ is to
beat down the resistance of their enemy by concentrated and prolonged
fire, to shatter their nerves with high explosives, before the infantry
attack is launched. They seem to have relied on doing this with us, but
they have not done so, though it has taken them several costly
experiments to discover this fact.
From statements of prisoners it appears that they have been greatly
disappointed by the moral effect produced by their heavy guns, which,
despite the actual losses inflicted, has not been at all commensurate
with the colossal expenditure of ammunition, which has really been
wasted. By this it is not implied that their artillery fire is not good;
it is more than good--it is excellent. But the British soldier is a
difficult person to impress or depress, even by immense shells filled
with a high explosive which detonate with terrific violence and form
craters large enough to act as graves for five horses.
The German howitzer shells are from 8 to 9 inches in calibre, and on
impact they send up columns of greasy black smoke. On account of this
they are irreverently dubbed "coal boxes," "black Marias," or "Jack
Johnsons" by the soldiers. Men who take things in this spirit are, it
seems, likely to throw out the calculations based on the loss of morale
so carefully framed by the German military philosophers.
A considerable amount of information has been gleaned from prisoners. It
has been gathered that our bombardment on the 15th produced a great
impression. The opinion is also reported that our infantry make such
good use of ground that the German companies are decimated by our rifle
fire before the British soldier can be seen.
From an official diary captured by the First Army Corps it appears that
one of the German corps contains an extraordinary mixture of units. If
the composition of the other corps is similar, it may be assumed that
the present efficiency of the enemy's forces is in no way comparable
with what it was when the war commenced.
The losses in officers are noted as having been especially severe. A
brigade is stated to be commanded by a Major; some companies of food
guards by one-year volunteers; while after the battle of Montmirail one
regiment lost fifty-five out of sixty officers. The prisoners recently
captured appreciate the fact that the march on Paris has failed and that
their forces are retreating, but state that the object of this movement
is explained by the officers as being to withdraw into closer touch
with the supports, which have stayed too far in the rear.
The officers are also endeavoring to encourage the troops by telling
them that they will be at home by Christmas. A large number of the men
believe that they are beaten. Following is an extract from one document:
"With the English troops we have great difficulties. They have a queer
way of causing losses to the enemy. They make good trenches, in which
they wait patiently; they carefully measure the ranges for their rifle
fire, and they open a truly hellish fire on the unsuspecting cavalry.
This was the reason that we had such heavy losses.
"According to our officers, the English striking forces are exhausted;
the English people really never wanted war."
From another source: "The English are very brave and fight to the last
man. One of our companies has lost 130 men out of 240."
The following letter, which refers to the fighting on the Aisne, has
been printed and circulated to the troops:
LETTER FOUND ON GERMAN OFFICER OF SEVENTH RESERVE CORPS:
Cerny, South of Laon, Sept 14, 1914.
My Dear Parents: Our corps has the task of holding the heights
south of Cerny in all circumstances until the Fourteenth Corps on
our left flank can grip the enemy's flank. On our right are other
corps. We are fighting with the English Guards, Highlanders, and
Zouaves. The losses on both sides have been enormous. For the most
part this is due to the too brilliant French artillery.
The English are marvelously trained in making use of ground. One
never sees them, and one is constantly under fire. The French
airmen perform wonderful feats. We cannot get rid of them. As soon
as an airman has flown over us, ten minutes later we get their
shrapnel fire in our positions. We have little artillery in our
corps; without it we cannot get forward.
Three days ago our division took possession of these heights and
dug itself in. Two days ago, early in the morning, we were attacked
by an immensely superior English force, one brigade and two
battalions, and were turned out of our positions. The fellows took
five guns from us. It was a tremendous hand-to-hand fight.
How I escaped myself I am not clear. I then had to bring up
supports on foot. My horse was wounded, and the others were too
far in the rear. Then came up the Guards Jager Battalion, Fourth
Jager, Sixth Regiment, Reserve Regiment Thirteen, and Landwehr
Regiments Thirteen and Sixteen, and with the help of the artillery
we drove the fellows out of the position again. Our machine guns
did excellent work; the English fell in heaps.
In our battalion three Iron Crosses have been given, one to C.O.,
one to Capt. ----, and one to Surgeon ----. [Names probably
deleted.] Let us hope that we shall be the lucky ones next time.
During the first two days of the battle I had only one piece of
bread and no water. I spent the night in the rain without my
overcoat. The rest of my kit was on the horses which had been left
behind with the baggage and which cannot come up into the battle
because as soon as you put your nose up from behind cover the
bullets whistle.
War is terrible. We are all hoping that a decisive battle will end
the war, as our troops already have got round Paris. If we beat the
English the French resistance will soon be broken. Russia will be
very quickly dealt with; of this there is no doubt.
We received splendid help from the Austrian [Transcriber: original
'Austrain'] heavy artillery at Maubeuge. They bombarded Fort
Cerfontaine in such a way that there was not ten meters a parapet
which did not show enormous craters made by the shells. The armored
turrets were found upside down.
Yesterday evening, about 6, in the valley in which our reserves
stood there was such a terrible cannonade that we saw nothing of
the sky but a cloud of smoke. We had few casualties.
Recently a pilot and observer of the Royal Flying Corps were forced by a
breakage in their aeroplane to descend in the enemy's lines. The pilot
managed to pancake his machine down to earth, and the two escaped into
some thick under-growth in the woods.
The enemy came up and seized and smashed the machine, but did not search
for our men with much zeal. The latter lay hid till dark and then found
their way to the Aisne, across which they swam, reaching camp in safety,
but barefooted.
Numerous floating bridges have been thrown across the Aisne and some of
the pontoon bridges have been repaired under fire. On the 20th, Lieut.
[name deleted] of the Third Signal Corps, Royal Engineers, was
unfortunately drowned while attempting to swim across the river with a
cable in order to open up fresh telegraphic communication on the north
side.
Espionage is still carried on by the enemy to a considerable extent.
Recently the suspicions of some of the French troops were aroused by
coming across a farm from which the horses had been removed. After some
search they discovered a telephone which was connected by an underground
cable with the German lines, and the owner of the farm paid the penalty
in the usual way in war for his treachery.
After some cases of village fighting which occurred earlier in the war
it was reported by some of our officers that the Germans had attempted
to approach to close quarters by forcing prisoners to march in front of
them. The Germans have recently repeated the same trick on a larger
scale against the French, as is shown by the copy of an order printed
below. It is therein referred to as a ruse, but, if that term can be
accepted, a distinctly illegal ruse.
"During a recent night attack," the order reads, "the Germans drove a
column of French prisoners in front of them. This action is to be
brought to the notice of all our troops (1) in order to put them on
their guard against such a dastardly ruse; (2) in order that every
soldier may know how the Germans treat their prisoners. Our troops must
not forget if they allow themselves to be taken prisoners the Germans
will not fail to expose them to French bullets."
Further evidence has now been collected of the misuse of the white flag
and other signs of surrender. During an action on the 17th, owing to
this, one officer was shot. During recent fighting, also, some German
ambulance wagons advanced in order to collect the wounded. An order to
cease firing was consequently given to our guns, which were firing on
this particular section of ground. The German battery commanders at once
took advantage of the lull in the action to climb up their observation
ladders and on to a haystack to locate our guns, which soon afterward
came under a far more accurate fire than any to which they had been
subjected up to that time.
A British officer, who was captured by the Germans and has since
escaped, reports that while a prisoner he saw men who had been fighting
subsequently put on Red Cross brassards.
That irregular use of the protection afforded by the Geneva Convention
is not uncommon is confirmed by the fact that on one occasion men in the
uniform of combatant units have been captured wearing a Red Cross
brassard hastily slipped over the arm. The excuse given has been that
they had been detailed after the fight to look after the wounded.
It is reported by a cavalry officer that the driver of a motor car with
a machine gun mounted on it, which was captured, was wearing a Red
Cross.
Full details of the actual damage done to the cathedral at Rheims will
doubtless have been cabled home, so that no description of it is
necessary. The Germans bombarded the cathedral twice with their heavy
artillery.
One reason it caught alight so quickly was that on one side of it was
some scaffolding which had been erected for restoration work. Straw had
also been laid on the floor for the reception of the German wounded. It
is to the credit of the French that practically all the German wounded
were successfully extricated from the burning building.
There was no justification on military grounds for this act of
vandalism, which seems to have been caused by exasperation born of
failure--a sign of impotence rather than strength. It is noteworthy that
a well-known hotel not far from the cathedral, which was kept by a
German, was not touched.
III.
*Two September Days.*
[Made Public Sept. 28.]
For four days there has been a comparative lull all along our front.
This has been accompanied [Transcriber: original 'acompanied'] by a
spell of fine weather, though the nights have been much colder. One
cannot have everything, however, and one evil result of the sunshine
has been the release of flies, which were torpid during the wet days.
Advantage has been taken of the arrival of reinforcements to relieve by
fresh troops the men who have been on the firing line for some time.
Several units, therefore, have received their baptism of fire during the
week.
Since the last letter left headquarters evidence has been received which
points to the fact that during the counter attacks on the night of Sept.
20 German detachments of infantry fired into each other. This was the
result of an attempt to carry out the dangerous expedient of a
converging advance in the dark. Opposite one portion of our position
considerable massing of hostile forces was observed before dark. Some
hours later a furious fusillade [Transcriber: original 'fusilade'] was
heard in front of our line, though no bullets came over our trenches.
This narrative begins with Sept. 21 and covers only two days. There was
but little rain on Sept. 21 and the weather took a turn for the better,
which has been maintained. The action has been practically confined to
the artillery, our guns at one point shelling and driving the enemy, who
endeavored to construct a redoubt.
The Germans expended a large number of heavy shells in a long range
bombardment of the village of Missy (Department of the Aisne).
Reconnoitring parties sent out during the night of Sept. 21-22
discovered some deserted trenches. In them or in the woods over 100 dead
and wounded were picked up. A number of rifles, ammunition and equipment
were also found. There were other signs that portions of the enemy's
forces had withdrawn some distance.
The weather was also fine on Sept. 22 with less wind, and it was one of
the most uneventful days we have passed since we reached the Aisne, that
is, uneventful for the British. There was less artillery work on either
side, the Germans giving the village of Paissy (Aisne) a taste of the
"Jack Johnsons." The spot thus honored is not far from the ridge where
there has been some of the most severe close fighting in which we have
taken part. All over this No Man's Land, between the lines, bodies of
German infantrymen were still lying in heaps where they had fallen at
different times.
Espionage plays so large a part in the conduct of the war by the Germans
that it is difficult to avoid further reference to the subject. They
have evidently never forgotten the saying of Frederick the Great: "When
Marshall Soubise goes to war he is followed by a hundred cooks. When I
take the field I am preceded by a hundred spies." Indeed until about
twenty years ago there was a paragraph in their field service
regulations directing that the service of protection in the field, such
as outposts and advance guards, should always be supplemented by a
system of espionage. Although such instructions are no longer made
public the Germans, as is well known, still carry them into effect.
Apart from the more elaborate arrangements which were made in peace time
for obtaining information by paid agents some of the methods which are
being employed for the collection or conveyance of intelligence are as
follows:
Men in plain clothes signal the German lines from points in the hands of
the enemy by means of colored lights at nights and puffs of smoke from
chimneys in the day time. Pseudo laborers working in the fields between
the armies have been detected conveying information. Persons in plain
clothes have acted as advanced scouts to the German cavalry when
advancing.
German officers or soldiers in plain clothes or French or British
uniforms have remained in localities evacuated by the Germans in order
to furnish them with intelligence. One spy of this kind was found by our
troops hidden in a church tower. His presence was only discovered
through the erratic movements of the hands of the church clock, which he
was using to signal his friends by an improvised semaphore code. Had
this man not been seized it is probable he would have signalled the time
of arrival and the exact position of the headquarters staff of the force
and a high explosive shell would then have mysteriously dropped on the
building.
Women spies have also been caught. Secret agents have been found at rail
heads observing entrainments and detrainments. It is a simple matter for
spies to mix with refugees who are moving about to and from their homes,
and it is difficult for our troops, who speak neither French nor German,
to detect them. The French have also found it necessary to search
villages and casual wayfarers on the roads and to search for carrier
pigeons.
Among the precautions taken by us against spying is the following notice
printed in French, posted up:
"Motor cars and bicycles other than those; carrying soldiers in
uniform may not circulate on the roads. Inhabitants may not leave
the localities in which they reside between 6 P.M. and 6 A.M.
Inhabitants may not quit their homes after 8 P.M. No person may on
any pretext pass through the British lines without an authorization
countersigned by a British officer."
Events have moved so quietly for the last two months that anything
connected with the mobilization of the British expeditionary force is
now ancient history. Nevertheless, the following extract from a German
order is evidence of the mystification of the army and a tribute to the
value of the secrecy which was so well and so loyally maintained in
England at the time:
"Tenth Reserve Army Corps Headquarters,
"Mont St. Guibert, Aug. 20, 1914.
"Corps Order, Aug. 20.
"The French troops in front of the Tenth Army Corps have retreated
south across the Sambre. Part of the Belgium army has been
withdrawn from Antwerp. It is reported that an English army has
disembarked at Calais and Boulogne, en route to Brussels."
IV.
*Fighting in the Air.*
[Made Public Sept. 29.]
Wednesday, Sept. 23, was a perfect Autumn day. It passed without
incident as regards major operations. Although the enemy concentrated
their heavy artillery upon the, plateau near Passy, nothing more than
inconvenience was caused.
The welcome absence of wind gave our airmen a chance of which they took
full advantage by gathering much information. Unfortunately, one of our
aviators, who had been particularly active in annoying the enemy by
dropping bombs, was wounded in a duel in the air.
Being alone on a single-seated monoplane, he was not able to use his
rifle, and while circling above a German two-seated machine in an
endeavor to get within pistol shot he was hit by the observer of the
German machine, who was armed with a rifle. He managed to fly back over
our lines, and by great good luck he descended close to a motor
ambulance, which at once conveyed him to a hospital.
Against this may be set off the fact that another of our flyers exploded
a bomb among some led artillery horses, killing several and stampeding
the others.
On Thursday, Sept. 21, the fine weather continued, as did the lull in
the action, the heavy German shells falling mostly near Pargnan, twelve
miles south-southeast of Laon.
On both Wednesday and Thursday the weather was so fine that many flights
were made by the aviators, French, British, and German. These produced a
corresponding activity among the anti-aircraft guns.
So still and clear was the atmosphere toward evening on Wednesday and
during the whole of Thursday that to those not especially on the lookout
the presence of aeroplanes high up above them was first made known by
the bursting of the projectiles aimed at them. The puffs of smoke from
the detonation shell hung in the air for minutes on end, like balls of
fleece cotton, before they slowly expanded and were dissipated.
From the places mentioned as being the chief targets for the enemy's
heavy howitzers, it will be seen that the Germans are not inclined to
concentrate their fire systematically upon definite areas in which
their aviators think they have located our guns, or upon villages where
it is imagined our troops may be billeted. The result will be to give
work to local builders.
The growing resemblance of this battle to siege warfare has already been
pointed out. The fact that the later actions of the Russo-Japanese war
assumed a similar character was thought by many to have been due to
exceptional causes, such as the narrowness of the theatre of operations
between the Chinese frontier on the west and the mountainous country of
Northern Korea on the east; the lack of roads, which limited the extent
of ground over which it was possible for the rival armies to manoeuvre,
and the fact that both forces were tied to one line of railroad.
Such factors are not exerting any influence on the present battle.
Nevertheless, a similar situation has been produced, owing firstly to
the immense power of resistance possessed by an army which is amply
equipped with heavy artillery and has sufficient time to fortify itself,
and, secondly, to the vast size of the forces engaged, which at the
present time stretch more than half way across France.
The extent of the country covered is so great as to render slow any
efforts to manoeuvre and march around to a flank in order to escape the
costly expedient of a frontal attack against heavily fortified
positions.
To state that the methods of attack must approximate more closely to
those of siege warfare the greater the resemblance of the defenses to
those of a fortress is a platitude, but it is one which will bear
repetition if it in any way assists to make the present situation clear.
There is no doubt that the position on the Aisne was not hastily
selected by the German Staff after the retreat had begun. From the
choice of ground, and the care with which the fields of fire had been
arranged to cover all possible avenues of approach, and from the amount
of work already carried out, it is clear that the contingency of having
to act on the defensive was not overlooked when the details of the
strategically offensive campaign were arranged.
V.
*Technique of This Warfare.*
[Made Public Oct. 9.]
Wednesday, Sept. 30, merely marked another day's progress in the gradual
development of the situation, and was distinguished by no activity
beyond slight attacks by the enemy. There was also artillery fire at
intervals. One of our airmen succeeded in dropping nine bombs, some of
which fell on the enemy's rolling stock collected on the railway near
Laon. Some of the enemy's front trenches were found empty at night; but
nothing much can be deduced from this fact, for they are frequently
evacuated in this way, no doubt to prevent the men in the back lines
firing on their comrades in front of them.
Thursday, Oct. 1, was a most perfect Autumn day, and the most peaceful
that there has been since the two forces engaged on the Aisne. There was
only desultory gunfire as targets offered. During the night the enemy
made a few new trenches. A French aviator dropped one bomb on a railway
station and three bombs on troops massed near it.
The weather on Friday, the 2d, was very misty in the early hours, and it
continued hazy until the late afternoon, becoming thicker again at
night. The Germans were driven out of a mill which they had occupied as
an advanced post, their guns and machine guns which supported it being
knocked out one by one by well-directed artillery fire from a flank.
During the night they made the usual two attacks on the customary spot
in our lines, and as on previous occasions were repulsed. Two of their
trenches were captured and filled in. Our loss was six men wounded.
Up to Sept, 21 the air mileage made by our airmen since the beginning
of the war amounted to 87,000 miles, an average of 2,000 miles per day,
the total equaling nearly four times the circuit of the world. The total
time spent in the air was 1,400 hours.
There are many points connected with the fighting methods of either side
that may be of interest. The following description was given by a
battalion commander who has been at the front since the commencement of
hostilities and has fought both in the open and behind intrenchments. It
must, however, be borne in mind that it only represents the experiences
of a particular unit. It deals with the tactics of the enemy's infantry:
The important points to watch are the heads of valleys and ravines,
woods--especially those on the sides of hollow ground--and all dead
ground to the front and flanks. The German officers are skilled in
leading troops forward under cover, in closed bodies, but once the
latter are deployed and there is no longer direct personal
leadership the men will not face heavy fire. Sometimes the advance
is made in a series of lines, with the men well opened out at five
or six paces interval; at other times it is made in a line, with
the men almost shoulder to shoulder, followed in all cases by
supports in close formation. The latter either waver when the front
line is checked, or crowd on to it, moving forward under the orders
of their officers, and the mass forms a magnificent target.
Prisoners have described the fire of our troops as pinning them to
the ground, and this is certainly borne out by their action.
When the Germans are not heavily intrenched no great losses are
incurred in advancing against them by the methods in which the
British Army has been instructed. For instance, in one attack over
fairly open ground against about an equal force of infantry
sheltered in a sunken road and in ditches we lost only 10 killed
and 60 wounded, while over 400 of the enemy surrendered after about
50 had been killed. Each side had the support of a battery, but the
fight for superiority from infantry fire took place at about 700
yards and lasted only half an hour. When the Germans were wavering
some of them put up the white flag, but others went on firing, and
our men continued to do the same. Eventually a large number of
white flags, improvised from handkerchiefs, pieces of shirt, white
biscuit bags, &c., were exhibited all along the line, and many men
hoisted their helmets on their rifles.
In the fighting behind intrenchments the Germans endeavor to gain
ground by making advances in line at dusk or just before dawn, and
then digging themselves in, in the hope, no doubt, that they may
eventually get so near as to be able, as at manoeuvres, to reach
the hostile trenches in a single rush. They have never succeeded in
doing this against us. If by creeping up in dead ground they do
succeed in gaining ground by night, they are easily driven back by
fire in the morning. A few of the braver men sometimes remain
behind, at ranges of even 300 or 400 yards, and endeavor to inflict
losses by sniping. Sharpshooters, also, are often noticed in trees
or wriggling about until they get good cover. The remedy is to take
the initiative and detail men to deal with the enemy's
sharpshooters.
A few night attacks have been made against us. Before one of them a
party crept up close to the British line and set alight a hayrick,
so that it should form a beacon on which the centre of the
attacking line marched. Generally, however, in the night and early
morning attacks, groups of forty or fifty men have come on, the
groups sometimes widely separated from one another and making every
endeavor to obtain any advantage from cover. Light balls and
searchlights have on some occasions been used. Latterly the attacks
have become more and more half-hearted. Against us the enemy has
never closed with the bayonet. The German trenches I have seen were
deep enough to shelter a man when firing standing, and had a step
down in rear for the supports to sit in.
As regards our own men, there was at first considerable reluctance
to intrench, as has always been the case at the commencement of a
war. Now, however, having bought experience dearly, their defenses
are such that they can defy the German artillery fire.
VI.
*Becomes an Artillery Duel*.
[Made Public Oct. 10.]
Comparative calm on our front has continued through the fine and
considerably warmer weather. The last six days have been slightly misty
with clouds hanging low, so that conditions have not been very favorable
for aerial reconnoissance.
In regard to the latter, it is astonishing how quickly the habit is
acquired, even by those who are not aviators, of thinking of the
weather in terms of its suitability for flying. There has been a bright
moon also, which has militated against night attacks.
On Saturday, Oct. 3, practically nothing happened, except that each side
shelled the other.
Toward evening on Sunday, Oct. 4, there was a similar absence of
activity. Opposite one portion of our line the enemy's bands played
patriotic airs, and the audiences which gathered gave a chance to our
waiting howitzers.
Not only do their regimental bands perform occasionally, but with their
proverbial fondness for music the Germans have in some places
gramophones [Transcriber: original 'gramaphones'] in their trenches.
On Monday, the 5th, there were three separate duels in the air between
French and German aviators, one of which was visible from our trenches.
Two of the struggles were, so far as could be seen, indecisive, but in
the third the French airmen were victorious, and brought down their
opponents, both of whom were killed by machine gun fire. The observer
was so burned as to be unrecognizable.
During the day some men of the Landwehr were taken prisoners by us. They
were in very poor condition and wept copiously when captured. One, on
being asked what he was crying for, explained that though they had been
advised to surrender to the English, they believed that they would be
shot.
On that evening our airmen had an unusual amount of attention paid to
them, both by the German aviators and their artillery of every
description.
One of our infantry patrols discovered 150 dead Germans in a wood, one
and a half miles from our front. We sent a party out to bury them, but
it was fired upon and had to withdraw.
On Tuesday, the 6th, the enemy's guns were active in the afternoon. It
is believed that the bombardment was due to anger because two of our
howitzer shells had detonated right in one of the enemy's trenches,
which was full of men. Three horses were killed by the German fire.
Wednesday, the 7th, was uneventful.
On Thursday, the 8th, the shelling by the enemy of a locality on our
front, which has so far been the scene of their greatest efforts, was
again continuous. Opposite one or two points the Germans have attempted
to gain ground by sapping in some places with the view of secretly
pushing forward machine guns in advance of their trenches, so that they
can suddenly sweep with crossfire the space between our line and theirs,
and so take any advance of ours on the flank.
It is reported that at one point where the French were much annoyed by
the fire of a German machine gun, which was otherwise inaccessible, they
drove a mine gallery, 50 meters (about 164 feet) long, up to and under
the emplacement, and blew up the gun. The man who drove the gallery
belonged to a corps which was recruited in one of the coal-mining
districts of France.
The German machine guns are mounted on low sledges, and are
inconspicuous and evidently easily moved.
The fighting now consists mostly of shelling by the artillery of both
sides and in front a line of fire from the machine guns as an occasional
target offers. Our Maxims have been doing excellent work and have proved
most efficient weapons for the sort of fighting in which we are now
engaged.
At times there are so many outbursts of their fire in different
directions that it is possible for an expert to tell by comparison which
of the guns have their springs adjusted and are well tuned up for the
day. The amount of practice that our officers are now getting in the use
of this weapon is proving most valuable in teaching them how to maintain
it at concert pitch as an instrument and how to derive the best tactical
results from its employment.
Against us the Germans are not now expending so much gun ammunition as
they have been, but they continue to fire at insignificant targets. They
have the habit of suddenly dropping heavy shells without warning in
localities of villages far behind our front line, possibly on the chance
of catching some of our troops in bivouac or billets. They also fire a
few rounds at night.
The artillery has up to now played so great a part in the war that a few
general remarks descriptive of the methods of its employment by the
enemy are justified. Their field artillery armament consists of
15-pounder quick-fire guns for horse and field batteries of divisions
and there are, in addition, with each corps three to six batteries of
4.3-inch field howitzers and about two batteries of 5.9-inch howitzers.
With an army there are some 8.2-inch heavy howitzers.
The accuracy of their fire is apt at first to cause some alarm, more
especially as the guns are usually well concealed and the position and
the direction from which the fire is proceeding are difficult of
detection. But accurate as is their shooting, the German gunners have on
the whole had little luck, and during the past three weeks an
astonishingly small proportion of the number of shells fired by them
have been really effective.
Quite the most striking feature of their handling of the artillery is
the speed with which they concentrate the fire upon any selected point.
They dispense to a great extent with the method of ranging known by us
as bracketing, especially when acting on the defensive, and direct their
fire by means of squared maps and the telephone. Thus, when the target
is found, its position on the map is telephoned to such batteries as it
is desired to employ against that particular square.
In addition to the guns employed to fire on the targets as they are
picked up, others are told off to watch particular roads, and to deal
with any of the enemy using them.
Both for the location of targets and the communication of the effect of
the fire, reliance is placed on observation from aeroplanes and balloons
and on information supplied by special observers and secret agents, who
are sent out ahead or left behind in the enemy's lines to communicate by
telephone or signal. These observers have been found in haystacks,
barns, and other buildings well in advance of the German lines.
Balloons of the so-called sausage pattern remain up in the air for long
periods for the purpose of discovering targets, and until our aviators
made their influence felt by chasing all hostile aeroplanes on sight the
latter were continually hovering over our troops in order to register
their positions and to note where the headquarters, reserves, gun teams,
&c., were located.
If suitable targets are discovered the airman drops a smoke ball
directly over it or lets fall some strips of tinsel, which glitter in
the sun as they slowly descend to the earth. The range to the target is
apparently ascertained by those near the guns by a large telemeter, or
other range finder, which is kept trained on the aeroplane, so that when
the signal is made the distance to the target vertically below is at
once obtained. A few rounds are then fired, and the result is signalled
back by the aviator according to some prearranged code.
VII.
*A Fight in the Clouds.*
[Dated Oct. 13.]
From Friday the 9th of October until Monday the 12th so little occurred
that a narrative of the events can be given in a few words. There has
been the usual sporadic shelling of our trenches which has resulted in
but little harm, so well dug in are our men, and on the night of the
10th the Germans made yet a fresh assault, supported by artillery fire,
against the point which has all along attracted most of their attention.
The attempt was again a costly failure toward which our guns were able
to contribute with great effect.
Details have been received of an exciting encounter in midair. One of
our aviators on a fast scouting monoplane sighted a hostile machine. He
had two rifles, fixed one on either side of his engines, and at once
gave chase, but lost sight of his opponent among the clouds. Soon,
however, another machine hove into view which turned out to be a German
Otto biplane, a type of machine which is not nearly so fast as our
scouts. Our officer once again started a pursuit. He knew that owing to
the position of the propeller of the hostile machine he could not be
fired at when astern of his opponent. At sixty yards range he fired one
rifle without apparent result. Then as his pace was carrying him ahead
of his quarry he turned round, and, again coming to about the same
distance behind, emptied his magazine at the German.
The latter began at once to descend as if either he or his machine were
hit, and shutting off his engine and volplaning to free his hands, the
pursuer recharged his magazine. Unfortunately it jammed, but he managed
to insert four cartridges and to fire them at his descending opponent,
who disappeared into a cloud bank with dramatic suddenness. When the
British officer emerged below the clouds he could see no sign of the
other. He, therefore, climbed to an altitude of some 7,000 feet and came
to the conclusion that the German must have come to earth in the French
lines.
The French airmen, too, have been very successful during the last three
days, having dropped several bombs among the German cavalry and caused
considerable loss and disorder, and having by similar means silenced a
battery of field howitzers.
The German anti-aircraft guns recently have been unusually active. From
their rate of fire they seem to be nearly automatic, but so far they
have not had much effect in reducing the air reconnoissances carried out
by us.
A striking feature of our line--to use the conventional term which so
seldom expresses accurately the position taken up by an army--is that it
consists really of a series of trenches not all placed alongside each
other, but some more advanced than others, and many facing in different
directions. At one place they run east and west along one side of a
valley. At another almost north and south up some subsidiary valley.
Here they line the edge of woods, and there they are on the reverse
slope of a hill, or possibly along a sunken road, and at different
points both the German and the British trenches jut out like
promontories into what might be regarded as the opponents' territory.
Though both sides have moved forward at certain points, and withdrawn at
others, no very important change has been effected in their
dispositions, in spite of the enemy's repeated counter attacks. These
have been directed principally against one portion of the position won
by us, but in spite of the lavish expenditure of life they have not so
far succeeded in driving us back.
The situation of the works in the German front line as a whole has been
a matter of deliberate selection, for they have had the advantage of
previous reconnaissance, being first in the field.
Behind the front they now have several lines prepared for a step-by-step
defense. Another point which might cause astonishment to a visitor to
our intrenchments is the evident indifference displayed to the provision
of an extended field of frontal rifle fire, which is generally accepted
as being one of the great requirements of a defensive position. It is
still desirable, if it can be obtained without the usually accompanying
drawback of exposure to the direct fire of hostile artillery, but
experience has shown that a short field of fire is sufficient to beat
back the infantry assaults of the enemy, and by giving up direct fire at
long or medium ranges and placing our trenches on the reverse slope of a
hill or behind the crest, it is in many places possible to gain shelter
from the frontal fire of the German guns, for the men are well trained
in musketry and under good fire control, and the dead ground beyond the
short range from their position has comparatively small terrors.
Many of the front trenches of the Germans equally lack a distant field
of fire, but if lost they would be rendered untenable by us by the fact
that they would be exposed to a fire from the German guns in the rear
and to cross-rifle fire from neighboring works.
The extent to which cross-fire of all kinds is employed is also
remarkable. Many localities and areas along the Aisne are not swept from
the works directly in front of them, but are rendered untenable by
rifle fire from neighboring features or by that of guns that are out of
sight. So much is this the case that among these hills and valleys it is
a difficult matter for troops to find out whence they are being shot at.
There is a perpetual triangular duel. A's infantry can see nothing to
shoot at, but are under fire from B's guns. The action of B's guns then
brings upon them the attention of some of A's artillery waiting for a
target, the latter being in their turn assailed by other batteries. And
so it goes on. In a wooded country in spite of aeroplanes and balloons
smokeless powder has made the localization and identification of targets
a matter of supreme difficulty.
VIII.
*The Men in the Trenches.*
[Dated Oct. 13.]
On the firing line the men sleep and obtain shelter in dug-outs they
have hollowed or cut under the sides of the trenches. These refuges are
raised slightly above the bottom of the trench, so as to remain dry in
wet weather. The floor of the trench also is sloped for purposes of
draining. Some of the trenches are provided with overhead cover which
gives protection from the weather as well as from shrapnel balls and
splinters of shells. Considerable ingenuity has been exercised by the
men in naming these shelters. Among the favorite designations are the
"Hotel Cecil," the "Ritz Hotel," the "Billet-Doux Hotel," and the "Rue
Dormir."
On the road barricades also are to be found boards bearing this notice:
"This way to the Prussians."
Obstacles of every kind abound, and at night each side can hear the
enemy driving pickets for entanglements, digging _trous-de-loup_, or
working forward by sapping. In some places obstacles have been
constructed by both sides so close together that some wag suggested
that each side provide working parties to perform this fatigue duty
alternately, inasmuch as the work of the enemy is now almost
indistinguishable from ours, and serves the same purpose.
Quarries and caves, to which allusion already has been made, provide
ample accommodation for whole battalions, and most comfortable are these
shelters which have been constructed in them. The northern slopes of the
Aisne Valley fortunately are very steep, and this to a great extent
protects us from the enemy's shells, many of which pass harmlessly over
our heads, to burst in the meadows along the river bank.
At all points subject to shell fire access to the firing line from
behind is provided by communication trenches. These are now so good that
it is possible to cross in safety a fire-swept zone to the advance
trenches from billets in villages, bivouacs in quarries, or other places
where the headquarters of units happen to be.
It already has been mentioned that according to information obtained
from the enemy fifteen Germans were killed by a bomb dropped upon the
ammunition wagon of a cavalry column. It was thought at the time that
this might have been the work of one of our airmen, who reported that he
had dropped a hand grenade on this convoy, and had then got a bird's-eye
view of the finest display of fireworks he had ever seen. From
corroborative evidence it now appears that this was the case; that the
grenade thrown by him probably was the cause of the destruction of a
small convoy carrying field-gun and howitzer ammunition, which now has
been found a total wreck.
Along the road lie fourteen motor lorries, their iron skeletons twisted
and broken. Everything inflammable has been burned, as have the stripped
trees--some with split trunks--on either side of the road. Of the
drivers, nothing remains except tattered boots and charred scraps of
clothing, while the ground within a radius of fifty yards of the wagons
is littered with pieces of iron, split brass cartridge cases, which have
exploded, and some fixed-gun ammunition with live shells.
If it were possible to reconstruct this incident, if it was, in fact,
brought about as supposed, the grenade from the aeroplane must have
detonated on the leading lorry, on one side of the road, and caused the
cartridges carried by it to explode. Three vehicles immediately in the
rear must then have been set on fire, with a similar result. Behind
these are groups of four and two vehicles so jammed together as to
suggest that they must have collided in desperate attempts to stop. On
the other side of the road, almost level with the leading wagon, are
found more vehicles, which probably were fired by the explosion of the
first.
If this appalling destruction was due to one hand grenade, it is an
illustration of the potentialities of a small amount of high explosive
detonated in the right spot, while the nature of the place where the
disaster occurred, a narrow forest road between high trees, is a
testimony to the skill of the airmen.
It is only fair to add that some French newspapers claim this damage to
the enemy was caused by the action of a detachment of their dragoons.
IX.
*1,100 Dead in a Single Trench.*
[Official Summary, Dated Oct. 27.]
The Official Bureau makes public today the story of an eye-witness,
supplementing the account issued on Oct. 24, and bringing the story of
the general course of operations in France up to Oct. 20. The arrival of
reinforcements, it says, enabled the British troops to assist in the
extension of the Allies' line where the Germans advanced from the
northeast and east, holding a front extending from Mont Descats, about
ten miles northeast of Hazebrouck, through Meteren, five miles south of
that point, and thence to Estaires, thirteen miles west of Lille, on the
River Lys. The statement continues:
"South of the Lys the German line extended to three miles east of
Bethune to Vermelles. The Allies encountered resistance all along the
line on the 12th and 13th, when the enemy's right fell back hastily.
Bailleul, seventeen miles northwest by west of Lille, which had been
occupied by the foe for eight days, was abandoned without a shot being
fired.
[Illustration: GEN. VON BUeLOW
Commanding One of the German Armies in the West
(_Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the Berlin
Photographic Co., N.Y._)]
[Illustration: CROWN PRINCE RUPPRECHT OF BAVARIA
(_Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the Berlin
Photographic Co., N.Y._)]
"On the 14th our left wing advanced, driving the enemy back, and on the
night of the 15th we were in possession of all the country on the left
bank of the Lys to a point five miles below Armentieres. The enemy
retired from that town on the 16th, and the river line, to within a
short distance of Frelinghien, fell into our hands.
"The state of the crossings over the Lys indicated that no organized
scheme of defense had been executed, some of the bridges being in a
state of repair, others merely barricaded, while one was not even
defended or broken.
"The resistance offered to our advance on the 15th was of a most
determined character. The fighting consisted of fiercely contested
encounters, infantry attacks on the villages being unavailing until our
howitzers reduced the houses to ruins. Other villages were taken and
retaken three times before they were finally secured.
"The French cavalry here gave welcome support, and on the evening of the
16th the resistance was overcome, the enemy retiring five miles to the
eastward."
Describing an incident of the fighting on this night, the narrative says
that the important crossing of the Lys at Warneton was strongly held by
the Germans with a barricade loopholed at the bottom to enable the men
to fire while lying down.
"Our cavalry, with the artillery, blew the barricade to pieces and
scattered the defenders," the narrative continues. "Advancing
three-quarters of a mile our troops reached the square, when one of the
buildings appeared to leap skyward. A sheet of flame and a shower of
star shells at the same time made the place as light as day and enabled
the enemy, ensconced in surrounding houses, to pour a devastating fire
from rifles and machine guns. Our cavalry extricated themselves with the
loss of one officer wounded and nine men killed and wounded, but a party
of volunteers went back and carried off their wounded comrades from the
inferno.
"During the 17th, 18th, and 19th of October our right encountered strong
opposition from the enemy about La Bassee, where they had established
themselves behind embankments. On the centre and the left we made better
progress, although the Germans were everywhere intrenched, and, in spite
of the bombardment, held some villages on the Lys. At the close of each
day a night counter stroke was delivered against one or another part of
our line, but they were all repulsed.
"Tuesday, Oct. 20, a determined but unsuccessful attack was made against
virtually the whole of our line. At one point where one of our brigades
made a counter attack 1,100 German dead were found in a trench and forty
prisoners were taken."
The narrative points out that the advance of the Allies has been
hindered by the weather and the nature of the ground, together with the
impossibility of knowing beforehand the reception that advance
detachments were likely to meet in approaching any village or town. "One
place may be evacuated hastily as untenable," the recital continues,
"while another in the same general line will continue to resist for a
considerable time. In some villages the inhabitants meet our cyclists
with kisses, while at the next one the roads will, in all probability,
have trenches cut across them and blocked with barricades and machine
guns. Under these circumstances an incautious advance is severely
punished, and it is impossible for large bodies of troops to push on
until the front has been thoroughly reconnoitred. This work requires the
highest qualities from our cavalry, our cyclists, and our advanced
guards.
Armored motor cars equipped with machine guns are now playing a part in
the war, and have been most successful in dealing with small parties of
German mounted troops. In their employment our gallant allies, the
Belgians, who are now fighting with us and acquitting themselves nobly,
have shown themselves to be experts. They appear to regard Uhlan hunting
as a form of sport. The crews display the utmost dash and skill in this
form of warfare, often going out several miles ahead of their own
advanced troops and seldom failing to return loaded with spoils in the
shape of lancers' caps, busbies, helmets, lances, rifles, and other
trophies, which they distribute as souvenirs to the crowds in the market
places of the frontier towns.
Although the struggle in the northern area naturally attracts more
attention than the one in the Aisne, the fighting in this region still
continues. Although there has been no alteration in the general
situation, the enemy has made certain changes in the positions of his
heavy artillery, with the result that one or two places which formerly
were safe are now subject to bombardment, while others which were
approachable only at night or by crawling on hands and knees now serve
as recreation grounds. At one point even a marquee tent has been
erected.
A story from this quarter illustrates a new use for the craters made by
the explosions of the "Black Marias," the name given by the men to the
projectiles of the big German howitzers. An officer on patrol stumbled
in the dark on the German trenches. He turned and made for the British
lines, but the fire directed at him was so heavy that he had to throw
himself on the ground and crawl. There was no cover at hand, and his
chances looked desperate, when he saw close by an enormous hole in the
ground made by one of these large shells. Into this he scrambled and
remained there for a night and a day. When night again came he succeeded
in reaching our lines in safety.
Official casualty lists of recent date which have been captured show
that the losses of the Germans continue to be heavy. One single list
shows that a company of German infantry had 139 men killed and wounded,
or more than half of its war establishment. Other companies suffered
almost as heavily. It further appears that the number of men reported
missing--that is, those who have fallen into the hands of the enemy or
who have become marauders--is much greater in the reserve battalions
than in the first line units. This is evidence of the inferior quality
of some of the reserves now being brought up to reinforce the enemy
field army, and it is all the more encouraging, since every day adds to
our first line strength.
The arrival of the Indian contingents caused every one to realize that
while the enemy was filling his depleted ranks with immature levies, we
have large reserves of perfectly fresh and thoroughly trained troops to
draw upon.
X.
*Nature of Fighting Changes.*
[Dated Oct. 26.]
Before the narrative [Transcriber: original 'narative'] of the progress
of the fighting near the Franco-Belgian frontier subsequent to Oct. 20
is continued a brief description will be given of the movement of a
certain fraction of our troops from its former line facing north, on the
east of Paris, to its present position facing east, in the northwest
corner of France, by which a portion of the British Army has been
enabled to join hands with the incoming and growing stream of
reinforcements.
This is now an accomplished fact, as is generally known, and can
therefore be explained in some detail without detriment. Mention will
also be made of the gradual development up to Oct. 20 in the nature of
the operations in this quarter of the theatre of war, which has recently
come into such prominence.
In its broad lines the transfer of strength by one combatant during the
course of a great battle which has just been accomplished is somewhat
remarkable. It can best be compared with the action of the Japanese
during the battle of Mukden, when Gen. Oku withdrew a portion of his
force from his front, moved it northward behind the line, and threw it
into the fight again near the extreme left of the Japanese armies.
In general direction, though not in scope or possible results, owing to
the coast line being reached by the Allies, the parallel [Transcriber:
original 'parellel'] is complete. The Japanese force concerned, however,
was much smaller than ours and the distance covered by it was less than
that from the Aisne to the Franco-Belgian frontier. Gen. Oku's troops,
moreover, marched, whereas ours were moved by march, rail, and motor.
What was implied in the actual withdrawal from contact with the enemy
along the Aisne will be appreciated when the conditions under which we
were then situated are recalled.
In places the two lines were not one hundred yards apart, and for us no
movement was possible during daylight. In some of the trenches which
were under enfilade fire our men had to sit all day long close under the
traverses--as are called those mounds of earth which stretch like
partitions at intervals across a trench so as to give protection from
lateral fire. Even where there was cover, such as that afforded by
depressions or sunken roads, on the hillside below and behind our firing
line, any attempt to cross the intervening space was met by fierce
bursts of machine gun and shell fire.
The men in the firing line were on duty for twenty-four hours at a time,
and brought rations and water with them when they came on duty, for none
could be sent up to them during the day. Even the wounded could not be
removed until dark.
The preliminary retirement of the units was therefore carried out
gradually, under cover of darkness. That the Germans only once opened
fire on them while so engaged was due to the care with which the
operation was conducted, and also, probably, to the fact that the enemy
were so accustomed to the recurrence of the sounds made by the reliefs
of the men in the firing line and by the movement of the supply trains
below that they were misled as to what was actually taking place.
What the operation amounted to on our part was the evacuation of the
trenches, under carefully made arrangements with the French who had to
take our place in the trenches; the retirement to the river below--in
many cases down a steep slope; the crossing of the river over the noisy
plank roadways of floating or repaired bridges, which were mostly
commanded by the enemy's guns--and the climb up to the top of the
plateau on the south side.
The rest of the move was a complicated feat of transportation which cut
across some of the lines of communication of our allies; but it requires
no description here. In spite of the various difficulties, the whole
strategic operation of transferring the large number of troops from the
Aisne was carried out without loss and practically without a hitch.
As regards the change in the nature of the fighting in which we have
recently been engaged, it has already been pointed out that the
operations had up till then been of a preparatory nature and that the
Germans were obviously seeking to delay us by advanced troops while
heavier forces were being got ready and brought up to the scene of
action. It was known that they were raising a new army, consisting of
corps formed of Ersatz, (supernumerary reserves), volunteers, and other
material which had not yet been drawn upon, and that part of it would in
all probability be sent to the western theatre, either to cover the
troops laying siege to Antwerp, in case that place should hold out, or,
in the event of the capture of the fortress, to act in conjunction with
the besieging force in a violent offensive movement toward the coast.
After the fall of Antwerp and the release of the besieging troops there
was a gradual increase in the strength of the opposition met with by us.
The resistance of the detachments--which beyond the right extreme of the
German fortified line near Bethune a fortnight ago consisted almost
entirely of cavalry--grew more and more determined as more infantry and
guns came into the front line, until Tuesday, Oct. 20, when the arrival
opposite us of a large portion of the new formations and a considerable
number of heavy guns enabled the enemy to assume the offensive
practically against the whole of our line at the same time that they
attacked the Belgians between us and the coast.
The operations then really assumed a fresh complexion.
Since that date, up to the 25th, apart from the operations on either
side of us, there has been plenty of action to chronicle on our
immediate front, where some of the heaviest fighting in which we have
yet been engaged has taken place, resulting in immense loss to the
Germans.
On Wednesday, the 21st, the new German formations again pressed forward
in force vigorously all along our line. On our right, south of the Lys,
an attack on Violaines was repulsed with loss to the assailants.
On the other hand, we were driven from some ground close by, to the
north, but regained it by a counter attack.
Still further north the Germans gained and retained some points.
Their total casualties to the southeast of Armentieres are estimated at
over 6,000.
On the north of the Lys, in our centre, a fiercely contested action took
place near La Gheir, which village was captured in the morning by the
enemy and then retaken by us. In this direction the German casualties
were also extremely heavy. They came on with the greatest bravery, in
swarms, only to be swept away by our fire. One battalion of their 104th
Regiment was practically wiped out, some 400 dead being picked up by us
in our lines alone.
Incidentally, by our counter attack, we took 130 prisoners and released
some forty of our own men who had been surrounded and captured,
including a subaltern of artillery who had been cut off while observing
from a point of vantage.
It is agreeable to record that our men were very well treated by their
captors, who were Saxons, being placed in cellars for protection from
the bombardment of our own guns.
On our left our troops advanced against the German 26th Reserve Corps
near Passchendaele, and were met by a determined counter offensive,
which was driven back with great loss. At night the Germans renewed
their efforts unsuccessfully in this quarter.
At one point they tried a ruse which is no longer new. As they came up
in a solid line two deep they shouted out: "Don't fire; we are the
Coldstream Guards."
But our men are getting used to tricks of this kind, and the only result
of this "slimness" was that they allowed the enemy's infantry to
approach, quite close before they swept them down with magazine fire.
Apart from the 400 dead found near our lines in our centre, our patrols
afterwards discovered some 300 dead further out in front of our left,
killed by our artillery.
Thursday, the 22d, saw a renewal of the pressure against us. We
succeeded, however, in holding our ground in nearly every quarter.
South of the Lys the enemy attacked from La Bassee, and gained Violaines
and another point, but their effort against a third village was repulsed
by artillery fire alone, the French and British guns working together
very effectively. On the north of the river it was a day of minor
attacks against us, which were all beaten back.
The Germans advanced in the evening against our centre and left, and
were again hurled back, though they gained some of our trenches in the
latter quarter. By this time the enemy had succeeded in bringing up
several heavy howitzers, and our casualties were considerable.
On Friday, the 23d, all action south of the Lys on our right was
confined to that of the artillery, several of the hostile batteries
being silenced by our fire? In the centre their infantry again
endeavored to force their way forward, and were only repulsed after
determined fighting, leaving many dead on the ground and several
prisoners in our hands. North of the Lys attacks at different points
were repulsed.
On our left the 23d was a bad day for the Germans. Advancing in our
turn, we drove them from some of the trenches out of which they had
turned us on the previous evening, captured 150 prisoners, and released
some of our men whom they had taken.
As the Germans retreated our guns did great execution among them.
They afterwards made five desperate assaults on our trenches, advancing
in mass and singing "Die Wacht am Rhein" as they came on. Each assault
was easily beaten back, our troops waiting until the enemy came to very
close range before they opened fire with rifles and Maxims, causing
terrible havoc in the solid masses.
During the fighting in this quarter on the night of the 22d and on the
23d the German losses were again extremely heavy. We made over 600
prisoners during that time and picked up 1,500 dead, killed on the
latter day alone.
Much of the slaughter was due to the point blank magazine fire of our
men against the German assaults, while our field guns and howitzers,
working in perfect combination, did their share when the enemy were
repulsed. As they fell back they were subjected to a shower of shrapnel.
When they sought shelter in villages or buildings they were shattered
and driven out by high-explosive shells and then again caught by
shrapnel as they came into the open.
The troops to suffer so severely were mostly of Twenty-third Corps, one
of their new formations.
Certainly the way their advance was conducted showed a lack of training
and faults in leading which the almost superhuman bravery of the
soldiers could not counterbalance. It was a holocaust.
The spectacle of these devoted men chanting a national song as they
marched on to certain death was inspiring. It was at the same time
pitiable.
And if any proof were needed that untrained valor alone cannot gain the
day in modern war, the advance of the Twenty-third German Corps on Oct.
23 most assuredly furnished it.
Besides doing its share of execution on the hostile infantry, our
artillery in this quarter brought down a German captive balloon.
As some gauge of the rate at which the guns were firing at what was for
them an ideal target, it may be mentioned that one field battery
expended 1,800 rounds of ammunition during the day.
On Saturday, the 24th, action on our right was once more confined to
that of artillery, except at night, when the Germans pressed on, only to
be repulsed.
In the centre, near Armentieres, our troops withstood three separate
attempts of the enemy to push forward, our guns coming into play with
good effect. Against our left the German Twenty-seventh Corps made a
violent effort with no success.
On Sunday, the 25th, it was our turn to take the offensive. This was
carried out by a portion of our left wing, which advanced, gained some
ground, and took two guns and eighty prisoners. It is believed that six
machine guns fell to the French.
In the centre the fighting was severe, though generally indecisive in
result, and the troops in some places were engaged in hand-to-hand
combat. Toward evening we captured 200 prisoners.
On the right action was again confined to that of the guns.
Up to the night of the 25th, therefore, not only have we maintained our
position against the great effort on the part of the enemy to break
through to the west, or to force us back, which started on the 20th; we
have on our left passed to the offensive.
These six days, as may be gathered, have been spent by us in repelling a
succession of desperate onslaughts. It is true that the efforts against
us have been made to a great extent by partially trained men, some of
whom appear to be suffering from lack of food. But it must not be
forgotten that these troops, which are in great force, have only
recently been brought into the field, and are therefore comparatively
fresh. They are fighting also with the utmost determination, in spite
of the fact that many of them are heartily sick of the war.
The struggle has been of the most severe and sanguinary nature, and it
seems that success will favor that side which is possessed of most
endurance, or can bring up and fling fresh forces into the fray. Though
we have undoubtedly inflicted immense loss upon the enemy, they have so
far been able to fill up the gaps in their ranks and to return to the
charge, and we have suffered heavily ourselves.
One feature of the tactics now employed has been the use of cavalry in
dismounted action, for on both sides many of the mounted troops are
fighting in the trenches alongside the infantry.
Armored motor cars, armed with Maxims and light quick-firing guns, also
have recently played a useful part on our side, especially in helping to
eject the enemy lurking in villages and isolated buildings. Against such
parties the combined action of the quick-firer against the snipers in
buildings, and the Maxim against them when they are driven into the
open, is most efficacious.
XI.
*The British Defense at Ypres.*
[Dated Nov. 13.]
The diminution in the force of the German rush to the west has not
lasted long. The section of the front to the north of our forces was the
first to meet the recrudescence of violence in the shape of an attack in
the neighborhood of Dixmude and Bixschoote.
Our turn came next. After eight days of comparative relaxation we were
under constant pressure from Tuesday, Nov. 3, to Tuesday, the 10th. The
next day saw a repetition of the great attempt of the Germans to break
through our lines to the French coast.
What was realized might happen did happen. In spite of the immense
losses suffered by the enemy during the five-day attack against Ypres,
which lasted from Oct. 29 to the 2d of this month, the cessation of
their more violent efforts on the latter day did not signalize the
abandonment of the whole project, but merely the temporary
relinquishment of the main offensive until fresh troops had been massed
to carry on what was proving to be a costly and difficult operation.
Meanwhile the interval was employed in endeavoring to wear out the
Allies by repeated local attacks of varying force and to shatter them by
a prolonged and concentrated bombardment. By the 11th, therefore, it
seems that they considered they had attained both objects, for on that
day they recommenced the desperate battle for the possession of Ypres
and its neighborhood.
Though the struggle has not yet come to an end, this much can be said:
The Germans have gained some ground, but they have not captured Ypres.
In repulsing the enemy so far we have suffered heavy casualties, but
battles of this fierce and prolonged nature cannot but be costly to both
sides. We have the satisfaction of knowing that we have foiled the enemy
in what appears to be at present his main object in the western theatre
of operations, and have inflicted immensely greater losses on him than
those we have suffered ourselves.
To carry on the narrative for the three days of the 10th, 11th, and 12th
of November:
Tuesday, the 10th, was uneventful for us. At some distance beyond our
left flank the enemy advanced in force against the French and were
repulsed. Directly on our left, however, along the greater part of the
front, shelling was less severe, and no infantry attacks took place.
To the southeast of Ypres the enemy kept up a very heavy bombardment
against our line, as well as that of the French. On our left centre the
situation remained unchanged, both sides contenting themselves with
furious cannonading. In our centre the Germans retained their hold on
the small amount of ground which they had gained from us, but in doing
so incurred a heavy loss from our artillery and machine gun fire.
Incidentally, one of the houses held by the enemy was so knocked about
by our fire that its defenders bolted. On their way to the rear they
were met by reinforcements under an officer who halted them, evidently
in an endeavor to persuade them to return. While the parley Was going on
one of our machine guns was quietly moved to a position of vantage,
whence it opened a most effective fire on the group.
On our right one of the enemy's saps, which was being pushed toward our
line, was attacked by us. All the men in it were captured.
Wednesday, the 11th, was another day of desperate fighting. As day broke
the Germans opened fire on our trenches to the north and south of the
road from Menin to Ypres. This was probably the most furious artillery
fire which they have yet employed against us.
A few hours later they followed this by an infantry assault in force.
This attack was carried out by the First and Fourth brigades of the
Guard Corps, which, as we now know from prisoners, have been sent for to
make a supreme effort to capture Ypres, since that task had proved too
heavy for the infantry of the line.
As the attackers surged forward they were met by our frontal fire, and
since they were moving diagonally across part of our front they were
also attacked on the flank by artillery, rifles, and machine guns.
Though their casualties before they reached our line must have been
enormous, such was their resolution and the momentum of the mass that in
spite of the splendid resistance of our troops they succeeded in
breaking through our line in three places near the road. They penetrated
some distance into the woods behind our trenches, but were
counter-attacked again, enfiladed by machine guns and driven back to
their line of trenches, a certain portion of which they succeeded in
holding, in spite of our efforts to expel them.
What their total losses must have been during this advance may be gauged
to some extent from the fact that the number of dead left in the woods
behind our line alone amounted to 700.
A simultaneous effort made to the south, a part of the same operation
although not carried out by the Guard Corps, failed entirely, for when
the attacking infantry massed in the woods close to our line, our guns
opened on them with such effect that they did not push the assault home.
As generally happens in operations in wooded country, the fighting to a
great extent was carried on at close quarters. It was most desperate and
confused. Scattered bodies of the enemy who had penetrated into the
woods in the rear of our position could neither go backward nor forward,
and were nearly all killed or captured.
The portion of the line to the southeast of Ypres held by us was heavily
shelled, but did not undergo any very serious infantry attack. That
occupied by the French, however, was both bombarded and fiercely
assaulted. On the rest of our front, save for the usual bombardment, all
was comparatively quiet.
On the right one of our trenches was mined and then abandoned. As soon
as it was occupied by the enemy the charges were fired and several
Germans were blown to pieces.
Thursday, Nov. 12, was marked by a partial lull in the fighting all
along our line. To the north a German force which had crossed the Yser
and intrenched on the left bank was annihilated by a night attack with
the bayonet, executed by the French. Slightly to the south the enemy was
forced back for three-quarters of a mile. Immediately on our left the
French were strongly attacked and driven back a short distance, our
extreme left having to conform to this movement. Our allies soon
recovered the ground they had lost, however, and this enabled us to
advance also.
To the southeast of Ypres the enemy's snipers were very active. On our
centre and right the enemy's bombardment was maintained, but nothing
worthy of special note occurred.
The fact that on this day the advance against our line in front of Ypres
was not pushed home after such an effort as that of Wednesday tends to
show that for the moment the attacking troops had had enough.
Although the failure of this great attack by the Guard Corps to
accomplish their object cannot be described as a decisive event, it
possibly marks the culmination if not the close of the second stage in
the attempt to capture Ypres, arid it is not without significance. It
has also a dramatic interest of its own. Having once definitely failed
to achieve this object by means of the sheer weight of numbers, and
having done their best to wear us down, the Germans brought in fresh
picked troops to carry the Ypres salient by an assault from the north,
the south and the east. That the Guard Corps should have been selected
to act against the eastern edge of the salient may be taken as proof of
the necessity felt by the Germans to gain this point in the line.
Their dogged perseverance in pursuance of their objective claims
whole-hearted admiration. The failure of one great attack, heralded as
it was by an impassioned appeal to the troops made in the presence of
the Emperor himself, but carried out by partially trained men, has been
only the signal for another desperate effort in which the place of honor
was assigned to the corps d'elite of the German Army.
It must be admitted that the Guard Corps has retained that reputation
for courage and contempt of death which it earned in 1870, when Emperor
William I., after the battle of Gravelotte, wrote: "My Guard has found
its grave in front of St. Privat," and the swarms of men who came up
bravely to the British rifles in the woods around Ypres repeated the
tactics of forty-four years ago when their dense columns, toiling up the
slopes of St. Privat, melted away under the fire of the French.
That the Germans are cunning fighters, and well up in all the tricks of
the trade, has frequently been pointed out. For instance, they often
succeed in ascertaining what regiment or brigade is opposed to them, and
because of their knowledge of English, they are able to employ the
information to some purpose. On a recent occasion, having by some means
discovered the name of the commander of the company holding the trench
they were attacking, they called him by name, asking if Captain ---- was
there. Fortunately the pronunciation of the spokesman was somewhat
defective, and their curiosity was rewarded by discovering that both the
officer in question and his men were very much there.
There have been reports from so many different quarters of the enemy
having been seen wearing British and French uniforms that it is
impossible to doubt their truth. One absolutely authentic case occurred
during the fighting near Ypres. A man dressed in a uniform closely
resembling that of a British staff officer suddenly appeared near our
trenches and walked along the line. He asked if many casualties had been
suffered, stated that the situation was serious, and that a general
retirement had been ordered. A similar visit having been reported by
several men in different trenches, orders were issued that this strange
officer was to be detained if seen again. Unluckily he did not make
another appearance.
The following remarks taken from the diary of a German soldier are
published not because there is reason to believe they are justified with
regard to the conduct of German officers but because of their interest
as a human document. Under date of Nov. 2 this German soldier wrote:
Previous to noon we were sent out in a regular storm of bullets on
the order of the Major. These gentlemen, the officers, send their
men forward in a most ridiculous way. They themselves remain far
behind, safely under cover. Our leadership is really scandalous.
Enormous losses on our side are partly from the fire of our own
people, for our leaders neither know where the enemy lies nor where
our own troops are, so that we often are fired on by our own men.
It is a marvel to me that we have got on as far as we have done.
Our Captain fell, as did also all our section leaders and a large
number of our men. Moreover, no purpose was served by this advance,
for we remained the rest of the day under cover; we could go
neither forward nor back, nor even shoot.
The trench we had taken was not occupied by us. The English
naturally took it back at night. That was the sole result. Then
when the enemy had intrenched themselves another attack was made,
costing us many lives and fifty prisoners. It is simply ridiculous,
this leadership. If only I had known it before! My opinion of
German officers has changed.
An Adjutant shouted to us from a trench far to the rear to cut down
a hedge in front of us. Bullets were whistling round from in front
and from behind. The gentleman himself, of course, remained behind.
The Fourth Company has now no leaders but a couple of non-coms.
When will my turn come! I hope to goodness I shall get home again.
In the trenches shells and shrapnel burst without ceasing. In the
evening we get a cup of rice and one-third of an apple per man. Let
us hope peace will soon come. Such a war is really too awful. The
English shoot like mad. If no reinforcements come up, especially
heavy artillery, we shall have a poor lookout and must retire.
The first day I went quietly into the fight with an indifference
which astonished me. Today, for the first time, in advancing, when
my comrades on the right and left were falling, I felt rather
nervous. But I lost that feeling again soon. One becomes horribly
indifferent.
I picked up a piece of bread by chance. Thank God! At least I have
something to eat.
There are about 70,000 English who must be attacked from all four
sides and destroyed. However, they defend themselves obstinately.
XII.
*Attacked by 750,000 Germans.*
[Official Summary, Dated Dec. 3.]
Col. E.D. Swinton of the Intelligence Department of the General Staff of
the British Expeditionary Force in France and Belgium, in a narrative
dated Nov. 26, gives a general review of the development of the
situation of the force for six weeks preceding that date.
There has recently been a lull in the active operations, he says. No
progress has been made by either side, and yet there has come about an
important modification comprising a readjustment in the scope of the
part played by the British Army as a whole. He explains the movement
from the River Aisne to the Belgian frontier to prolong the left flank
of the French Army, and says that in attempting this the British force
was compelled to assume responsibility for a very extended section of
the front. He points out, as did Field Marshal Sir John French,
Commander in Chief of the British forces, that the British held only
one-twelfth of the line, so that the greater share of the common task of
opposing the enemy fell and still falls to the French, while the
Belgians played an almost vital part.
With the fall of Antwerp the Germans made every effort to push forward a
besieging force toward the west and hastened to bring up a new army
corps which had been hastily raised and trained, their object being to
drive the Allies out of Belgium and break through to Dunkirk and Calais.
Altogether they had a quarter of a million of fresh men. Eventually the
Germans had north of La Bassee about fourteen corps and eight cavalry
divisions, that is, "a force of three-quarters of a million of men with
which to attempt to drive the Allies into the sea. In addition, there
was immensely powerful armament and heavy siege artillery, which also
had been brought up from around Antwerp."
The official eye-witness tells of the blows delivered by the Germans at
Nieuport, Dixmude, and Ypres, where "at first the Allies were greatly
outnumbered." For a whole month the British army around Ypres succeeded
in holding its ground against repeated onslaughts made by vastly
superior forces. The writer goes into details of the German attacks and
describes how they were frustrated by the Allies.
The British force, says Col. Swinton, which consisted all along of the
same units, had "to withstand an almost continuous bombardment and to
meet one desperate assault after another, each carried out by fresh
units from the large numbers which the Germans were devoting to the
operation." Finally the French came to their assistance, and "never was
help more welcome; for by then our small local reserves had again and
again been thrown into the fight in the execution of counter-attacks,
and our men were exhausted by the incessant fighting."
The British front now has been considerably shortened and in addition
has been reinforced, while a lull in the activity has enabled the
British to readjust their forces, strengthen their positions, and bring
up reserves. There has, therefore, "been a great general improvement in
the conditions under which we are carrying on the fight". Of the
fighting which preceded this reorganization the writer says it is due
solely to the resource, initiative, and endurance of the regimental
officers and men that success has lain with the British. He continues:
"As the struggle swayed backward and forward through wood and hamlet,
the fighting assumed a most confused and desperate character. The units
became inextricably mixed, and in many cases, in order to strengthen
some threatened point or to fill a gap in the line, the officers had to
collect and throw into the fight what men they could, regardless of the
units to which they belonged. Our casualties have been severe; but we
have been fighting a battle, and a battle implies casualties, and, heavy
as they have been, it must be remembered that they have not been
suffered in vain.
"The duty of the French, Belgians, and British in the western theatre of
operations has been to act as a containing force; in other words, to
hold on to and to keep occupied as many of the enemy as possible while
the Russians were attacking in the east. In this we have succeeded in
playing our part, and by our resistance have contributed materially
toward the success of the campaign. Moreover, our losses have not
impaired our fighting efficiency. The troops have required only a slight
respite in order to be able to continue the action with as much
determination as ever. They are physically fit and well fed and have
suffered merely from the fatigue which is inseparable from a protracted
struggle such as they have been through. The severest handling by the
enemy has never had more than a temporary effect on their spirits,
which they have soon recovered, owing to the years of discipline and
training to which the officers and men have been accustomed.
"The value of such preparation is as noticeable on the side of the enemy
as on our own. The phenomenal losses suffered by the Germans' new
formations have been remarked, and they were in part due to their lack
of training. Moreover, though at the first onset these formations
advanced to the attack as gravely as their active corps, they have not
by any means, shown the same recuperative powers. The Twenty-seventh
Corps, for instance, which is a new formation composed principally of
men with from only seven to twelve weeks' training, has not yet
recovered from its first encounter with the British infantry around
Becelaere, to the northeast of Ypres, a month ago. On the other hand,
the Guards Corps, in spite of having suffered severely in Belgium, of
having been thrown headlong across the Oise River at Guise and of having
lost large numbers on the plains of Compiegne and on the banks of the
Aisne River, advanced against Ypres on the 11th of November as bravely
as they did on the 20th of August."
The Allies, continues Col. Swinton, have made great sacrifices to defend
against tremendous odds a line that could only be maintained by making
these sacrifices; but the fact that the situation has been relieved is
no reason for assuming that the enemy has abandoned his intention of
pressing through to the sea. The writer points out that the Germans
continue to attack with great courage, but little abated by failure,
and, while they have not succeeded in gaining the Straits of Dover, they
have been enabled to consolidate their position on the western front and
retain all but a small portion of Belgium.
"As well as they have fought, however," continues the narrative, "it is
doubtful if their achievements are commensurate with their losses, which
recently have been largely due to a lack of training and a comparative
lack of discipline of the improvised units they put in the field."
Col. Swinton concludes with the statement that, as the war is going to
be one of exhaustion, after the regular armies of the belligerents have
done their work it will be upon the raw material of the countries
concerned that final success will depend.
XIII.
*The Lull in November.*
[Dated Nov. 29.]
General inactivity is recorded along the English front, with the Germans
pressing the attack in one quarter against the Indian troops, who have
been extending their trenches in an endeavor to get in close quarters
with the enemy. There has been some shelling of the rear of our front
line south of the Lys, but this form of annoyance diminishes daily along
the whole front. Sniping, however, is carried on almost incessantly.
There seems to be little doubt that the Germans are employing civilians,
either willingly or unwillingly, to dig trenches; some civilians have
been seen and shot while engaged in this work.
While it is necessary to accept the evidence of all prisoners with
caution, there is a change in the views expressed by some officers
captured recently which appears to be genuine. They admit the failure of
the German strategy and profess to take a gloomy view of the future. At
the same time it must be confessed that as yet there is no sign that
their view is that generally held by the enemy, nor has there been any
definite indication of a lack of morale among the German troops.
The highways of Northern France are crowded with men responding to the
various mobilization orders issued by the French Government.
Thousands of such troops were encountered in the course of a short
automobile trip. The strange procession includes a curious mixture of
types. A considerable proportion of these new drafts are composed of
middle-aged men of good physique and likely young men from the
countryside.
The change within the last few days of what may be termed the atmosphere
of the battlefield has been marked. The noise of the cannonading has now
decreased to such an extent that for hours at a time nothing is heard
but the infrequent boom of one of the heavy guns of the Allies, the
occasional rattle of machine guns, and the intermittent fire of snipers
on either side. So far as the use of explosives is concerned, the
greatest activity is found in local attacks with hand grenades and
short-range howitzers. The enemy has practically ceased his efforts to
break through the line by assaults, and he is now devoting his energies
to the same type of siege operations which have been familiar to the
Allies since the beginning of the battle of the Aisne.
Subterranean life is the general rule in the neighborhood of the firing
line. Even those men not actually engaged in fighting live in
underground quarters. Some of these quarters, called "funk-holes" are
quite elaborate and comfortable and contain many conveniences not found
in the trenches on the firing line. They communicate with the firing
line by zigzag approach trenches which make enfilading impossible.
Attacks are made on the firing line trenches by blind saps, which are
constructed by a special earth borer. When this secret tunnel reaches
the enemy's trench, an assault is delivered amid a shower of hand
grenades. The stormers endeavor to burst their way through the opening
and then try to work along the trench. Machine guns are quickly brought
up to repel a counter attack. Most of this fighting takes place at such
close range that the guns on either side cannot be fired at the enemy's
infantry without great risk of hitting their own men. Bombs have come to
take the place of artillery, and they are being used in enormous
quantities.
The short-range howitzers are of three types, and those used by the
Germans have come to be termed the "Jack Johnson" of close attack. The
smaller bombs and grenades thrown by hand, although local in action, are
very unpleasant, particularly between the inclosed space of a trench.
These grenades are thrown continuously by both sides, and every trench
assault is first preceded and then accompanied by showers of these
murderous missiles. This kind of fighting is very deadly, and owing to
the difficulty of observation it is at times somewhat blind. This
difficulty has in a measure been decreased, however, by the use of the
hyperscope, an instrument which works very much like the periscope on a
submarine. It permits an observer to look out over the top of a parapet
without raising his head above the protection of the trench.
*THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY.*
By EDWARD NEVILLE VOSE.
THE old year dies 'mid gloom and woe--
The saddest year since Christ was born--
And those who battle in the snow
All anxious-eyed look for the morn--
The morn when wars shall be no more,
The morn when Might shall cease to reign,
When hushed shall be the cannons' roar
And Peace shall rule the earth again.
As we from far survey the fray
And strive to succor those who fall,
Let each give thanks that not today
To us the clarion bugles call--
That not today to us 'tis said:
"Bow down the knee, or pay the cost
Till all ye loved are maimed or dead,
Till all ye had is wrecked and lost."
Should that grim summons to us come
God grant we'd all play heroes' parts,
And bravely fight for land and home
While red blood flows in loyal hearts.
But now a duty nobler far
Has come to us in this great day--
We are the nations' guiding star,
They look to us to lead the way.
They look to us to lead the way
To liberty for all the world,
The dawning of that better day
When war's torn banners shall be furled--
The day when men of every race
Their right divine shall clearly see
To rule themselves by their own grace,
Forever and forever free.
*"Human Documents" of Battle*
*By Men Who Saw or Took Part./*
_Written in the hurry and confusion of battle, and without the
opportunity at hand to check up the impressions given, it is of
course likely that these dispatches from special correspondents may
contain many things which history will correct. But as human
documents they have no equal, and history will not be able, however
she may correct matters of detail and partisan feeling, to offer
anything which will give a more vivid impression of the glare and
roar of battle than do these letters, penned by men actually in or
near the firing line at the moment of great events. As such_ THE
TIMES _offers them, not as frozen history, but as history in the
making, and has no apologies to make for an error of fact here and
there, for those very errors are in a way testimony that adds value
to the story--the story of honest and hard-driven human beings
writing what was passing before their eyes._
*The German Entry Into Brussels*
*By John Boon of The London Daily Mail.*
BRUSSELS, via Alost, Aug. 20. (Thursday,) 10 P.M.
The Germans entered Brussels shortly after 2 P.M. today without firing a
shot.
Yielding to the dictates of reason and humanity, the civil Government at
the last moment disbanded the Civic Guard, which the Germans would not
recognize. The soldiers and ordinary police were then entrusted with the
maintenance of order.
After a day of wild panic and slumberless nights the citizens remained
at their windows. Few sought their couches.
The morning broke brilliantly. The city was astir early, and on all lips
were the words: "They are here" or "They are coming!"
The "they" referred to were already outside the boundaries in great
force. The artillery was packed off on the road to Waterloo. Horse,
foot, and sapper were packed deep on the Louvain and Tervervueren roads.
An enterprising motorist came in with the information and the crowds in
the busy centres immediately became calm. At 11 o'clock it was reported
that an officer with half a troop of hussars bearing white flags had
halted outside the Louvain gate.
The Burgomaster and four Sheriffs went in a motor car to meet the
officers. They were conducted to the German military authorities at the
head of the column. The meeting took place outside the barracks of the
carabineers.
The Burgomaster claimed for the citizens their rights under the laws of
war regulating an unfortified capital. When roughly asked if he was
prepared to surrender the city, with the threat that otherwise it would
be bombarded, the Burgomaster said he would do so. He also decided to
remove his scarf of office.
The discussion was brief. When the Burgomaster handed over his scarf it
was handed back to him and he was thus intrusted for the time being with
the civil control of the citizens. The Germans gave him plainly to
understand that he would be held responsible for any overt act on the
part of the populace against the Germans.
From noon until 2 o'clock the crowds waited expectantly. Shortly after 2
o'clock the booming of cannon and later the sound of military music
conveyed to the people of Brussels the intimation that the triumphant
march of the enemy on the ancient city had begun.
On they came, preceded by a scouting party of Uhlans, horse, foot, and
artillery and sappers, with a siege train complete.
A special feature of the procession was 100 motor cars on which
quick-firers were mounted. Every regiment and battery was headed by a
band, horse or foot.
Now came the drums and fifes, now the blare of brass and soldiers
singing "Die Wacht am Rhein" and "Deutschland Ueber Alles."
Along the Chaussee de Louvain, past St. Josse and the Botanical Gardens,
to the great open space in front of the Gare du Nord, the usual lounging
place of the tired twaddlers of the city, swept the legions of the man
who broke the peace of Europe.
Among the cavalry were the famous Brunswick Death's Head Hussars and
their companions on many bloody fields, the Zeiten Hussars. But where
was the glorious garb of the German troops, the cherry-colored uniforms
of the horsemen and the blue of the infantry? All is greenish,
earth-color gray. All the hel- [Transcriber: Text missing in original.]
are painted gray. The gun carriages are gray. Even the pontoon bridges
are gray.
To the quick-step beat of the drums the Kaiser's men march to the great
Square Charles Rogier. Then at the whistling sound of the word of
command--for the sonorous orders of the German officers seemed to have
gone the way of the brilliant uniforms--the gray-clad ranks broke into
the famous goose step, while the good people of Liege and Brussels gazed
at the passing wonder with mouths agape.
At the railroad station the great procession defiled to the boulevards
and thence marched to encamp on the heights of the city called
Kochelberg. It was truly a sight to have gladdened the eyes of the
Kaiser, but on the sidewalks men were muttering beneath their breath:
"They'll not pass here on their return. The Allies will do for them."
Many of the younger men in the great array seemed exhausted after the
long forced march, but as a man staggered his comrades in the ranks
held him up.
It was a great spectacle and an impressive one, but there were minor
incidents that were of a less pleasant character.
Two Belgian officers, manacled and fastened to the leather stirrups of
two Uhlans, made a spectacle that caused a low murmur of resentment from
the citizens. Instantly German horsemen backed their steeds into the
closely packed ranks of the spectators, threatening them with uplifted
swords and stilling the momentary revolt.
At one point of the march a lame hawker offered flowers for sale to the
soldiers. As he held up his posies a Captain of Hussars by a movement of
his steed sent the poor wretch sprawling and bleeding in the dust. Then
from the crowd a Frenchwoman, her heart scorning fear, cried out, "You
brute!" so that all might hear.
There was one gross pleasantry, too, perpetrated by a gunner who led
along a bear, evidently the pet of his battery, which was dressed in the
full regalia of a Belgian General.
The bear was evidently intended to represent the King. He touched his
cocked hat at intervals to his keeper.
This particularly irritated the Belgians, but they wisely abstained from
any overt manifestation or any unpleasant feature of behavior. The
soldiery as they passed tore repeatedly at the national colors which
every Belgian lady now wears on her breast.
A more pleasant incident was when a party of Uhlans clamored for
admittance at a villa on the Louvain road. They disposed of a dozen
bottles of wine and bread and meat. The non-commissioned officer in
command asked what the charge was and offered some gold pieces in
payment. The money was refused.
Near the steps of St. Gudule a party of officers of high rank, seated in
a motor car, confiscated the stock of the news vendors. After greedily
scanning the sheets they burst into loud laughter.
Hour after hour, hour after hour, the Kaiser's legions marched into
Brussels streets and boulevards. Some regiments made a very fine
appearance, and it is well that the people of England should know this.
It was notably so in the case of the Sixty-sixth, Fourth and
Twenty-sixth Regiments. Not one man of these regiments showed any sign
of excessive fatigue after the gruelling night of marching, and no doubt
the order to "goose step" was designedly given to impress the onlookers
with the powers of resistance of the German soldiers.
[Illustration: The First Rush Into Belgium.]
The railway stations, the Post Office and the Town Hall were at once
closed. The national flag on the latter was pulled down and the German
emblem hoisted in its place. Practically all the shops were closed and
the blinds drawn on most of the windows.
At the time of writing I have heard of no very untoward incident. The
last train left Brussels at 9 o'clock on Wednesday night. Passengers to
the city cannot pass beyond Denderleeuw, where there are strong German
pickets.
*The Fall of Antwerp*
*By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle, Who Was at Antwerp
During the Siege.*
[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
LONDON, Oct. 11.--A Daily Chronicle correspondent who has just arrived
from Antwerp tells the following story of his experiences:
Antwerp has been surrendered. This last and bitterest blow which has
fallen upon Belgium is full of poignant tragedy, but the tragedy is
lightened by the gallantry with which the city was defended.
Only at the last, to save the historic buildings and precious
possessions of the ancient port, was its further defense abandoned.
Already much of it had been shattered by the long-range German guns, and
prolonged resistance against these tremendous engines of war was
impossible.
Owing to this the siege was perhaps the shortest in the annals of war
that a fortified city ever sustained. I have already described its
preliminaries and the many heroic efforts which were made by the
Belgians to stem the tide of the enemy's advance, but the end could not
long be delayed when the siege guns began the bombardment.
It was at three minutes past noon on Friday that the Germans entered the
city, which was formally surrendered by the Burgomaster, J. de Vos.
Antwerp had then been under a devastating and continuous shell fire for
over forty hours.
It was difficult for me to ascertain precisely how the German attack was
being constituted, but from officers and others who made journeys from
the fighting lines into the city I gathered that the final assault
consisted of a continuous bombardment of two hours' duration, from 7:30
o'clock in the morning until 9:30.
During that time there was a continuous rain of shells, and it was
extraordinary to notice the precision with which they dropped just where
they would do the most damage. I was told that the Germans used captive
balloons, whose officers signaled to the gunners the points in the
Belgian defense at which they should aim.
The German guns, too, were concealed with such cleverness that their
position could not be detected by the Belgians. Against such methods and
against the terrible power of the German guns the Belgian artillery
seemed quite ineffective. The firing came to an end at 9:30 o'clock
Friday, and the garrison escaped, leaving only ruins behind them.
[Illustration: GEN. VON KLUCK
Commanding on the German Left Wing in the West
(_Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the Berlin
Photographic Co., N.Y._)]
[Illustration: GEN. VON HINDENBURG
The German Commander in the East
(_Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the Berlin
Photographic Co. N.Y._)]
In order to gain time for an orderly retreat, a heavy fire was
maintained against the Germans up to the last minute, and the forts were
then blown up by the defenders as the Germans came in at the Gate of
Malines. I was lucky enough to escape by the river to the north in a
motor boat. The bombardment had then ceased, though many buildings were
still blazing, and while the little boat sped down the Scheldt one could
imagine the procession of the Kaiser's troops already goose-stepping
their way through the well-nigh deserted streets.
Those forty hours of shattering noise, almost without a lull, seem to me
now a fantastic nightmare, but the harrowing sights I witnessed in many
parts of the city cannot be forgotten. It was Wednesday night that the
shells began to fall into the city. From then onward they must have
averaged about ten a minute, and most of them came from the largest guns
which the Germans possess--"Black Marias," as Tommy Atkins has
christened them.
Before the bombardment had been long in operation the civil population
or a large proportion of it fell into a panic. It is impossible to blame
these peaceful, quiet living burghers of Antwerp for the fears that
possessed them when the merciless rain of German shells began to fall
into the streets and on the roofs of their houses and public buildings.
The Burgomaster had in his proclamation given them excellent advice to
remain calm and he certainly set them an admirable example, but it was
impossible to counsel the Belgians who knew what had happened to their
fellow citizens in other towns which the Germans had passed through.
Immense crowds of them, men, women and children, gathered along the
quayside and at the railway stations in an effort to make a hasty exit
from the city. Their condition was pitiable in the extreme. Family
parties made up the biggest proportion of this vast crowd of broken men
and women. There were husbands and wives with their groups of scared
children unable to understand what was happening, yet dimly conscious in
their childish way that something unusual and terrible and perilous had
come into their lives.
In many groups were to be seen old, old people, grandfathers and
grandmothers of a family, and these in their shaking frailty and terror,
which they could not withstand, were the more pitiable objects in the
great gathering of stricken townsfolk. This pathetic clinging together
of the family was one of the most affecting sights I witnessed, and I
have not the slightest doubt that in the mad rush for refuge beyond the
borders of their native land many family groups of this sort completely
perished.
All day and throughout the night these pitiful scenes continued, and
when I went down to the quayside early Thursday, when the dawn was
throwing a wan light over this part of the world, I found again a great
host of citizens awaiting their chance of flight.
In the dimness of the breaking day this gathering of "Les Miserables"
presented, as it seemed to me, the tragedy of Belgium in all its horror.
I shall never forget the sight. Words would fail to convey anything but
a feeble picture of the depths of misery and despair there. People stood
in dumb and patient ranks drawn down to the quayside by the announcement
that two boats would leave at 11 o'clock for Ostend, and Ostend looks
across to England, where lie their hopes.
There were fully 40,000 of them assembled on the long quay, and all of
them were inspired by the sure and certain hope that they would be among
the lucky ones who would get on board one of the boats. Alas for their
hopes, the two boats did not sail, and when they realized this I fancied
I heard a low wail of anguish rise from the disappointed multitude.
Other means of escape were, however, available in the shape of a dozen
or fifteen tugboats, whose destinations were Rotterdam and Flushing and
other ports of Holland. They were not vessels of any considerable
passenger carrying capacity, and as there was no one to arrange a
systematic embarkation a wild struggle followed among the frantic people
to obtain places on the tugs. Men, women, and children fought
desperately with each other to get on board, and in that moment of
supreme anguish human nature was seen in one of its worst moods, but who
can blame these stricken people? Shells that were destroying their homes
and giving their beloved town to the flames were screaming over their
heads. Their trade was not war; they were merchants, shopkeepers,
comfortable citizens of more than middle age, and there were many women
and children among them, and this horror had come upon them in a more
appalling shape than it has visited any other civilized community in
modern times.
There was a scarcity of gangways to the boats and the only means of
boarding them was by narrow planks sloping at a dangerous angle. Up
these the fugitives struggled, and the strong elbowed the weak out of
their way in their mad haste to escape. The marvel to me as I watched
the scramble was that many were not crushed to death in the struggle to
get on board or forced into the river and drowned. As it was, mishaps
were very few. One old lady of 80 years slipped on one of the planks and
fell against the side of the boat, fracturing her skull. Several people
fell into the river and two were drowned, but that is the sum total of
accidents as far as I could ascertain.
By 2 o'clock Thursday most of the tugboats had got away, but there were
still some 15,000 people who had not been able to escape, and had to
await resignedly whatever fate was in store for them.
I have endeavored to describe the scenes at the quayside on Thursday
morning, and I now turn to the Central Station, where incidents of a
similar kind were happening. There, as down by the river, an immense
throng of people had assembled, and they were filled with dismay at the
announcement that no trains were running. In their despair they prepared
to leave the city on foot by crossing the pontoon bridge and marching
toward the Dutch frontier.
I cannot, of course, speak positively on the subject, but I should say
the exodus of refugees from the city must have totaled 200,000
persons--men, women, and children of all ages--or very nearly that vast
number, and that out of a population which in normal times is 321,821.
One might estimate that fully 70 per cent. of those folk had little or
no money.
There were three lines of exit. They could up to the time of the German
invasion cross the pontoon bridge over the Scheldt; they could go along
the countryside toward the Dutch frontier, or they could walk up the
Scheldt toward the frontier and then cross by ferry to Belgian territory
again.
Many of the aged women among the refugees, terrorized and
hunger-stricken, died, I am told, on the way to the Belgian frontier.
The towns were crowded with pitiful wanderers, fleeing from the ruthless
invaders, and they begged for crusts of bread. They were simply
starving, and householders did what they could to help, cottagers giving
to their utmost out of their meagre larders, but still there was a cry
for food.
I now return to the events of Thursday. At 12:30 o'clock in the
afternoon, when the bombardment had already lasted over twelve hours,
through the courtesy of a Belgian officer I was able to ascend to the
roof of the cathedral, and from that point of vantage I looked down upon
the scene in the city.
All the southern portion of Antwerp appeared to be a desolate ruin.
Whole streets were ablaze, and flames were rising in the air to the
height of twenty and thirty feet. In another direction I could just
discern through my glasses dimly in the distance the instruments of
culture of the attacking German forces, ruthlessly pounding at the city
and creeping nearer to it in the dark. At that moment I should say the
enemy's front line was within four miles of Antwerp.
From my elevated position I had an excellent view also of the great oil
tanks on the opposite side of the Scheldt. They had been set on fire by
four bombs from a German taube, and a huge, thick volume of black smoke
was ascending 200 feet into the air. The oil had been burning furiously
for several hours, and the whole neighborhood was enveloped in a mist of
smoke.
In all directions were fire and flames and oil-laden smoke. It was like
a bit of Gustave Dore's idea of the infernal regions. From time to time
great tongues of fire shot out from the tanks, and in this way, the
flames greedily licking the sides of other tanks, the conflagration
spread. How long this particular fire raged I cannot say, for I saw
neither the beginning nor the end of it, but while I watched its
progress it seemed to represent the limit of what a fire was capable of.
After watching for some considerable time the panorama of destruction
that lay unrolled all around me, I came down from my post of observation
on the cathedral roof, and at the very moment I reached the street a
28-centimeter shell struck a confectioner's shop between the Place Verte
and the Place Meir. It was one of these high explosive shells, and the
shop, a wooden structure, immediately burst into flames.
The city by this time was almost deserted, and no attempt was made to
extinguish the fires that had broken out all over the southern district.
Indeed, there were no means of dealing with them.
As far back as Tuesday in last week the water supply from the reservoir
ten miles outside the city was cut off, and as this was the city's main
source of supply, indeed practically its only source, great apprehension
was felt. The reservoir is just behind Fort Waelhem, and the German
shells had struck it, doing great mischief. It left Antwerp without any
regular inflow of water, and the inhabitants had to do their best with
artesian wells. Great efforts were made by the Belgians from time to
time to repair the reservoir, but it was always thwarted by German shell
fire. The health of the city was thereby menaced, for there was danger
of an epidemic.
Happily, stricken Antwerp was spared this added terror. It had plenty
of other sorts, and some of these I experienced when, after leaving the
cathedral, I made my way to the southern section of the city, where
shells were bursting at the rate of five a minute. With great difficulty
and not without risk I got as far as Rue la Moiere.
There I met a terror-stricken Belgian woman, the only other person in
the streets besides myself. In hysterical gasps she told me the Banque
Nationale and the Palais de Justice had been struck and were in flames,
and that her husband had been hit by a shell just five minutes before I
came upon the scene, his mangled remains lying not a hundred yards away
from where we were standing.
It was obviously impossible to proceed further, and so I retraced my
steps toward the quay. As I was passing the Avenue de Keyser a shell
burst within twenty yards of me. I was knocked down by the force of the
concussion. A house not ten yards from where I was was struck and
actually poured (I can think of no other word to describe what happened)
into the street in a shower of bricks. A broken brick struck me on the
shoulder, but its force was spent and I received no injury.
I had scarcely picked myself up and was hastening to a place of safety,
if there were one, when a man about 40 years of age, almost half naked,
rushed out of a house, screaming loudly. He had gone mad.
At this time I was fortunate enough to meet Frank Fox of The Morning
Post. Mr. Fox is an ex-officer of artillery, and he told me he had found
a hotel which, as long as the Germans fired in the direction they were
then firing, was not within the reach of their guns. This was the Hotel
Wagner, which stands behind the Opera House on the Boulevard de
Commerce. It was the only hotel in the city except the Queens Hotel, in
which some representatives of American newspapers had been staying, that
was open. There I found Miss Louise Mack, an Australian authoress, and
she, Fox, and myself were among the few British subjects left in the
port.
As night came the city presented a fantastic appearance as I watched it
from the Hotel Wagner. The glare from the fires that had burst out in
all directions could be seen for miles around. The bombardment was
proceeding furiously, and German shells were bursting in every
direction. I reckoned they were coming in that time at the rate of at
least thirty a minute.
I went to the Queens Hotel to ascertain what had become of the American
journalists. I found they had left the city after having spent the night
in a private house which had been struck three times by shells, and
finally caught fire. Arthur Ruhl of the staff of Collier's Weekly had
left for me this note:
Donald C. Thompson, photographer of The New York World, fitted up
for himself a cellar at 74 Rue de Peage, just by the Boulevard de
Keyser, where shrapnel fell with terrible force during the latter
part of Wednesday. With him were three other Americans. The entire
population, including, of course, the Government of Antwerp, have
made their escape across the pontoon bridge which still connects
the River Scheldt with the road toward Ghent. Two shells demolished
Thompson's retreat and at sundown it burst into flames. The
American Consul General and Vice Consul General had gone by this
time. The following Americans, all of them newspaper men, were
known to have spent the night in Antwerp; Arthur Ruhl, Horace
Green, staff of The New York Evening Post; Edward Eyre Hunt,
correspondent of The New York World; Edward Heigel of the staff of
The Chicago Daily Tribune, and Thompson himself.
Except for the glare of burning buildings, which lit up the streets, the
city was in absolute darkness, and near the quay I lost my way in the
byroads trying to get back to the Hotel Wagner. For the second time that
day I narrowly escaped death by a shell. One burst with terrific force
about twenty-five yards from me. I heard its warning whirr, and rushed
into a neighboring porch. Whether it was from concussion of the shell or
in my anxiety to escape, I cannoned against a door and tumbled down. As
I lay on the ground the house on the opposite side crashed in ruins. I
remained still for several minutes feeling quite sick and unable to get
up. Then I pulled myself together, and ran at full speed until I came
to a street which I recognized, and found my way back to the hotel.
As I hastened down the Avenue de Keyser shells were bursting in every
quarter. Several fell into the adjoining street. At the hotel I found my
friend Fox had been up to the Red Cross Hospital to inquire about a
motor car in which we hoped to get away. It had gone, as had the entire
personnel of the hospital.
We began to wonder how we should escape. However, Fox had a bicycle, and
Mr. Singleton, Chief of the Boy Scouts in Antwerp, had given me the key
of a house not far off, in which he told me there was one if I wanted it
in an emergency. I ventured into that dangerous part of the city again
to get it. I got to the house safely and found the bicycle, but as there
was no tube in the back tire it was useless. On my return journey I was
startled to see in the street through which I had just walked a hole six
feet deep, which had just been made by a shell.
On returning to the hotel I joined in a meal, eaten under the weirdest
[Transcriber: original 'wierdest'] conditions imaginable. Descending
into the cellars of the hotel with Miss Mack and Mr. Fox we found the
entire staff gathered there uncertain what to do and not knowing what
was to happen to them. We were all hungry, and one of the men dashed
upstairs to the kitchen and brought down whatever food he could lay his
hands on, and we all partook of pot luck. Considering all the
circumstances we made a very jolly meal of it. We toasted each other in
good red wine of the country, pledging each other with "Vive la
Belgique" and "Vive l'Angleterre," and altogether we were a merry party,
although at the time German shells were whirling overhead and any moment
one might have upset our picnic and buried us in the debris of the
hotel.
How many of the inhabitants of Antwerp remained in the city that night
it is impossible to say, but it is pretty certain they were all in the
cellars of their houses or shops.
The admirable Burgomaster, M. De Vos, had in one of his several
proclamations made many suggestions for safety during the bombardment
for the benefit of those who took refuge in cellars. Among the most
useful of them perhaps was that which recommended means of escape to
adjoining cellars. The power of modern artillery is so tremendous that a
cellar might very well become a tomb if shells were to fall on the
building overhead.
We went to bed early that night but sleep was impossible in the noise
caused by the explosion of the shells in twenty different quarters of
the town. About 3 o'clock in the morning a twenty-eight centimeter shell
fell into the square in front of the hotel and broke all the windows in
the neighboring house. In spite of the terrific din one got to sleep at
last.
About 6 o'clock Fox roused me and said he thought it was time we got
out, as the Germans were entering the city. We hurried from the hotel,
and found in the square a squad of Belgian soldiers who had just come in
from the inner line of forts. They told us it was not safe for us to
remain any longer. The streets were now completely deserted.
I walked down to the quayside, and there I came across many wounded
soldiers, who had been unable to get away in the hospital boat. On the
quay piles of equipment had been abandoned; broken-down motor cars,
kit-bags, helmets, rifles, knapsacks were littered in heaps. Ammunition
had been dumped there and rendered useless. The Belgians had evidently
attempted to set fire to the whole lot. A pile of stuff was still
smoldering. I waited there for half an hour, and during that time
hundreds of Belgian soldiers passed in retreat, the last contingent
leaving at about 6:30 A.M.
I went again to the Queen's Hotel to inquire what had become of the
American newspaper men, and it was just about this time that the pontoon
bridge which had been the way of the Belgian retreat was blown up to
prevent pursuit by the Germans. The boats and woodwork of the
superstructure burnt fiercely and in less than twenty minutes the whole
affair was demolished.
Safe exit from the city was now cut off. A Red Cross officer whom I met
when standing by the quay had been a spectator of the blowing up of the
bridge.
"My God!" he said, running toward me, "it is awful!"
"How are you going to get out?" I asked him.
"I'm going to stay here and look after my wounded," he replied.
In further talk with him I learned that the greater part of the second
line of forts had fallen at midday the previous day and that there was
nothing then to stop the Germans entering the city save a handful of
Belgian soldiers in three or four forts. At 8 o'clock a shell struck the
Town Hall.
Fox had now joined me, and we took refuge in the cellars beneath the
Town Hall. So far as I could gather, the remaining inhabitants of
Antwerp must have assembled about this neighborhood, groups taking
refuge in small and stuffy cellars, where developments were anxiously
awaited. There must have been hundreds of people sheltered underground,
and they included the Mexican and Dominican Consuls. Why these stayed I
do not know, as none of their people were left behind. They were the
only Consuls remaining in Antwerp.
About 8:15 o'clock another shell struck the Town Hall, shattering the
upper story and breaking every window in the place. That was the German
way of telling the Burgomaster to hurry up. There was a tense feeling as
we waited for tidings of some sort or other. A quarter of an hour later
M. De Vos went out in his motor car toward the German line to discuss
conditions on which the city should be surrendered.
Another shell struck a furrier's shop opposite the Town Hall and the
place burst into flames. Several of the gendarmes who had stayed behind
were occupants of cellars, and two of them immediately rushed out to
force a way into the shop in order that they might extinguish the fire.
They found the door locked. It took them ten minutes to force an
entrance. By this time the fire was burning fiercely, and at great
personal risk one of the gendarmes made his way to the top floor of the
premises, and there he endeavored to beat out the flames with a piece of
timber torn from the roof. His efforts were futile, and he called for
water. Soon a Flemish woman brought him two pailfuls, which Fox had
carried to the house, and after half an hour's labor the fire was
extinguished.
The proprietor of the shop was among the people in the cellars across
the way. The news that his house was aflame was broken to him and he
rushed into the street. He gazed for a moment on the scene and burst
into tears like a child.
At 9 o'clock the bombardment of the city suddenly ceased and we
understood the Burgomaster had by this time reached German headquarters.
Still we waited, painfully anxious to learn what would be the ultimate
fate of Antwerp. The Belgian soldiers hurried by on their way to the
front. A number paused just as they reached a tobacconist's shop which
had been wrecked by shells, scattering the stock in the street. There
were cigars hurled across the pavement and roadway, and soldiers who had
halted picked up a few of the cigars. A Belgian workman, taking
advantage of this, entered the shop and began to stuff his pockets full
of cigars and cigarettes, but immediately gendarmes hurried to the place
and arrested him, the last arrest the Antwerp police will make for some
time.
At 10:30 o'clock proclamations were posted on walls of the Town Hall
urging all in the city to surrender any arms in their possession and
begging for a calm demeanor in the event of German occupation. The list
was also posted of several prominent citizens who were appointed to look
after the interests of those Belgians who remained.
Just before noon a patrol of cyclists and armed and mounted gendarmes,
who had escorted the Burgomaster to the gate of the city, informed Fox
and myself that the Germans were entering by the gate of Malines. We
hastily took our bicycles with the intention of making our way over the
Dutch frontier. As we passed along the quay by a most timely stroke of
luck we found a motor boat standing by. It was manned by a Belgian, and
his mate.
"Can you take us to Flushing?" we asked.
"Yes," answered the Belgian.
"How much?"
"One hundred and fifty francs each."
We were in that boat in thirty seconds and in another thirty seconds had
started down the Scheldt. By this time the Germans were in the city.
At a good ten knots we raced down the river. In twenty-five minutes we
had reached the bend which blotted Antwerp from view. As we rounded the
corner I turned for a last glimpse of the disappearing city. The
Cathedral was still standing, its tower dominating surroundings. Here
and there volumes of smoke were rising to the sky.
It took us twelve hours to get to Flushing. On either side of the river
thousands of refugees were fleeing from the invaders. They swarmed along
the banks in continuous lines, a vast pilgrimage of the hopeless, many
laden with household possessions which they had been able to gather at
almost a moment's notice. Numbers were empty-handed and burdened at that
in dragging their weary bodies along the miles which seemed never
ending. It was a heartrending spectacle. Infinite pity must go out to
those broken victims of the war, bowed veterans driven from home, going
they knew not where; women with their crying children, famished for lack
of food, all or nearly all leaving behind men folk who were still
fighting their country's battle or mourning the loss of loved ones who
had already sacrificed their lives.
Where the Scheldt becomes Dutch property we were stopped by customs
authorities and submitted to a rigorous examination. Dutch officials for
a time believed we were either Belgian or English officers escaping, but
eventually they were satisfied.
Upon arriving at Flushing we found the town in a tremendous state of
excitement. Great crowds of refugees were there, 10,000 or more, and
the hotels were choked. Many wretched people had left their homes
absolutely without any money and were forced to camp in the streets.
There was a vast crowd waiting to get on the Flushing-Folkestone boat,
and it appeared we would be balked in our endeavor to get to England
that night. However, we discussed our position with the Superintendent
of the line, and he very kindly got us a berth.
*As the French Fell Back on Paris*
*By G.H. Perris of The London Daily Chronicle.*
[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
CHATEAU [Transcriber: original 'Chateau'] THIERRY, Sunday, Sept. 13.--We
first realized yesterday, in a little town of Brie which lies east of
Paris, between the Seine and the Marne, how difficult it is to get food
in the rear of two successive invasions. As in every other town in the
region, all the shops were shut and nearly all the houses. It was only
after a long search that we found an inn that could give us luncheon.
There, in a large room with a low-beamed roof and a tiled floor, our
stout landlady in blue cotton produced an excellent meal of melon,
mutton, macaroni, and good ripe pears. Dogs and cats sprawled around us,
and a big bowl of roses spoke of serenities that are now in general
eclipse. At a neighboring table a group of peasants, too old for active
service, were discussing their grievances.
At a railway crossing just out of town we were blocked by a train of
about a dozen big horse trucks and two passenger carriages, carrying
wounded and prisoners to Paris from the fighting lines in the north. It
had been a gloomy morning, and the rain now fell in torrents.
Nevertheless the townsfolk crowded up, and for half an hour managed to
conduct a satisfactory combination of profit and pity by supplying big
flat loaves, bottles of wine, fruit, cigarettes, and jugs of water to
those in the train who had money and some who had none. One very old
woman in white, with a little red cross on her forehead, turned up to
take advantage of the only opportunity ever likely to fall in her way. A
great Turco in fez, blouse, and short, baggy breeches was very active in
this commissariat work.
Some of the Frenchmen on board were not wounded seriously enough to
prevent their getting down on the roadway; and you may be sure they were
not ashamed of their plaster patches and bandaged arms.
There were about 300 German prisoners in the train. We got glimpses of
them lying in the straw on the floor in the dark interior of the big
trucks. I got on the footboard and looked into the open door of one car.
Fifteen men were stretched upon straw, and two soldiers stood guard over
them, rifle in hand. They all seemed in a state of extreme exhaustion.
Some were asleep, others were eating large chunks of bread.
In the middle of the car a young soldier who spoke French fairly well
told me that the German losses during the last three days had been
enormous; and then, stopping suddenly, he said:
"Would it be possible, Sir, to get a little water for my fellows and
myself?"
"Certainly," I replied; and a man belonging to the station, who was
passing with a jug, said at once that he would run and get some. The
prisoner thanked me and added with a sigh:
"They are very good fellows here."
One jocular French guard had put on a spiked helmet which he was keeping
as a trophy, and, so much does the habit make the man, he now looked
uncannily like a German himself.
As we passed through the villages to the northeast the contrast between
abandoned houses and gardens rioting with the color of roses and dahlias
and fruit-laden trees struck us like a blow.
In Gourchamp a number of houses had been burned, and the neighboring
fields showed that there had been fighting there; but it was Courtacon
which presented the most grievous spectacle. Eighteen of its two dozen
houses had been completely destroyed by fire. The walls were partly
standing, but the floors and contents of the rooms were completely
buried under the debris of roofs that had fallen in. In a little Post
Office the telegraphic and telephonic instruments had been smashed. Just
opposite is a small building including the office of the Mayor and the
village school. The outside of the building and the outhouses were
littered with the straw on which the Uhlans had slept. In the Mayor's
office the drawers and cupboards had been broken open, and their
contents had been scattered with the remnants of meals on the floor.
But it is a scene in a little village school that will longest remain in
my memory. The low forms, the master's desk, and the blackboard stand
today as they did on July 25, which was no doubt the last day before the
Summer vacation, as it was also the last week before the outbreak of the
war. On the walls the charts remained which reminded these little ones
daily that "Alcohol is the enemy," and had summoned them to follow the
path of kindness, justice, and truth. The windows were smashed, broken
cartridge cases lay about with wings of birds and other refuse. Near the
door I saw chalked up, evidently in German handwriting, "Parti Paris,"
("Left for Paris.")
The invaders had sought to burn the place. There was one pile of partly
burned straw under the school bookcase, the doors of which had been
smashed, while some of the books had been thrown about. They had not
even respected a little museum consisting of a few bottles of metal and
chemical specimens; and when I turned to leave I perceived written
across the blackboard in bold, fine writing, as the lesson of the day,
these words: "A chaque jour suffit sa peine," ("Sufficient unto the day
is the evil thereof.")
One of the villagers gave us the following narrative of the experiences
of the past week:
"It was last Saturday, Sept. 5, that about 15,000 Uhlans arrived in the
village with the intention of marching on Provins on the morrow. They
probably learned during the night that the British and French lay in
force across their road, and perhaps they may now have received orders
to fall back.
"At any rate, early Sunday morning they started to retire, when they met
at the entrance to the village a regiment of chasseurs. This was the
beginning of fighting which lasted all day. Under the pretext that we
had learned of the presence of the French troops and had helped them to
prepare a trap, the Germans sacked the whole of the village.
"Naturally there was a panic. All the inhabitants--mostly women and
children, because since the mobilization there have been only nine men
in Courtacon--rushed from their cottages and many of them, lightly clad,
fled across the fields and hid themselves in the neighboring woods.
"In several cottages Germans, revolvers in hand, compelled the poor
peasants to bring matches and themselves set fire to their homes. In
less than an hour the village was like a furnace, the walls toppling
down one by one. And all this time the fighting continued. It was a
horrible spectacle.
"Several of us were dragged to the edge of the road to be shot, and
there we remained for some hours, believing our last day had come. A
young village lad of 21 years, who was just going to leave to join the
colors, was shot. Then the retreat was sounded, the Germans fled
precipitately, and we were saved."
I asked whether the cottages had not been fired by artillery.
"Not a cannon shot fell here," he replied. "All that"--pointing to the
ruined huts--"was done by incendiaries." And then he added:
"Last Tuesday two French officers came in automobiles and brought with
them a superior German officer whom they had made prisoner. They
compelled him to become a witness of the mischief of which his
fellow-countrymen had been guilty."
A peasant woman passed, pushing a wheelbarrow containing some
half-burned household goods and followed by her two small children.
"Look," she said, "at the brutality of these Germans! My husband has
gone to war and I am alone with my two little ones. With great
difficulty we had managed to gather our crop, and they set fire to our
little farm and burned everything."
Half an hour later we were at La Ferte Gaucher, a small town on the
Grand Morin, now first made famous by the fact that it was here that the
German flight began after the severe fighting last Monday. The invaders
had arrived only on Saturday and had the disagreeable surprise of
finding that the river bridges had been broken down by the retreating
French. The German commandant informed the municipal officials that if
the sum of 60,000 francs ($12,000) was not produced he would burn the
town. Then he compelled the people to set about rebuilding the bridge,
and they worked day and night at this job under the eyes of soldiers
with revolvers and rifles ready to shoot down any shirker.
The relief of these people at the return of the Allies may be imagined.
Here, as elsewhere, some houses were burned, but otherwise the damage
did not appear to be very serious.
*The Retreat to Paris*
*By Philip Gibbs of The London Daily Chronicle.*
[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
NEAR AMIENS, Aug. 30.--Looking back on all I have seen during the last
few days, I find it difficult to piece together the various incidents
and impressions and to make one picture. It all seems to me now like a
jigsaw puzzle of suffering and fear and courage and death--a litter of
odd, disconnected scraps of human agony and of some big, grim scheme
which, if one could only get the clue, would give a meaning, I suppose,
to all these tears of women and children, to all these hurried movements
of soldiers and people, to the death carts trailing back from unknown
places, and to the great dark fear that has enveloped all the tract of
country in Northwest France through which I have been traveling, driven
like one of its victims from place to place. Out of all this welter of
individual suffering and from all the fog of mystery which has
enshrouded them until now, when the truth may be told, certain big facts
with a clear and simple issue will emerge and give one courage.
The French Army and our English troops are now holding good positions in
a much stronger and closer line and stemming the tide of the German
hordes rolling up to Paris. Gen. Pau, the hero of this war, after his
swift return from the eastern front, where he repaired the deadly check
at Muelhausen, has dealt a smashing blow at a German Army corps which was
striking to the heart of France.
Paris is still safe for the time being, with a great army of allied
forces, French, English, and Belgians, drawn across the country as a
barrier which surely will not be broken by the enemy. Nothing that has
happened gives cause for that despair which has taken hold of people
whose fears have exaggerated the facts, frightful enough when taken
separately, but not giving any proof that resistance is impossible
against the amazing onslaught of the German legions.
I have been into the war zone and seen during the last five days men who
are now holding the lines of defense. I have been among their dead and
wounded, and have talked with soldiers marching fresh to the front. I
have seen the horrid mess which is cleared up after the battle and the
grim picture of retreat, but nothing that I have seen or heard from
either British or French leads me to believe that our army has been
smashed or the Allies demoralized.
It is impossible to estimate our own losses. Our wounded are being
brought back into Havre and Rouen, and undoubtedly there are large
numbers of them. But, putting them at the highest, it is clear to me,
from all information gained during the last five days, that there has
been no overwhelming disaster, and that in the terrible actions fought
on the four days from the 23d to the 27th, and afterward in the further
retirement from the line of Cambrai and Le Cateau, swinging southward
and eastward upon St. Quentin, our main forces, which were pressed by
enormous numbers of the enemy, succeeded in withdrawing in good order,
without having their lines broken, while inflicting a terrific
punishment upon the German right.
As I shall show in this narrative, retreats which seem fatal when seen
close at hand and when described by those who belong to broken fragments
of extended sections, are not altogether disastrous in their effect when
viewed in their right perspective, away from the immediate misery which
is their inevitable accompaniment.
German audacity of attack against the heroic courage of the French and
British forces, who fight every mile of ground during their retirement,
is leading the enemy into a position from which there will be no retreat
if their lines are broken. Unfortunately, there are hundreds of
thousands of people who know nothing of the great issues and who are
possessed by the great, blind fear which has driven them from their
towns, villages, and homes.
When the Germans swept around Lille they found, to their amazement, that
this town, surrounded by forts, had been abandoned, and they had only to
walk inside. This easy access to a town which should have been defended
to the last gasp opened the way to the west of France.
The left wing of the French, which was to the west of Mons, was
supported by the English troops, all too weak to sustain the pressure of
the tremendous odds which began to surge against them; and, realizing
this perilous state of affairs, the brain at the centre of things, the
controlling brain of Gen. Joffre and his Headquarters Staff, decreed
that the northwest corner of France was untenable and that the main army
of defense should withdraw into a stronger and closer formation.
It was then that the great panic began, increasing in speed and terror
during the end of last week. I was in the midst of it and saw
unforgettable scenes of the enormous tragedy. It was a flight of
hundreds and thousands of families from St. Omer and Roubaix, Bethune,
Douai, Valenciennes, and Arras, who were driven away from their northern
homes by the menace of approaching Uhlans. They are still being hunted
by fear from place to place, where they can find no shelter and no
permanent safety. The railways have been choked with them, and in these
long fugitive trains which pass through stations there is no food or
drink. The poor runaways, weary, filthy, and exhausted, spend long days
and nights shunted onto side lines, while troop trains pass and pass,
and are held up in towns where they can find no means of existence
because the last civilian train has left.
When the troops marched away from Boulogne and left it silent and
unguarded I saw the inhabitants, utterly dismayed, standing despondently
staring at placards posted up by order of the Governor, which announced
the evacuation of the town and called upon them to be ready for all
sacrifices in the service of their country. The customs officers left,
the civil police disarmed, while a flag with nine black spots was made
ready to be hoisted on the fort directly any Uhlans were sighted.
The people of Boulogne could not understand, no Frenchman of the north
can understand, why their ports and towns are silent after the tramp of
so many regiments who have left a great tract of country open and
undefended. In that corner of France the people listen intently for the
first clatter of hoofs and for the first cry "Les Uhlans." Rumors came
that the enemy has been seen in neighboring towns and villages. Can one
wonder that mothers and fathers rush from their houses and wander forth
in a blind, unreasoning way to swell the panic tide of fugitives,
homeless and without food, dropping here and there on the wayside in
utter weariness?
I was lucky in getting out of Boulogne on the last train bound for
Paris, though not guaranteed to reach the capital. As a matter of fact,
I was even more lucky because it did not arrive at its destination and
enabled me to alight in the war zone and proceed to more interesting
places.
I will tell at once the story of the French retirement when the Germans
advanced from Namur down the valley of the Meuse, winning the way at a
cost of human life as great as that of defeat, yet winning their way.
For France the story of that retirement is as glorious as anything in
her history. It was nearly a fortnight ago that the Germans concentrated
their heaviest forces upon Namur and began to press southward and over
the Meuse Valley. After the battle of Dinant the French Army, among whom
were the Second and Seventh Corps, was heavily outnumbered and had to
fall back gradually, in order to gain time for reinforcements to come
up.
French artillery was up on the wooded heights above the river and swept
the German regiments with a storm of fire as they advanced. On the right
bank the French infantry was intrenched, supported by field guns and
mitrailleuses, and did deadly work before leaping from trenches which
they occupied and taking up a position in new trenches further back,
which they held with great tenacity.
In justice to the Germans it must be said they were heroic in courage
and reckless of their lives, and the valley of the Meuse was choked with
their corpses. The river itself was strewn with the dead bodies of men
and horses and literally ran red with blood.
The most tremendous fighting took place for the possession of the
bridges, but the French engineers blew them up one after another as they
retired southward.
No less than thirty-three bridges were destroyed in this way before they
could be seized by the German advance guard. The fighting was extended
for a considerable distance on either side of the Meuse and many
engagements took place between French and German cavalry and regiments
working away from the main armies.
There was, for instance, a memorable encounter at Marville which is one
of the most heroic episodes of the war. Five thousand French soldiers of
all arms, with quick-firers, engaged 20,000 German infantry. In spite of
being outnumbered, the French beat back the enemy from point to point in
a fight lasting for twelve hours, inflicting tremendous punishment and
suffering very few losses.
The German officer captured expressed his unbounded admiration for the
valor of the French troops, which he described as superb. It was only
for fear of getting too far out of touch with the main forces that the
gallant 5,000 desisted from their irresistible attack and retired with a
large number of German helmets as trophies of the victorious action.
Nevertheless, in accordance with the general plan which had been decided
on by the Generals, in view of the superior numbers temporarily pressing
upon them, the Germans succeeded in forcing their way steadily down the
Meuse as far as Mezieres, divided by a bridge from Charleville, on the
other side of the river. This is in the neighborhood of Sedan and in the
"trou," as it is called, which led to the great disaster of 1870, when
the French were caught in a trap and threatened with annihilation by
the Germans, who had taken possession of the surrounding heights.
There was to be no repetition of that tragedy. The French were
determined that this time the position should be reversed.
On Monday the town of Charleville was evacuated, most of its civilians
being sent away to join the wanderers who have had to leave their homes,
and the French troops took up a magnificent position, commanding the
town and the three bridges dividing them from Mezieres. Mitrailleuses
were hidden in the abandoned houses, and as a disagreeable shock to any
German who might escape their fire was a number of the enemy's guns, no
fewer than ninety-five of them, which had been captured and disabled by
French troops in a series of battles down the river from Namur.
The German outposts reached Charleville on Tuesday. They were allowed to
ride quietly across the bridges into an apparently deserted town. Then
suddenly their line of retreat was cut off, the three bridges were blown
up by a contact mine, and the mitrailleuses hidden in the houses were
played on the German cavalry across the streets, killing them in a
frightful slaughter.
It was for a little while sheer massacre, but the Germans fought with
extraordinary tenacity, regardless of the heaped bodies of comrades and
utterly reckless of their own lives. They, too, had brought quick-firers
across the bridges, and, taking cover behind houses, trained their guns
upon the houses from which the French gunners were firing. There was no
way of escape for those heroic men, who voluntarily sacrificed
themselves, and it is probable every man died, because at such a time
the Germans were not in the habit of giving quarter.
When the main German advance came down the valley, the French artillery
on the heights raked them with a terrific fire, in which they suffered
heavy losses, the forefront of the column being mowed down. But under
this storm they proceeded with incredible coolness to their pontoon
bridges across the river, and although hundreds of men died on the
banks, they succeeded in their endeavor, while their guns searched the
hills with shells and forced French gunners to retire from their
positions.
The occupation of Charleville was a German victory, but was also a
German graveyard. After this historic episode in what has been an
unending battle the main body of French withdrew before the Germans, who
were now pouring down the valley, and retired to new ground.
It was a retirement which has had one advantage in spite of its
acknowledgment of the enemy's amazing pertinacity. It has enabled the
allied armies to draw closer together, its firm front sweeping around in
a crescent from Abbeville, around south of Amiens, and thence in an
irregular line to the eastern frontier.
On the map it is at first sight a rather unhappy thing to see that
practically the whole of France north of Amiens lies open to German
descent from Belgium. To break up the German Army piecemeal and lure it
to its own destruction it was almost necessary to manoeuvre it into
precisely the position which it now occupies. The success of Gen. Pau
shows that the allied army is taking the offensive again, and that as a
great fighting machine it is still powerful and menacing.
I must again emphasize the difficulty of grasping the significance of a
great campaign by isolated incidents, and the danger of drawing
important deductions from the misfortunes in one part of the field. I do
so because I have been tempted again and again during the past few days
to fall into similar mistakes. Perhaps in my case it was pardonable.
It is impossible for the armchair reader to realize the psychological
effect of being mixed up in the panic of a great people and the retreat
from a battlefield.
The last real fighting was taking place at a village called Bapaume all
day Friday. It was very heavy fighting here on the left centre of the
great army commanded by Gen. Pau, and leading to a victory which has
just been announced officially in France.
A few minutes before midnight Friday, when they came back along the road
to Amiens, crawling back slowly in a long, dismal trail, the ambulance
wagons laden with the dead and dying, hay carts piled high with saddles
and accoutrements, upon which lay, immobile like men already dead, the
spent and exhausted soldiers, they passed through the crowds of silent
people of Amiens, who only whispered as they stared at the procession.
In the darkness a cuirassier, with head bent upon his chest, stumbled
forward, leading his horse, too weak and tired to bear him.
Many other men were leading poor beasts this way, and infantry soldiers,
some with bandaged heads, clung to the backs of carts and wagons, and
seemed asleep as they shuffled by.
The light from roadside lamps gleamed upon blanched faces and glazed
eyes, flashed into caverns of canvas-covered carts, where twisted men
lay huddled on straw. Not a groan came from the carts, but every one
knew it was a retreat.
The carts carrying the quick and the dead rumbled by in a long convoy,
the drooping heads of the soldiers turned neither right nor left for any
greeting with friends.
There was a hugger-mugger of uniforms, of provision carts, and with
ambulances--it was a part of the wreckage and wastage of war; and to
the onlookers, with the exaggeration, unconsciously, of the importance
of the things close at hand and visible, it seemed terrible in its
significance and an ominous reminder of 1870.
Really this was an inevitable part of a serious battle, not necessarily
a retreat from a great disaster.
But more pitiful even than this drift back were scenes which followed.
As I turned back into the town I saw thousands of boys who had been
called to the colors and had been brought up from the country to be sent
forward to second lines of defense.
They were the reservists of the 1914 class, and many of them were
shouting and singing, though here and there a white-faced boy tried to
hide his tears as women from the crowd ran forward to embrace him. These
lads were keeping up their valor by noisy demonstrations; but, having
seen the death carts pass, I could not bear to look into the faces of
those little ones who are following their fathers to the guns.
Early next morning there was a thrill of anxiety in Amiens. Reports had
come through that the railway line had been cut between Boulogne and
Abbeville. There had been mysterious movements of regiments from the
town barracks. They had moved out of Amiens, and there was a strange
quietude in the streets. Hardly a man in uniform was to be seen in the
places which had been filled with soldiers the day before.
Only a few people realized the actual significance of this. How could
they know that it was a part of the great plan to secure the safety of
France? How could they realize that the town itself would be saved from
possible bombardment by this withdrawal of the troops to positions which
would draw the Germans into the open?
The fighting on the Cambrai-Cateau line seems to have been more
desperate even that the terrible actions at Mons and Charleroi. It was
when the British troops had to swing around to a more southerly line to
guard the roads to Paris, that the enemy attacked in prodigious numbers,
and their immense superiority in machine guns did terrible work among
officers and men.
But on all sides, from the French officers, there is immense praise for
the magnificent conduct of our troops, and in spite of all alarmist
statements I am convinced from what I have heard that they have retired
intact, keeping their lines together, and preventing their divisions
from being broken and cut off.
The list of casualties must be very great, but if I can believe the
evidence of my own eyes in such towns as Rouen, where the Red Cross
hospitals are concentrated, they are not heavy enough to suggest
anything like a great and irretrievable disaster.
DIEPPE, Sept. 3.--Let me describe briefly the facts which I have learned
of in the last five days. When I escaped from Amiens, before the tunnel
was broken up, and the Germans entered into possession of the town on
Aug. 28, the front of the allied armies was in a crescent from
Abbeville, south of Amiens on the wooded heights, and thence in an
irregular line to south of Mezieres. The British forces, under Sir John
French, were at the left of the centre, supporting the heavy
thrust-forward of the main German advance, while the right was commanded
by Gen. Pau.
On Sunday afternoon fighting was resumed along the whole line. The
German vanguard had by this time been supported by a fresh army corps,
which had been brought from Belgium. At least 1,000,000 men were on the
move, pressing upon the allied forces with a ferocity of attack which
has never before been equaled. Their cavalry swept across a great tract
of country, squadron by squadron, like the mounted hordes of Attila, but
armed with the dreadful weapons of modern warfare. Their artillery was
in enormous numbers, and their columns advanced under cover of it, not
like an army, but rather like a moving nation--I do not think, however,
with equal pressure at all parts of the line. It formed itself into a
battering ram with a pointed end, and this point was thrust at the heart
of the English wing.
It was impossible to resist this onslaught. If the British forces had
stood against it they would have been crushed and broken. Our gunners
were magnificent, and shelled the advancing German columns so that the
dead lay heaped up along the way which was leading down to Paris; but as
one of them told me: "It made no manner of difference; as soon as we had
smashed one lot another followed, column after column, and by sheer
weight of numbers we could do nothing to check them."
After this the British forces fell back, fighting all the time. The line
of the Allies was now in the shape of a V, the Germans thrusting their
main attack deep into the angle.
This position remained the same until Monday, or, rather, had completed
itself by that date, the retirement of the troops being maintained with
masterly skill and without any undue haste.
Meanwhile Gen. Pau was sustaining a terrific attack on the French
centre by the German left centre, which culminated on (date omitted).
The River Oise, which runs between beautiful meadows, was choked with
corpses and red with blood.
From an eyewitness of this great battle, an officer of an infantry
regiment, who escaped with a slight wound, I learned that the German
onslaught had been repelled by a series of brilliant bayonet and cavalry
charges.
"The Germans," he said, "had the elite of their army engaged against us,
including the Tenth Army Corps and the Imperial Guard, but the heroism
of our troops was sublime. Every man knew that the safety of France
depended upon him and was ready to sacrifice his life, if need be, with
joyful enthusiasm. They not only resisted the enemy's attack but took
the offensive, and, in spite of their overpowering numbers, gave them
tremendous punishment. They had to recoil before our guns, which swept
their ranks, and their columns were broken and routed.
"Hundreds of them were bayoneted, and hundreds were hurled into the
river. The whole field of battle was outlined by dead and dying men whom
they had to abandon. Certainly their losses were enormous, and I felt
that the German retreat was in full swing and that we could claim a real
victory for the time being."
Nevertheless the inevitable happened, owing to the vast reserves of the
enemy, who brought up four divisions, and Gen. Pau was compelled to give
ground.
On Tuesday German skirmishers with light artillery were coming
southward, and the sound of their field guns greeted my ears in that
town which I shall always remember with unpleasant recollections in
spite of its Old World beauty and the loveliness of the scene in which
it is set. It seemed to me that this was the right place to be in order
to get into touch with the French Army on the way to the capital. As a
matter of fact, it was the wrong place from all points of view; it was
nothing less than a deathtrap, and it was by a thousand-to-one chance
that I succeeded in escaping quite a nasty kind of fate.
I might have suspected that something was wrong with the place by the
strange look on the face of a friendly French peasant, whom I met. He
had described to me in a very vivid way the disposition of the French
troops on the neighboring hills. Down the road came suddenly parties of
peasants with fear in their eyes. Some of them were in farm carts and
put their horses to a stumbling gallop.
Women with blanched faces, carrying children in their arms, trudged
along the dusty highway, and it was clear that these people were afraid
of something behind them. There were not many of them, and when they had
passed the countryside was strangely and uncannily quiet. There was only
the sound of singing birds above fields which were flooded with the
golden light of the setting sun.
Then I came into the town. An intense silence brooded there among the
narrow little streets below the old Norman church--a white jewel on the
rising ground beyond. Almost every house was shuttered with blind eyes;
but here and there I looked through an open window into deserted rooms.
No human face returned my gaze. It was an abandoned town, emptied of all
its people, who had fled with fear in their eyes, like those peasants
along the roadway.
But presently I saw a human form; it was the figure of a French dragoon
with his carbine slung behind his back. He was stopping by the side of a
number of gunpowder bags. A little further away were little groups of
soldiers at work by two bridges, one over a stream and one over a road.
They were working very calmly, and I could see what they were doing;
they were mining bridges to blow them up at a given signal.
As I went further I saw that the streets were strewn with broken bottles
and littered with wire entanglements, very artfully and carefully made.
It was a queer experience. It was obvious that there was very grim
business being done, and that the soldiers were waiting for something
to happen. At the railway station I quickly learned the truth; the
Germans were only a few miles away, in great force. At any moment they
might come down, smashing everything in their way and killing every
human being along that road.
The station master, a brave old type, and one or two porters had
determined to stay on to the last. "We are here," he said, as though the
Germans would have to reckon with him; but he was emphatic in his
request for me to leave at once if another train could be got away,
which was very uncertain. As a matter of fact, after a bad quarter of an
hour I was put on the last train to escape from this threatened town,
and left it with the sound of German guns in my ears, followed by a dull
explosion when the bridge behind me was blown up.
My train, in which there were only four other men, skirted the German
army, and by a twist in the line almost ran into the enemy's country,
but we rushed through the night, and the engine driver laughed and put
his oily hand up to salute when I stepped out to the platform of an
unknown station. "The Germans won't get us, after all," he said. It was
a little risky, all the same.
The station was crowded with French soldiers, and they were soon telling
me their experience of the hard fighting in which they had been engaged.
They were dirty, unshaven, dusty from head to foot, scorched by the
August sun, in tattered uniforms and broken boots; but they were
beautiful men for all their dirt, and the laughing courage, quiet
confidence, and unbragging simplicity with which they assured me that
the Germans would soon be caught in a death trap and sent to their
destruction filled me with admiration which I cannot express in words.
All the odds were against them; they had fought the hardest of all
actions--the retirement from the fighting line--but they had absolute
faith in the ultimate success of their allied arms.
I managed to get to Paris. It was in the middle of the night, but
extraordinary scenes were taking place. It had become known during the
day that Paris was no longer the seat of the Government, which has
moved to Bordeaux. The Parisians had had notice of four days in which to
destroy their houses within the zone of fortifications, and, to add to
the cold fear occasioned by this news, aeroplanes had dropped bombs upon
the Gare de l'Est that afternoon.
There was a rush last night to get away from the capital, and the
railway stations were great camps of fugitives, in which the richest and
poorest citizens were mingled with their women and children. But the
tragedy deepened when it was heard that most of the lines to the east
had been cut, and that the only line remaining open to Dieppe would
probably be destroyed during the next few hours. A great wail of grief
arose from the crowds, and the misery of these people was pitiful.
Among them were groups of soldiers of many regiments. Many of them were
wounded and lay on stretchers on the floor among crying babies and
weary-eyed women. They had been beaten and were done for until the end
of the war. But, alone among the panic-stricken crowd--panic-stricken,
yet not noisy or hysterical, but very quiet and restrained for the most
part--the soldiers were cheerful, and even gay.
Among them were some British troops, and I had a talk with them. They
had been fighting for ten days without cessation, and their story is
typical of the way in which all our troops held themselves.
"We had been fighting night and day," said a Sergeant. "For the whole of
that time the only rest from fighting was when we were marching and
retiring." He spoke of the German Army as an avalanche of armed men.
"You can't mow that down," he said. "We kill them and kill them, and
still they come on. They seem to have an inexhaustible supply of fresh
troops. Directly we check them in one attack a fresh attack is
developed. It is impossible to oppose such a mass of men with any
success."
This splendid fellow, who was severely wounded, was still so much master
of himself, so supreme in his common sense, that he was able to get the
right perspective about the general situation.
"It is not right to say we have met with disaster," he said. "We have to
expect that nowadays. Besides, what if a battalion was cut up? That did
not mean defeat. While one regiment suffered, another got off lightly";
and by the words of that Sergeant the public may learn to see the truth
of what has happened. I can add my own evidence to his. All along the
lines I have spoken to officers and men, and the actual truth is that
the British Army is still unbroken, having retired in perfect order to
good positions--the most marvelous feat ever accomplished in modern
warfare.
From Paris I went by the last train again which has got through to
Dieppe. Lately I seem to have become an expert in catching the last
train. It was only a branch line which struggles in an erratic way
through the west of France, and the going was long and painful, because
at every wayside station the carriages were besieged by people trying to
escape. They were very patient and very brave. Even when they found that
it was impossible to get one more human being on or one more package
into the already crowded train they turned away in quiet grief, and when
women wept over their babies it was silently and without abandonment to
despair. The women of France are brave, God knows. I have seen their
courage during the past ten days--gallantry surpassing that of the men,
because of their own children in their arms without shelter, food, or
safety in this terrible flight from the advancing enemy.
Enormous herds of cattle were being driven into Paris. For miles the
roads were thronged with them; and down other roads away from Paris
families were trekking to far fields with their household goods piled
into bullock carts, pony carts, and wheelbarrows.
Two batteries of artillery were stationed by the line, and a regiment of
infantry was hiding in the hollows of the grassy slopes. Their outposts
were scanning the horizon, and it was obvious that the Germans were
expected at this point in order to cut the last way of escape from the
capital.
One of the enemy's aeroplanes flew above our heads, circled around, and
then disappeared. It dropped no bombs and was satisfied with its
reconnoissance. The whistle of the train shrieked out, and there was a
cheer from the French gunners as we went on our way to safety, leaving
them behind at the post of peril.
ST. PIERRE DU VAUVRAY, Sept. 6.--England received a hint yesterday as to
a change in the German campaign, but only those who have been, as I
have, into the very heart of this monstrous horror of war, seeing the
flight of hundreds of thousands of people before an overwhelming enemy
and following the lines of the allied armies in their steady retirement
before an apparently irresistible advance, may realize even dimly the
meaning of the amazing transformation that has happened during the last
few days.
For when I wrote my last dispatch from Arques-la-Bataille, after my
adventures along the French and English lines, it seemed as inevitable
as the rising of next day's sun that the Germans should enter Paris on
the very day when I wrote my dispatch. Still not a single shot has come
crashing upon the French fortifications.
At least a million men--that is no exaggeration of a light pen, but the
sober and actual truth--were advancing steadily upon the capital last
Tuesday. They were close to Beauvais when I escaped from what was then a
death-trap. They were fighting our British troops at Creil when I came
to that town. Upon the following days they were holding our men in the
Forest of Compiegne. They had been as near to Paris as Senlis, almost
within gunshot of the outer forts.
"Nothing seems to stop them," said many soldiers with whom I spoke. "We
kill them and kill them, but they come on."
The situation seemed to me almost ready for the supreme tragedy--the
capture or destruction of Paris. The northwest of France lay very open
to the enemy, abandoned as far south as Abbeville and Amiens, too
lightly held by a mixed army corps of French and Algerian troops with
their headquarters at Aumale.
Here was an easy way to Paris.
Always obsessed with the idea that the Germans must come from the east,
the almost fatal error of this war, the French had girdled Paris with
almost impenetrable forts on the east side, from those of Ecouen and
Montmorency, by the far-flung forts of Chelles and Champigny, to those
of Susy and Villeneuve, on the outer lines of the triple cordon; but on
the west side, between Pontoise and Versailles, the defenses of Paris
were weak. I say "were," because during the last three days thousands of
men have been digging trenches and throwing up ramparts. Only the
snakelike Seine, twining into Pegoud loop, forms a natural defense to
the western approach to the city, none too secure against men who have
crossed many rivers in their desperate assaults.
This, then, was the Germans' chance; it was for this that they had
fought their way westward and southward through incessant battlefields
from Mons and Charleroi to St. Quentin and Amiens and down to Creil and
Compiegne, flinging away human life as though it were but rubbish for
deathpits. The prize of Paris, Paris the great and beautiful, seemed to
be within their grasp.
It was their intention to smash their way into it by this western entry
and then to skin it alive. Holding this city at ransom, it was their
idea to force France to her knees under threat of making a vast and
desolate ruin of all those palaces and churches and noble buildings in
which the soul of French history is enshrined.
They might have done it but for one thing which has upset all the
cold-blooded calculations of their staff, that thing which perhaps I may
be pardoned for calling the miracle. They might have done it, I think,
last Wednesday and Thursday, even perhaps as late as last Friday.
I am not saying these things from rumor and hearsay, I am writing from
the evidence of my own eyes after traveling several hundreds of miles in
France during the last four days along the main strategical lines, grim
sentinels guarding the last barriers to that approaching death which is
sweeping on its way through France to the rich harvest of Paris, which
it was eager to destroy.
There was only one thing to do to escape from the menace of this death.
By all the ways open, by any way, the population of Paris emptied itself
like rushing rivers of humanity along all the lines which promised
anything like safety.
Only those stayed behind to whom life means very little away from Paris
and who if death came desired to die in the city of their life.
Again I write from what I saw and to tell the honest truth from what I
suffered, for the fatigue of this hunting for facts behind the screen of
war is exhausting to all but one's moral strength, and even to that.
I found myself in the midst of a new and extraordinary activity of the
French and English Armies. Regiments were being rushed up to the centre
of the allied forces toward Creil, Montdidier, and Noyon. That was
before last Tuesday, when the English troops [Transcriber: original
'toops'] were fighting hard at Creil.
This great movement continued for several days, putting to a severe test
the French railway system, which is so wonderfully organized that it
achieved this mighty transportation of troops with clockwork regularity.
Working to a time table dictated by some great brain which in
Headquarters Staff of the French Army, calculated with perfect precision
the conditions of a network of lines on which troop trains might be run
to a given point. It was an immense victory of organization, and a
movement which heartened one observer at least to believe that the
German deathblow would again be averted.
I saw regiment after regiment entraining. Men from the Southern
Provinces, speaking the patois of the South; men from the Eastern
Departments whom I had seen a month before, at the beginning of the war,
at Chalons and Epernay and Nancy, and men from the southwest and centre
of France, in garrisons along the Loire. They were all in splendid
spirits and utterly undaunted by the rapidity of the German advance.
"It is nothing, my little one," said a dirty, unshaved gentleman with
the laughing eyes of a D'Artagnan; "we shall bite their heads off. These
brutal bosches are going to put themselves in a guetapens, a veritable
deathtrap. We shall have them at last."
Many of them had fought at Longwy and along the heights of the Vosges.
The youngest of them had bristling beards, their blue coats with
turned-back flaps were war worn and flanked with the dust of long
marches; their red trousers were sloppy and stained, but they had not
forgotten how to laugh, and the gallantry of their spirits was a joy to
see.
They are very proud, these French soldiers, of fighting side by side
with their old foes. The English now, after long centuries of strife,
from Edward, the Black Prince, to Wellington, are their brothers-in-arms
upon the battlefields, and because I am English they offered me their
cigarettes and made me one of them. But I realized even then that the
individual is of no account in this inhuman business of war.
It is only masses of men that matter, moved by common obedience at the
dictation of mysterious far-off powers, and I thanked Heaven that masses
of men were on the move rapidly in vast numbers and in the right
direction to support the French lines which had fallen back from Amiens
a few hours before I left that town, and whom I had followed in their
retirement, back and back, with the English always strengthening their
left, but retiring with them almost to the outskirts of Paris itself.
Only this could save Paris--the rapid strengthening of the allied front
by enormous reserves strong enough to hold back the arrow-shaped
battering ram of the enemy's main army.
Undoubtedly the French Headquarters Staff was working heroically and
with fine intelligence to save the situation at the very gates of Paris.
The country was being swept absolutely clean of troops in all parts of
France, where they had been waiting as reserves.
It was astounding to me to see, after those three days of rushing troop
trains and of crowded stations not large enough to contain the
regiments, how on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday last an air of profound
solitude and peace had taken possession of all these routes.
In my long journey through and about France and circling round Paris I
found myself wondering sometimes whether all this war had not been a
dreadful illusion without reality, and a transformation had taken place,
startling in its change, from military turmoil to rural peace.
Dijon was emptied of its troops. The road to Chalons was deserted by all
but fugitives. The great armed camp at Chalons itself had been cleared
out except for a small garrison. The troops at Tours had gone northward
to the French centre. All our English reserves had been rushed up to the
front from Havre and Rouen.
There was only one deduction to be drawn from this great, swift
movement--the French and English lines had been supported by every
available battalion to save Paris from its menace of destruction, to
meet the weight of the enemy's metal by a force strong enough to resist
its mighty mass.
It was still possible that the Germans might be smashed on their left
wing, hurled back to the west between Paris and the sea, and cut off
from their line of communications. It was undoubtedly this impending
peril which scared the enemy's Headquarters Staff and upset all its
calculations. They had not anticipated the rapidity of the supporting
movement of the allied armies, and at the very gates of Paris they saw
themselves balked of their prize, the greatest prize of the war, by the
necessity of changing front.
To do them justice, they realized instantly the new order of things,
and with quick and marvelous decision did not hesitate to alter the
direction of their main force. Instead of proceeding to the west of
Paris they swung round steadily to the southeast in order to keep their
armies away from the enveloping movement of the French and English and
drive their famous wedge-like formation southward for the purpose of
dividing the allied forces of the west from the French Army of the East.
The miraculous had happened, and Paris, for a little time at least, is
unmolested.
That brings me back to the fighting at Creil and Compiegne, which
preceded from last Tuesday until two days later.
The guns were at work at midnight on Tuesday when I passed the English
Headquarters. This battle had only one purpose so far as the Germans
were concerned. It was to keep our British soldiers busy, as well as to
hold the front of the French allies on our right, while their debordant
movements took place behind this fighting screen.
Once again, as throughout the war, they showed their immense superiority
in mitrailleuses, which gives them marvelous mobility and a very deadly
advantage. They masked these quick-firers with great skill until they
had drawn on the English and French infantry and then spilled lead into
their ranks. Once again, also the French were too impetuous, as they
have always been, and as they still are, in spite of Gen. Joffre's
severe rebuke.
Careless of quick-firers, which experience should have taught them were
masked behind the enemy's advance posts, they charged with the bayonet,
and suffered needlessly heavy losses. One can only admire the gallantry
of men who dare to charge on foot against the enemy's mounted men and
who actually put a squadron of them to flight, but one must say again:
"C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre."
There have been many incidents of heroism in these last days of
fighting. It is, for instance, immensely characteristic of the French
spirit that an infantry battalion, having put to flight a detachment of
German outposts in the forest of Compiegne, calmly sat down to have a
picnic in the woods until, as they sat over their hot soup, laughing at
their exploit, they were attacked by a new force and cut to pieces.
But let me describe the new significance of the main German advance.
Their right army has struck down to the southeast of Paris, through
Chateau Thiery to La Ferte-sur-Jouarre and beyond. Their centre army is
coming hard down from Troyes, in the Department of the Aube, and the
army of the left has forced the French to evacuate Rheims and fall back
in a southwesterly direction.
It would not be right of me to indicate the present position of the
British troops or describe the great scenes at their base, which is now
removed to a position which enables our forces to hold the eastern
approach to Paris. It is a wonderful sight to pass the commissariat
camp, where, among other munitions of war, is a park of British
aeroplanes, which are of vital importance to our work of reconnoissance.
Looking, therefore, at the extraordinary transformation throughout the
field of war in France, one thing stands out clear-cut and distinct.
Having been thwarted in their purpose to walk through the western way to
Paris by the enormous forces massed on their flanks, the Germans have
adopted an entirely new plan of campaign and have thrust their armies
deep down into the centre of France in order to divide the western
armies of the Allies from the army on the eastern frontier. It is a
menacing manoeuvre, and it cannot be hidden that the army of Lorraine is
in danger of being cut off by the enemy's armies of the left.
At the same time the German right is swinging round in a southwesterly
direction in order to attack the allied forces on the east and south.
Paris is thus left out of account for the time being, but it depends
upon the issues of the next few days whether the threatened peril will
be averted from it by the immense army now protecting it. I believe the
spirit of our own troops and their French comrades is so splendid that
with their new strength they will be equal to that formidable attack.
Nothing certainly is being left to chance. For miles all around Paris
trenches are being dug in the roads, and little sectional trenches on
the broad roads of France, first one on this side of the way, and then
one on the other side, so that a motor car traveling along the road has
to drive in a series of sharp curves to avoid pitfalls.
There was feverish activity on the west side of the Paris fortifications
when I passed between St. Germain and St. Denis.
Earthworks are being constantly thrown up between the forts, and the
triple curves of the Seine are being intrenched so that thousands of men
may take cover there and form a terrific defense against any attack.
Gen. Gallieni, the Military Governor of Paris, is a man of energy and
iron resolution, and no doubt under his command Paris, if it has to
undergo a siege, (which God avert!) will defend itself well, now that it
has had these precious days of respite.
After wandering along the westerly and southerly roads I started for
Paris when thousands and scores of thousands were flying from it. At
that time I believed, as all France believed, that in a few hours German
shells would be crashing across the fortifications of the city and that
Paris the beautiful would be Paris the infernal. It needed a good deal
of resolution on my part to go deliberately to a city from which the
population was fleeing, and I confess quite honestly that I had a nasty
sensation in the neighborhood of my waistcoat buttons at the thought.
Along the road from Tours to Paris there were sixty unbroken miles of
people--on my honor, I do not exaggerate, but write the absolute truth.
They were all people who had despaired of breaking through the dense
masses of their fellow-citizens camped around the railway stations, and
had decided to take to the roads as the only way of escape.
The vehicles were taxicabs, for which the rich paid fabulous prices;
motor cars which had escaped military requisition, farmers' carts laden
with several families and piles of household goods, shop carts drawn by
horses already tired to the point of death because of the weight of the
people who crowded behind pony traps and governess carts.
Many persons, well dressed and belonging obviously to well-to-do
bourgeoisie, were wheeling barrows like costers, but instead of
trundling cabbages were pushing forward sleeping babies and little
children, who seemed on the first stage to find new amusement and
excitement in the journey from home; but for the most part they trudged
along bravely, carrying their babies and holding the hands of their
little ones.
They were of all classes, rank and fortune being annihilated by the
common tragedy. Elegant women whose beauty is known in Paris salons,
whose frivolity, perhaps, in the past was the main purpose of their
life, were now on a level with the peasant mothers of the French suburbs
and with the midinettes of Montmartre, and their courage did not fail
them so quickly.
I looked into many proud, brave faces of these delicate women, walking
in high-heeled shoes, all too frail for the hard-dusty roadways. They
belonged to the same race and breed as those ladies who defied death
with fine disdain upon the scaffold of the guillotine in the great
Revolution.
They were leaving Paris now, not because of any fears for themselves--I
believe they were fearless--but because they had decided to save the
little sons and daughters of soldier fathers.
This great army in retreat was made up of every type familiar in Paris.
Here were women of the gay world, poor creatures whose painted faces had
been washed with tears, and whose tight skirts and white stockings were
never made for a long march down the highways of France.
Here also were thousands of those poor old ladies who live on a few
francs a week in the top attics of the Paris streets, which Balzac knew;
they had fled from their poor sanctuaries and some of them were still
carrying cats and canaries, as dear to them as their own lives.
There was one young woman who walked with a pet monkey on her shoulder
while she carried a bird in a golden cage. Old men, who remembered 1870,
gave their arms to old ladies to whom they had made love when the
Prussians were at the gates of Paris then.
It was pitiful to see these old people now hobbling along together.
Pitiful, but beautiful also, because of their lasting love.
Young boy students, with ties as black as their hats and rat-tail hair,
marched in small companies of comrades, singing brave songs, as though
they had no fear in their hearts, and very little food, I think, in
their stomachs.
Shopgirls and concierges, city clerks, old aristocrats, young boys and
girls, who supported grandfathers and grandmothers and carried new-born
babies and gave pick-a-back rides to little brothers and sisters, came
along the way of retreat.
Each human being in the vast torrent of life will have an unforgettable
story of adventure to tell if life remains. As a novelist I should have
been glad to get their narratives along this road for a great story of
suffering and strange adventure, but there was no time for that and no
excuse.
When I met many of them they were almost beyond the power of words. The
hot sun of this September had beaten down upon them--scorching them as
in the glow of molten metal. Their tongues clave to their mouths with
thirst.
Some of them had that wild look in their eyes which is the first sign of
the delirium of thirst and fatigue.
Nothing to eat or drink could be found on the way from Paris. The little
roadside cafes had been cleared out by the preceding hordes.
Unless these people carried their own food and drink they could have
none except of the charity of their comrades in misfortune, and that
charity has exceeded all other acts of heroism in this war. Women gave
their last biscuit, their last little drop of wine, to poor mothers
whose children were famishing with thirst and hunger; peasant women fed
other women's babies when their own were satisfied.
It was a tragic road. At every mile of it there were people who had
fainted on the roadside and poor old men and women who could go no
further, but sat on the banks below the hedges, weeping silently or
bidding younger ones go forward and leave them to their fate. Young
women who had stepped out so jauntily at first were footsore and lame,
so they limped along with lines of pain about their lips and eyes.
Many of the taxicabs, bought at great prices, and many of the motor cars
had broken down as I passed, and had been abandoned by their owners, who
had decided to walk. Farmers' carts had bolted into ditches and lost
their wheels. Wheelbarrows, too heavy to be trundled, had been tilted
up, with all their household goods spilt into the roadway, and the
children had been carried further, until at last darkness came, and
their only shelter was a haystack in a field under the harvest moon.
For days also I have been wedged up with fugitives in railway trains
more dreadful than the open roads, stifling in their heat and
heart-racking in their cargoes of misery. Poor women have wept
hysterically clasping my hand, a stranger's hand, for comfort in their
wretchedness and weakness. Yet on the whole they have shown amazing
courage, and, after their tears, have laughed at their own breakdown,
and, always children of France, have been superb, so that again and
again I have wondered at the gallantry with which they endured this
horror. Young boys have revealed the heroic strain in them and have
played the part of men in helping their mothers. And yet, when I came at
last into Paris against all this tide of retreat, it seemed a needless
fear that had driven these people away.
Then I passed long lines of beautiful little villas on the Seine side,
utterly abandoned among their trees and flowers. A solitary fisherman
held his line above the water as though all the world were at peace, and
in a field close to the fortifications which I expected to see bursting
with shells, an old peasant bent above the furrows and planted cabbages.
Then, at last, I walked through the streets of Paris and found them
strangely quiet and tranquil.
The people I met looked perfectly calm. There were a few children
playing in the gardens of Champs Elysees and under the Arc de Triomph
symbolical of the glory of France.
I looked back upon the beauty of Paris all golden in the light of the
setting sun, with its glinting spires and white gleaming palaces and
rays of light flashing in front of the golden trophies of its monuments.
Paris was still unbroken. No shell had come shattering into this city of
splendor, and I thanked Heaven that for a little while the peril had
passed.
*A Zouave's Story*
*By Philip Gibbs of The London Daily Chronicle.*
[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
CREIL, Sept. 10.--I could write this narrative as a historian, with
details gathered from many different witnesses at various parts of the
lines, in a cold and aloof way, but I prefer to tell it in the words of
a young officer of the Zouaves who was in the thickest of fighting until
when I met him and gave him wine and biscuits. He was put out of action
by a piece of shell which smashed his left arm. He told me the story of
the battle as he sat back, hiding his pain by a little careless smile of
contempt, and splashed with blood which made a mess of his uniform.
"For four days previous to Monday, Sept. 7," he said, "we were engaged
in clearing out the German bosches from all the villages on the left
bank of the Ourcq, which they had occupied in order to protect the flank
of their right wing. Unfortunately for us the English heavy artillery,
which would have smashed the beggars to bits, had not yet come up to
help us, although we expected them with some anxiety, as big business
events began as soon as we drove the outposts back to their main lines.
"However, we were equal to the preliminary task, and, heartened by the
news of an ammunition convoy which had been turned into a pretty
fireworks display by 'Soixante-dix' Pau, my Zouaves, (as you see, I
belong to the First Division, which has a reputation to keep up, n'est
ce pas?) were in splendid form. Of course, they all laughed at me. They
wanted to get near those German guns and nearer still to the gunners.
That was before they knew the exact meaning of shellfire well.
"They did good things, those Zouaves of mine, but it wasn't pleasant
work. We fought from village to village, very close fighting, so that
sometimes we could look into our enemy's eyes. The Moroccans were with
us. The native troops are unlike my boys, who are Frenchmen, and they
were like demons with their bayonet work.
"Several of the villages were set on fire by the Germans before they
retired from them, and soon great columns of smoke with pillars of
flames and clouds of flying sparks rose up into the blue sky and made a
picture of hell there, for really it was hell on earth. Our gunners were
shelling Germans from pillar to post, as it were, and strewing the
ground with their dead. It was across and among these dead bodies that
we infantry had to charge.
"They lay about in heaps. It made me sick, even in the excitement of it
all. The enemy's quick-firers were marvelous. I am bound to say we did
not get it all our own way. They always manoeuvre them in the same
style, and a very clever style it is. First of all, they mask them with
infantry; then, when the French charge, they reveal them and put us to
the test under the most withering fire. It is almost impossible to stand
against it, and in this case we had to retire after each rush for about
250 meters. Then, quick as lightning, the Germans got their
mitrailleuses across the ground which we had yielded to them and waited
for us to come on again, when they repeated the same operation.
"I can tell you it was pretty trying to the nerves. My Zouaves were very
steady in spite of fairly heavy losses. It is quite untrue to say that
the Germans have a greater number of mitrailleuses than the French. I
believe that the proportion is exactly the same to each division, but
they handle them more cleverly, and their fire is much more effective
than ours.
"In a village named Penchard there was some very sharp fighting, and
some of our artillery was posted thereabout. Presently a German
aeroplane came overhead, circling round in reconnoissance; but it was
out for more than that. Suddenly it began to drop bombs and, whether by
design or otherwise, they exploded in the middle of a field hospital.
One of my friends, a young doctor, was wounded in the left arm by a
bullet from one of these bombs, but I don't know what other casualties
there were. The inevitable happened shortly after the disappearance of
the aeroplane. German shells searched the position and found it with
unpleasant accuracy. It is always the same. The German aeroplanes are
really wonderful in the way they search out the positions of our guns.
We always know that within half an hour of observation by aeroplane
shells will begin to fall above gunners, unless they have altered their
position. It was so in this fighting round Meaux yesterday.
"For four days this hunting among the villages on the left bank of the
Ourcq went on all the time, and we were not very happy with ourselves.
The truth was we had no water and were four days thirsty. It was really
terrible, for the heat was terrific during the day, and some of us were
almost mad with thirst. Our tongues were blistered and swollen, our eyes
had a silly kind of look in them, and at night we had horrid dreams. It
was, I assure you, intolerable agony.
"I have said we were four days without drink, and that was because we
used our last water for our horses. A gentleman has to do that, you will
agree, and a French soldier is not a barbarian. Even then the horses had
to go without a drop of water for two days, and I'm not ashamed to say I
wept salt tears to see the sufferings of those poor, innocent creatures
who did not understand the meaning of all this bloody business and who
wondered at our cruelty.
"The nights were dreadful. All around us were burning villages, and at
every faint puff of wind sparks floated about them like falling stars.
"But other fires were burning. Under the cover of darkness the Germans
had piled the dead into great heaps and had covered them with straw and
paraffin; then they had set a torch to these funeral pyres.
"Carrion crows were about in the dawn that followed. One of my own
comrades lay very badly wounded, and when he wakened out of his
unconsciousness one of these beastly birds was sitting on his chest
waiting for him to die. That is war.
"The German shells were terrifying. I confess to you that there were
times when my nerves were absolutely gone. I crouched down with my men
(we were in open formation) and ducked my head at the sound of the
bursting shell, and I trembled in every limb as though I had a fit of
ague.
"It is true that in reality the German shells are not very effective.
Only about one in four explodes nicely, but it is a bad thing when, as
happened to me, the shells plopped around in a diameter of fifty meters.
One hears the zip-zip of bullets, the boom of the great guns, the
ste-tang of our French artillery, and in all this infernal experience of
noise and stench, the screams at times of dying horses and men joined
with the fury of gunfire and rising shrill above it, no man may boast of
his courage. There were moments when I was a coward with all of them.
"But one gets used to it, as to all things. My ague did not last long.
Soon I was shouting and cheering. Again we cleared the enemy out of the
village of Bregy, and that was where I fell, wounded in the arm pretty
badly by a bit of shell. When I came to myself a brother officer told me
things were going on well and that we had rolled back the German right.
That was better than bandages to me. I felt very well again, in spite of
my weakness.
"It is the beginning of the end, and the Germans are on the run. They
are exhausted and demoralized. Their pride has been broken; they are
short of ammunition; they know their plans have failed.
"Now that we have them on the move nothing will save them. This war is
going to be finished quicker than people thought. I believe that in a
few days the enemy will be broken and that we shall have nothing more to
do than kill them as they fight back in retreat."
That is the story, without any retouching of my pen, of a young
Lieutenant of Zouaves whom I met after the battle of Meaux, with blood
still splashed upon his uniform.
It is a human story, giving the experience of only one individual in the
great battle, but it gives also in outline a narrative of that great
military operation which has done irreparable damage to the German right
wing in its plan of campaign and thrust it back across the Ourcq in a
great retiring movement which has also begun upon the German centre and
left.
*When War Burst on Arras*
[A Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES and The London Daily
Chronicle.]
A TOWN IN FRANCE, Oct. 7.--Arras has been the pivot of a fierce battle
which, commencing Thursday, was still in progress when I was forced to
leave the citadel three days later.
In that period I was fortunate enough to penetrate into the firing line,
and the experience is one that will never be dimmed in my memory. Like
the movements of so many pawns on a mammoth chessboard was the feinting
with scattered outposts to test the strength of the enemy.
I saw the action open with skirmishes at Vitry-en-Artois, and next
morning one of the hardest battles which make a link in the chain flung
right across France of the gigantic battle of rivers was being
prosecuted before my eyes.
The days that ensued were full of feverish and hectic motion. Arras
rattled and throbbed with the flow of an army and all the tragedy which
war brings in its train. There were moments when its cobbled streets
were threaded by streams of wounded from the country beyond. Guns boomed
incessantly, a fitting requiem to the sad little processions which
occasionally revealed that some poor fellow had sacrificed his life for
the flag which accompanied him to his grave.
I reached Arras on Sept. 29. The Germans had occupied it a fortnight
earlier. Now it was placid, sleepy, and deserted, and bore no outward
signs of having suffered from their occupation. I learned, however, that
although they had refrained from demolishing buildings, there had been
scenes of debauchery, and private houses had been ransacked.
It was declared that the only German paying for anything during the
whole of the fortnight's occupation was a member of the Hohenzollern
family, an important officer who had made the Hotel d'Univers his
headquarters.
I decided to pass on to Vitry-en-Artois, twelve miles distant and six
kilometers from Douai, where I had heard the Allies were in force. Here
I obtained a room in a hotel.
Within a short while I saw armed cars. There came many warriors in many
cars, cars fitted with mitrailleuses, cars advancing backward, cars with
two soldiers in the back of each with their rifles rested on the back
cushions and their fingers on the triggers, and with the muzzles of
mitrailleuses pointing over their heads. Several cavalry scouts, too,
are in the streets.
Once I ventured my head a little outside of the door and was curtly
warned to eliminate myself or possibly I would get shot. I eliminated
myself for the moment.
Now with dramatic suddenness death touches Vitry with her chill fingers.
In the distance, right away beyond the bridge behind a bend in the road,
there is a clatter of hoofs. It stops. Again it goes on and stops for
about a couple of minutes, and then quite distinctly can be heard the
sound of a body of horsemen proceeding at a walk.
The cavalry scouts have vanished into big barns on either side of the
road, and around the corner of the bridge comes a small body of German
cavalry. They have passed the spot where the French scouts are hidden
and I have retreated to my bedroom window, from where I can count twelve
of the Death's Head riders.
They are riding to their fate. Right slap up in front of the cars they
come. A rifle shot rings out from where the French scouts are hidden,
then another, and that is the signal for the inferno to be loosed.
C-r-r-r-r-r-ack, and the mitrailleuse spits out a regular hail of death,
vicious, whiplike, never-ceasing cracks. Two horses are down and three
men lie prone in the road.
The Germans have not fired a shot, all their energies being concentrated
in wildly turning their horses to get back again round the bend.
It is too late. Another two are toppled over by the scouts in the barns,
and then cars are after them, still spitting out an unending hail of
lead.
It seems impossible that even a fly could live in such a stream of
bullets, yet out of the dozen three get round the bend, and, galloping
madly, make for the only spot where they can leave the road and get
across country. Even the automobile and auto-mitrailleuse men cannot
follow them there.
These fellows seem perfectly satisfied with a bag of nine, obtained
without a scratch. All are dead, one of them with over twenty wounds in
him. Two horses are stone dead, and three others have to be put out of
their misery. The other four are contentedly standing at the roadside
munching grass, one with a hind leg lifted a few inches off the ground.
The bodies of the dead Germans are laid side by side in a field to await
burial. The uniforms are stripped of everything that can be removed,
buttons and shoulder straps. The men in the cars take the water bottles,
swords, and revolvers as mementos.
I imperfectly understood the real meaning of this scrap. I had thought
it was an encounter between stray forces. A talk with the driver of an
armed car, however, enlarged my perspective. It was a meeting of the
outposts of two great opposing armies, one of which was at Douai, the
other at Cambrai. The feelers of both forces were being extended to
discover the various positions, preparatory to a big battle, which was
expected on the morrow (Oct. 1) along the line of
Cambrai-Douai-Valenciennes.
It was understood that the Germans had massed in force at Cambrai and
strong wings were thrown out on both sides, the outposts of one wing, as
we have already seen, coming into touch with the French at Vitry.
From the reports of the auto-mitrailleuse men, who cover great
distances in a day, similar skirmishing had been taking place at Etain,
(where some farmhouses were burned,) Eterpigny, Croisilles, Boisleux,
and Boyelles, these places ranging from ten to twenty kilometers from
Arras.
There was a general exodus from Vitry and I secured standing room in a
wagon of the last train leaving for Arras. It was loaded with fugitives.
Arras had changed completely on my return. Its calmness was gone. The
station was empty of civilians, there were no trains running and the
station entrance was in charge of a strong picket of soldiers, while the
road outside echoed to the tread of infantry.
I stood still in amazement, while my papers were being closely examined,
and watched regiment after regiment of foot with their transport trains
complete marching out on the road to Douai. This was part of the
preparation for the big battle which I was told was going to begin
tomorrow.
In the town itself the transformation was still more amazing--soldiers
in every street, cavalry, infantry, dragoons, lancers, and engineers in
ones and twos, and parties of twenty or thirty picturesque Moroccans. I
never saw such a medley of colors and expressions, and the whole town
was full of them--material for one army corps at least.
I installed myself in quarters at the Hotel de l'Univers, with the
intention of getting away the first thing in the morning if possible.
But it was not possible. I was informed that Arras was now under
military control, and no permits were being issued whatsoever. The
Lieutenant who told me this smiled as I shrugged my shoulders.
"You will bear witness, Monsieur, that I tried my best to get out," said
I.
"Certainly; but why go away?" he asked with a smile. "Arras est tres
belle ville, Monsieur. You have a good hotel, a good bed, and good food.
Why should you go out?"
And so I stayed at Arras.
That was Sept. 30. The next day I could hear guns. They started at about
8 o'clock in the morning, the French guns being in position about five
kilometers outside of Arras to the south, southeast, and east, sixteen
batteries of France's artillery or 75-millimeter calibre.
All day long the guns thundered and roared, and all day long I sat
outside the cafe of the Hotel des Voyageurs in the Place de la Gare. The
station building was right in front of me. I longed for a position which
would enable me to see over the tall buildings on to the battlefield
beyond. Even the roof of the station would have suited. There was a
little crowd of officials already there with their field glasses, and
they could discern what was going on, for I noticed several pointing
here and there whenever a particularly loud explosion was heard.
Two men in civilian clothes sat down beside me and gave me "good day,"
evidently curious as to my nationality. I invited them to join me in
coffee and cognac, and during the ensuing conversation we all became
very friendly, and I was given to understand that one of them was the
volunteer driver of an auto-mitrailleuse who had just come off duty.
I remarked that it would be very interesting to get a sight of what was
going on behind the station.
"Is it very near--the battle?"
"About five kilometers, Monsieur. The German guns are ten kilometers
distant. One of the German shells exploded behind the station this
morning. Would Monsieur like to walk out a little way?"
"But surely the pickets will not let me pass beyond the barrier," said
I.
My good friend of the auto-mitrailleuse smiled, rose, and buttoned up
his coat. "Come with me," he invited.
At the barrier we were stopped, but luck had not deserted me, for in the
Sergeant in charge of the pickets I recognized another cafe acquaintance
of the previous night. We shook hands, exchanged cigarettes, and
proceeded up and down numerous streets, bearing always southward in the
direction of the firing, until the open country was reached.
My companion suddenly caught hold of my arm and we both jumped up the
bank at the side of the road to let a long string of artillery drivers
trot past on their way back for more ammunition. Another cloud of dust,
and coming up behind us was a fresh lot of shells on the way out to the
firing line.
Right up in the sky ahead suddenly appeared a ball of yellow greeny
smoke, which grew bigger and bigger, and then "boom" came the sound of a
gun about three seconds afterward. A shell had burst in the air about
300 yards away. Another and another came--all about the same place. They
appeared to come from the direction of Bapaume.
"Bad, very bad," commented my companion. And so it appeared to me, for
the Germans were dropping their shells from the southeast, at least one
kilometer over range. We were standing beside a strawstack and looking
due south, watching the just discernible line of French guns, when we
heard the ominous whistling screech of an approaching shell. Down on our
faces behind the stack, down we went like lightning, and over to the
left, not 200 yards away, rose a huge column of black smoke and earth,
and just afterward a very loud boom. A big German gun had come into
action, slightly nearer this time.
Just behind a wood I could plainly see the smoke of the gun itself
rising above the trees. Two more shells from the big gun exploded within
twenty yards of each other, and then, with disconcerting suddenness, a
French battery came into action within a hundred yards of our strawstack
cover. They had evidently been there for some time, awaiting
eventualities, for we had no suspicion of their proximity, and they were
completely hidden.
My ears are still tingling and buzzing from the sound of those guns. One
after another the guns of this battery bombarded the newly taken up
position of the German big guns, which replied with one shell every
three minutes.
Presently we had the satisfaction of hearing a violent explosion in the
wood, and a column of smoke and flame rose up to a great height.
Soixante-quinze had again scored, for the German guns had been put out
of action. From out the French position came infantry, at this point
thousands of little dots over the landscape, presenting a front of, I
should think, about two miles, rapidly advancing in skirmishing order.
Every now and then the sharp crackle of rifle fire could distinctly be
heard.
The French had advanced over a mile, and the Germans had hastily
evacuated the wood. Other French batteries now came into action, and the
German fire over the whole arc was becoming decidedly fainter and less
frequent. This might, of course, be due to changing their positions on
the German front.
Wounded began to arrive, which showed that for the present at any rate,
it was safe to go out to the trenches to collect them.
Very few of them seemed badly hit, and the wounded French artillerymen
seemed to be elated in spite of their wounds. Had not their beloved
Soixante-quinze again scored? The time was 6 o'clock of a beautiful
evening and the firing, though fairly continuous, was dropping off. The
Germans had changed their positions and it was getting a little too hazy
to make observation, although a French aeroplane was seen descending in
wide circles over the German position, evidently quite regardless of the
numerous small balls of smoke, which made their appearance in the sky in
dangerous proximity to the daring pilot.
It is very interesting to watch these aeroplane shells bursting in the
air. First of all one sees a vivid little streak of bluish white light
in the sky, and then instantaneously a smoke ball, which appears to be
about the size of a football, is seen in the sky, always fairly close to
the machine. Then there is the sound of an explosion like a giant
cracker.
Occasionally several guns will fire at about the same time, and it is
weird to watch the various balls of smoke, apparently coming into being
from nowhere, all around the machine. Sometimes one of these shells,
which are filled with a species of shrapnel, bursts rather unpleasantly
near the aeroplane, and then one sees the machine turn quickly and rise
a little higher.
Two or three holes have been neatly drilled through the planes. Perhaps
one has appeared in the body of the machine, rather too near the pilot
for safety; but it is a big gamble, anyhow, and besides the pilot has
been instructed to find out where the various positions are, and he
means to do it.
So he simply rises a little higher and calmly continues his big circles
over the German position.
I take off my hat to these brave men, the aeroplane pilots. They are
willing to chance their luck. What matters it if their machine gets hit,
if the planes are riddled with holes? It will still fly, even if the
engine gets a fatal wound and stops.
The pilot, if he is high enough, can still glide to safety in his own
lines. But (and it is a big "but") should a shrapnel ball find its
billet in the pilot--well, one has only to die once, and it is a quick
and sure death to fall with one's machine.
[Illustration]
*The Battles in Belgium*
[An Associated Press Dispatch.]
LONDON, Oct. 26, 4:40 A.M.--The correspondent of The Daily News, who has
been in an armored train to the banks of the Yser, gives a good
description of the battle in the North. He says:
"The battle rages along the Yser with frightful destruction of life. Air
engines, sea engines, and land engines deathsweep this desolate country,
vertically, horizontally, and transversely. Through it the frail little
human engines crawl and dig, walk and run, skirmishing, charging, and
blundering in little individual fights and tussles, tired and puzzled,
ordered here and there, sleeping where they can, never washing, and
dying unnoticed. A friend may find himself firing on a friendly force,
and few are to blame.
"Thursday the Germans were driven back over the Yser; Friday they
secured a footing again, and Saturday they were again hurled back. Now a
bridge blown up by one side is repaired by the other; it is again blown
up by the first, or left as a death trap till the enemy is actually
crossing.
"Actions by armored trains, some of them the most reckless adventures,
are attempted daily. Each day accumulates an unwritten record of
individual daring feats, accepted as part of the daily work. Day by day
our men push out on these dangerous explorations, attacked by shell
fire, in danger of cross-fire, dynamite, and ambuscades, bringing a
priceless support to the threatened lines. As the armored train
approaches the river under shell fire the car cracks with the constant
thunder of guns aboard. It is amazing to see the angle at which the guns
can be swung.
"And overhead the airmen are busy venturing through fog and puffs of
exploding shells to get one small fact of information. We used to regard
the looping of the loop of the Germans overhead as a hare-brained piece
of impudent defiance to our infantry fire. Now we know its means early
trouble for the infantry.
"Besides us, as we crawl up snuffing the lines like dogs on a scent,
grim trainloads of wounded wait soundlessly in the sidings. Further up
the line ambulances are coming slowly back. The bullets of machine guns
begin to rattle on our armored coats. Shells we learned to disregard,
but the machine gun is the master in this war.
"Now we near the river at a flat country farm. The territory is scarred
with trenches, and it is impossible to say at first who is in them, so
incidental and separate are the fortunes of this riverside battle. The
Germans are on our bank enfilading the lines of the Allies' trenches. We
creep up and the Germans come into sight out of the trenches, rush to
the bank, and are scattered and mashed. The Allies follow with a fierce
bayonet charge.
"The Germans do not wait. They rush to the bridges and are swept away by
the deadliest destroyer of all, the machine gun. The bridge is blown up,
but who can say by whom. Quickly the train runs back.
"'A brisk day,' remarks the correspondent. 'Not so bad,' replies the
officer. So the days pass."
The Telegraph's correspondent in Belgium, who, accompanied by a son of
the Belgian War Minister, M. de Broqueville, made a tour of the
battleground in the Dixmude district last Wednesday, says:
"No pen could do justice to the grandeur and horror of the scene. As far
as the eye could reach nothing could be seen but burning villages and
bursting shells. I realized for the first time how completely the motor
car had revolutionized warfare and how every other factor was now
dominated by the absence or presence of this unique means of transport.
"Every road to the front was simply packed with cars. They seemed an
ever-rolling, endless stream, going and returning to the front, while in
many villages hundreds of private cars were parked under the control of
the medical officer, waiting in readiness to carry the wounded.
"Arrived at the firing line, a terrible scene presented itself. The
shell fire from the German batteries was so terrific that Belgian
soldiers and French marines were continually being blown out of their
dugouts and sent scattering to cover. Elsewhere, also, little groups of
peasants were forced to flee because their cellars began to fall in.
These unfortunates had to make their way as best they could on foot to
the rear. They were frightened to death by the bursting shells, and the
sight of crying children among them was most pathetic.
"Dixmude was the objective of the German attack, and shells were
bursting all over it, crashing among the roofs and blowing whole streets
to pieces. From a distance of three miles we could hear them crashing
down, but the town itself was invisible, except for the flames and the
smoke and clouds rising above it. The Belgians had only a few field
batteries, so that the enemy's howitzers simply dominated the field, and
the infantry trenches around the town had to rely upon their own unaided
efforts.
"Our progress along the road was suddenly stopped by one of the most
horrible sights I have ever seen. A heavy howitzer shell had fallen and
burst right in the midst of a Belgian battery, making its way to the
front, causing terrible destruction. The mangled horses and men among
the debris presented a shocking spectacle.
"Eventually, we got into Dixmude itself, and every time a shell came
crashing among the roofs we thought our end had come. The Hotel de Ville
(town hall) was a sad sight. The roof was completely riddled by shell,
while inside was a scene of chaos. It was piled with loaves of bread,
bicycles, and dead soldiers.
"The battle redoubled in fury, and by 7 o'clock in the evening Dixmude
was a furnace, presenting a scene of terrible grandeur. The horizon was
red with burning homes.
"Our return journey was a melancholy one, owing to the constant trains
of wounded that were passing."
The Daily Mail's Rotterdam correspondent, telegraphing Sunday evening,
says:
"Slowly but surely the Germans are being beaten back on the western
wing, and old men and young lads are being hurried to the front. The
enemy were in strong force at Dixmude, where the Allies were repulsed
once, only to attack again with renewed vigor.
"Roulers resembles a shambles. It was taken and retaken four times, and
battered to ruins in the process. The German guns made the place
untenable for the Allies.
"An Oosburg message says the firing at Ostend is very heavy, and that
the British are shelling the suburbs, which are held by the Germans.
Last night and this morning large bodies of Germans left Bruges for
Ostend. It is believed the Ostend piers have been blown up."
"The position on the coast is stationary this morning," says a Daily
Mail dispatch from Flushing, Netherlands, under date of Sunday. "There
is less firing and it is more to the southward. No alteration of the
situation is reported from Ostend.
"The German losses are frightful. Three meadows near Ostend are heaped
with dead. The wounded are now installed in private houses in Bruges,
where large wooden sheds are being rushed up to receive additional
injured. Thirty-seven farm wagons containing wounded, dying, and dead
passed in one hour near Middelkerke.
"The Germans have been working at new intrenchments between Coq sur Mer
and Wenduyne to protect their road to Bruges."
Gen. von Tripp and nearly all his staff, who were killed in a church
tower at Leffinghe by the fire from the British warships, have been
buried in Ostend.
[Illustration: Flanders and Northern France--How the Battle Line Has
Changed (Up to Jan. 1, 1915) Since the War Began.]
*Seeking Wounded on Battle Front*
By Philip Gibbs of The London Daily Chronicle.
FURNES, Belgium, Oct. 21.--The staff of the English hospital, to which a
mobile column has been attached for field work, has arrived here with a
convoy of ambulances and motor cars. This little party of doctors,
nurses, stretcher-bearers, and chauffeurs, under the direction of Dr.
Bevis and Dr. Munro, has done splendid work in Belgium, and many of them
were in the siege of Antwerp.
Miss Macnaughton, the novelist, was one of those who went through this
great test of courage, and Lady Dorothie Feilding, one of Lord Denbigh's
daughters, won everybody's love by her gallantry and plucky devotion to
duty in many perilous hours. She takes all risks with laughing courage.
She has been under fire in many hot skirmishes, and has helped bring
away the wounded from the fighting around Ghent when her own life might
have paid the forfeit for defiance to bursting shells.
This morning a flying column of the hospital was preparing to set out in
search of wounded men on the firing line under direction of Lieut. de
Broqueville, son of the Belgian War Minister. The Lieutenant, very cool
and debonair, was arranging the order of the day with Dr. Munro. Lady
Dorothie Feilding and the two other women in field kit stood by their
cars, waiting for the password. There were four stretcher-bearers,
including Mr. Gleeson, an American, who has worked with this party
around Ghent and Antwerp, proving himself to be a man of calm and quiet
courage at a critical moment, always ready to take great risks in order
to bring in a wounded man.
It was decided to take three ambulances and two motor cars. Lieut. de
Broqueville anticipated a heavy day's work. He invited me to accompany
the column in a car which I shared with Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett of The
London Daily Telegraph, who also volunteered for the expedition.
We set out before noon, winding our way through the streets of Furnes.
We were asked to get into Dixmude, where there were many wounded. It is
about ten miles away from Furnes. As we went along the road, nearer to
the sound of the great guns which for the last hour or two had been
firing incessantly, we passed many women and children. They were on
their way to some place further from the firing. Poor old grandmothers
in black bonnets and skirts trudged along the lines of poplars with
younger women, who clasped their babies tightly in one hand, while with
the other they carried heavy bundles of household goods.
Along the road came German prisoners, marching rapidly between mounted
guards. Many of them were wounded, and all of them had a wild, famished,
terror-stricken look.
At a turn in the road the battle lay before us, and we were in the zone
of fire. Away across the fields was a line of villages with the town of
Dixmude a little to the right of us, perhaps a mile and a quarter away.
From each little town smoke was rising in separate columns which met at
the top in a great black pall. At every moment this blackness was
brightened by puffs of electric blue, extraordinarily vivid, as shells
burst in the air. From the mass of houses in each town came jets of
flame, following explosions which sounded with terrific thudding shocks.
On a line of about nine miles there was an incessant cannonade. The
farthest villages were already on fire.
Quite close to us, only about half a mile across the fields to the left,
there were Belgian batteries at work and rifle fire from many trenches.
We were between two fires, and Belgian and German shells came screeching
over our heads. The German shells were dropping quite close to us,
plowing up the fields with great pits. We could hear them burst and
scatter and could see them burrow.
[Illustration: ADMIRAL SIR JOHN JELLICOE
Commanding the British Fleets
(_Photo from Rogers._)]
[Illustration: GEN. VICTOR DANKL
The Austrian Commander in the Russian Campaign
(_Photo from Bain News Service._)]
In front of us on the road lay a dreadful barrier, which brought us to a
halt. A German shell had fallen right on top of an ammunition convoy.
Four horses had been blown to pieces and their carcasses lay strewn
across the road. The ammunition wagon had been broken into fragments and
smashed and burned to cinders by the explosion of its own shells. A
Belgian soldier lay dead, cut in half by a great fragment of steel.
Further along the road were two other dead horses in pools of blood. It
was a horrible and sickening sight, from which one turned away
shuddering with cold sweat, but we had to pass it after some of this
dead flesh had been dragged away.
Further down the road we had left two of the cars in charge of Lady
Dorothie Feilding and her two nurses. They were to wait there until we
brought back some of the wounded. Two ambulances came on with our light
car, commanded by Lieut. Broqueville and Dr. Munro. Mr. Gleeson asked me
to help him as stretcher-bearer. Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett was to work with
one of the other stretcher-bearers.
I was in one of the ambulances, and Mr. Gleeson sat behind me in the
narrow space between the stretchers. Over his shoulder he talked in a
quiet voice of the job that lay before us. I was glad of that quiet
voice, so placid in its courage. We went forward at what seemed to me a
crawl, though I think it was a fair pace, shells bursting around us now
on all sides, while shrapnel bullets sprayed the earth about us. It
appeared to me an odd thing that we were still alive. Then we came into
Dixmude.
When I saw it for the first and last time it was a place of death and
horror. The streets through which we passed were utterly deserted and
wrecked from end to end, as though by an earthquake. Incessant
explosions of shell fire crashed down upon the walls which still stood.
Great gashes opened in the walls, which then toppled and fell. A roof
came tumbling down with an appalling clatter. Like a house of cards
blown by a puff of wind, a little shop suddenly collapsed into a mass of
ruins. Here and there, further into the town, we saw living figures.
They ran swiftly for a moment and then disappeared into dark caverns
under toppling porticos. They were Belgian soldiers.
We were now in a side street leading into the Town Hall square. It
seemed impossible to pass, owing to the wreckage strewn across the road.
"Try to take it," said Dr. Munro, who was sitting beside the chauffeur.
We took it, bumping over heaps of debris, and then swept around into the
square. It was a spacious place, with the Town Hall at one side of
it--or what was left of the Town Hall; there was only the splendid shell
of it left, sufficient for us to see the skeleton of a noble building
which had once been the pride of Flemish craftsmen. Even as we turned
toward it parts of it were falling upon the ruins already on the ground.
I saw a great pillar lean forward and then topple down. A mass of
masonry crashed from the portico. Some stiff, dark forms lay among the
fallen stones; they were dead soldiers. I hardly glanced at them, for we
were in search of the living.
Our cars were brought to a halt outside the building, and we all climbed
down. I lighted a cigarette, and I noticed two of the other men fumble
for matches for the same purpose. We wanted something to steady our
nerves. There was never a moment when shell fire was not bursting in
that square. Shrapnel bullets whipped the stones. The Germans were
making a target of the Town Hall and dropping their shells with dreadful
exactitude on either side of it.
I glanced toward the flaming furnace to the right of the building. There
was a wonderful glow at the heart of it, yet it did not give me any
warmth. At that moment Dr. Munro and Lieut. de Broqueville mounted the
steps of the Town Hall, followed by Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett and myself. Mr.
Gleeson was already taking down a stretcher; he had a little smile
about his lips.
A French officer and two men stood under the broken archway of the
entrance, between the fallen pillars and masonry. A yard away from them
lay a dead soldier, a handsome young man with clear-cut features turned
upward to the gaping roof. A stream of blood was coagulating around his
head, but did not touch the beauty of his face. Another dead man lay
huddled up quite close, and his face was hidden.
"Are there any wounded here, Sir?" asked our young Lieutenant. The other
officer spoke excitedly. He was a brave man, but he could not hide the
terror in his soul, because he had been standing so long waiting for
death, which stood beside him, but did not touch him. It appeared from
his words that there were several wounded men among the dead down in the
cellar, and that he would be obliged to us if we could rescue them.
We stood on some steps, looking down into that cellar. It was a dark
hole, illumined dimly by a lantern, I think. I caught sight of a little
heap of huddled bodies. Two soldiers, still unwounded, dragged three of
them out and handed them up to us. The work of getting those three men
into the first ambulance seemed to us interminable; it was really no
more than fifteen or twenty minutes. During that time Dr. Munro,
perfectly calm and quiet, was moving about the square, directing the
work. Lieut. de Broqueville was making inquiries about other wounded in
other houses. I lent a hand to one of the stretcher-bearers. What the
others were doing I do not know, except that Mr. Gleeson's calm face
made a clear-cut image on my brain.
I had lost consciousness of myself. Something outside myself, as it
seemed, was saying that there was no way of escape; that it was
monstrous to suppose that all these bursting shells would not smash the
ambulance to bits and finish the agony of the wounded, and that death
was very hideous. I remember thinking, also, how ridiculous it was for
men to kill one another like this and to make such hells on earth.
Then Lieut. de Broqueville spoke a word of command; the first ambulance
must now get back. I was with the first ambulance, in Mr. Gleeson's
company. We had a full load of wounded men, and we were loitering. I put
my head outside the cover and gave the word to the chauffeur. As I did
so a shrapnel bullet came past my head, and, striking a piece of
ironwork, flattened out and fell at my feet. I picked it up and put it
in my pocket, though God alone knows why, for I was not in search of
souvenirs.
So we started with the first ambulance through those frightful streets
again and out into the road to the country. "Very hot!" said one of the
men--I think it was the chauffeur. Somebody else asked if we should get
through with luck. Nobody answered the question. The wounded men with us
were very quiet; I thought they were dead. There was only an incessant
cannonade and the crashing of buildings. The mitrailleuses were at work
now, spitting out bullets. It was a worse sound than that of the shells;
it seemed more deadly in its rattle. I started back behind the car and
saw the other ambulance in our wake. I did not see the motor car.
Along the country roads the fields were still being plowed by shells
which burst over our heads. We came to a halt again in a place where
soldiers were crouched under cottage walls. There were few walls now,
and inside some of the remaining cottages were many wounded men. Their
comrades were giving them first aid and wiping the blood out of their
eyes. We managed to take some of these on board. They were less quiet
than the others we had, and groaned in a heartrending way.
A little later we made a painful discovery--Lieut. de Broqueville, our
gallant young leader, was missing. By some horrible mischance he had not
taken his place in either of the ambulances or the motor cars. None of
us had the least idea what had happened to him; we had all imagined that
he had scrambled up like the rest of us, after giving the order to get
away.
There was only one thing to do--to get back in search of him. Even in
the half hour since we had left the town Dixmude had burst into flames
and was a great blazing torch. If de Broqueville were left in that hell
he would not have a chance of life.
It was Mr. Gleeson and Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett who, with great gallantry,
volunteered to go back and search for our leader. They took the light
car and sped back toward the burning town. The ambulances went on with
their cargo of wounded, and Lady Dorothie Feilding and I were left alone
for a little time in one of the cars. We drove back along the road
toward Dixmude, and rescued another wounded man left in a wayside
cottage.
By this time there were five towns blazing in the darkness, and in spite
of the awful suspense which we were now suffering we could not help
staring at the fiendish splendor of that sight.
Dr. Munro joined us again, and after consultation we decided to get as
near to Dixmude as we could, in case our friends had to come out without
their car or had been wounded.
The German bombardment was now terrific. All the guns were concentrated
upon Dixmude and the surrounding trenches. In the darkness under a
stable wall I stood listening to the great crashes for an hour, when I
had not expected such a lease of life. Inside the stable soldiers were
sleeping in the straw, careless that at any moment a shell might burst
through upon them. The hour seemed a night; then we saw the gleam of
headlights, and an English voice called out.
Ashmead-Bartlett and Gleeson had come back. They had gone to the
entrance to Dixmude, but could get no further, owing to the flames and
shells. They, too, had waited for an hour, but had not found de
Broqueville. It seemed certain that he was dead; and, very sorrowfully,
as there was nothing to be done, we drove back to Furnes.
At the gate of the convent were some Belgian ambulances which had come
from another part of the front with their wounded. I helped to carry
one of them in, and strained my shoulders with the weight of the
stretcher. Another wounded man put his arm around my neck, and then,
with a dreadful cry, collapsed, so that I had to hold him in a strong
grip. A third man, horribly smashed about the head, walked almost
unaided into the operating room. Mr. Gleeson and I led him with just a
touch on his arm. This morning he lies dead on a little pile of straw in
a quiet corner of the courtyard.
I sat down to a supper, which I had not expected to eat. There was a
strange excitement in my body, which trembled a little after the day's
adventures. It seemed very strange to be sitting down to table with
cheerful faces about me, but some of the faces were not cheerful. Those
of us who knew of the disappearance of de Broqueville sat silently over
our soup.
Then suddenly Lady Dorothie Feilding gave a little cry of joy, and
Lieut. de Broqueville came walking briskly forward. It seemed a miracle;
it was hardly less than that. For several hours after our departure from
Dixmude he had remained in that inferno. He had missed us when he went
down into the cellar to haul out another wounded man, forgetting that he
had given us the order to start. There he had remained, with buildings
crashing all around him until the German fire had died down a little. He
succeeded in rescuing his wounded man, for whom he found room in a
Belgian ambulance outside the town and walked back along the road to
Furnes.
We clasped hands and were thankful for his escape. This morning he has
gone again to what is left of Dixmude with a flying column. Dr. Munro
and Mr. Gleeson, with Lady Dorothie Feilding and her friends, are in the
party, although in Dixmude German infantry have taken possession of the
outer ruins.
The courage of this English field ambulance under the Belgian Red Cross
is one of those splendid things which shine through this devil's work of
war.
*At the Kaiser's Headquarters*
By Cyril Brown of The New York Times.
GERMAN GREAT HEADQUARTERS IN FRANCE, Oct. 20.--The most vulnerable,
vital spot of the whole German Empire is, paradoxically, in France--the
small city on the Meuse where the Grosses Hauptquartier, the brains of
the whole German fighting organism, has been located for the last few
weeks. After a lucky dash through the forbidden zone of France held by
the Germans I managed to pay a surprise visit to the Great Headquarters,
where, among other interesting sights, I have already seen the Kaiser,
the King of Saxony, the Crown Prince, Major Langhorne, the American
Military Attache; Field Marshal von Moltke, and shoals of lesser
celebrities with which the town is overrun. My stay is of indeterminate
length, and only until the polite but insistent pressure which the
Kaiser's secret police and the General Staff are bringing to bear on
their unbidden guest to leave becomes irresistible.
It was a sometime TIMES reader, a German brakeman, who had worked in New
York and was proud of being able to speak "American," who helped me to
slip aboard the military postzug (post train) that left the important
military centre of L---- at 1:30 A.M. and started to crawl toward the
front with a mixed cargo of snoring field chaplains, soldiers rejoining
their units, officers with iron crosses pinned to their breasts,
ambulance men who talked gruesome shop, fresh meat, surgical supplies,
mail bags, &c. Sometimes the train would spurt up to twelve miles an
hour. There were long stops at every station, while unshaven Landsturm
men on guard scanned the car windows in search of spies by the light of
their electric flash lamps. After many hours somebody said we were now
in Belgium.
There are no longer any bothersome customs formalities at the Belgian
border, but the ghost of a house that had been knocked into a cocked hat
by a shell indicated that we were in the land of the enemy. Houses that
looked as if they had been struck by a Western cyclone now became more
numerous. A village church steeple had a jagged hole clean through it.
After more hours somebody else said we were in France. Every bridge,
culvert, and crossroad was guarded by heavily bearded Landsturm men, who
all looked alike in their funny, antiquated, high black leather
helmets--usually in twos--the countryside dotted with cheery little
watch fires.
In the little French villages all lights were out in the houses. The
streets were barred like railroad crossings except that the poles were
painted in red-white-black stripes, a lantern hanging from the middle of
the barrier to keep the many army automobiles that passed in the night
from running amuck.
Sedan, a beehive of activity, was reached at daybreak. Here most of the
military, plus the Field Chaplains, got out. From here on daylight
showed the picturesque ruin the French themselves had wrought--the
frequent tangled wreckage of dynamited steel railway bridges sticking
out of the waters of the river, piles of shattered masonry damming the
current, here and there half an arch still standing of a once beautiful
stone footbridge. I was told that over two hundred bridges had been
blown up by the retreating French in their hopeless attempt to delay the
German advance in this part of France alone.
Several hours more of creeping over improvised wooden bridges and
restored roadbeds brought the post train to the French city that had
20,000 inhabitants before the war which the Kaiser and the Great
Headquarters now occupy.
Wooden signs printed in black letters, "Verboten," (forbidden,) now
ornament the pretty little park, with its fountain still playing,
outside the railroad station. The paths are guarded by picked
grenadiers, not Landsturm men this time, while an officer of the guard
makes his ceaseless rounds. Opposite the railroad station, on the other
side of the little park, is an unpretentious villa of red brick and
terra cotta trimmings, but two guard houses painted with red-white-black
stripes flank the front door and give it a look of importance. The
street at either end is barred by red, white and black striped poles and
strapping grenadiers on guard are clustered thick about it. You don't
need to ask who lives there. The red brick house (it would not rent for
more than $100 a month in any New York suburb) is the present temporary
residence of the Over War Lord. Its great attraction for the Kaiser, I
am told, is the large, secluded garden in the rear where this other "man
of destiny" loves to walk and meditate or, more usually, talk--though
the few remaining French inhabitants could have a frequent opportunity
of seeing him walk in the little closed public park if they were
interested, but the natives seem outwardly utterly apathetic.
Several of the Kaiser's household, in green Jaeger uniforms, were
lounging around the door for an early morning airing, while secret
service men completed the picture by hovering in the immediate
neighborhood. You can tell that they are German secret service agents
because they all wear felt alpine hats, norfolk jackets, waterproof
cloth capes and a bored expression. They have been away from Berlin for
nearly three months now. About fifty of them constitute the "Secret
Field Police" and their station house is half a block away from the
Kaiser's residence.
Just around the corner from the Kaiser, within a stone's throw of his
back door, is another red-brick house with terra-cotta trimmings, rather
larger and more imposing. The names of its new residents, "Hahnke,"
"Caprivi," and "Graf von Moltke," are scrawled in white chalk on the
stone post of the gateway. Further up the same street another chalk
scrawl on a quite imposing mansion informed me that "The Imperial
Chancellor" and "The Foreign Office" had set up shop there. Near by were
Grand Admiral von Tirpitz's field quarters. A bank building on another
principal street bore the sign, "War Cabinet."
The Great General Staff occupies the quaint old Hotel de Ville. An
unmolested ramble showed that all the best residences and business
buildings in the heart of the town were required to house the members of
the Great Headquarters, who number, in addition to the Kaiser and his
personal entourage, thirty-six chiefs or department heads, including the
Imperial Chancellor, the War Minister, the Chief of the Great General
Staff, the Chief of the Naval General Staff, the Chief of the Ammunition
Supply, the Chief of the Field Railways, the Chief of the Field
Telephone and Telegraph Service, the Chief of the Sanitary Service, the
Chief of the Volunteer Automobile Corps, &c., making, with secretaries,
clerks, ordonnances, and necessary garrison, a community of 1,200 souls.
I could not help wondering why the Allies' aviators weren't "on the
job." A dozen, backed up by an intelligent Intelligence Department,
could so obviously settle the fortunes of the war by blowing out the
brains of their enemy. Perhaps that is why the whereabouts of the Great
Headquarters is guarded as a jealous secret. The soldiers at the front
don't know where it is, nor the man on the street at home, and, of
course, its location is not breathed in the German press. Theoretically,
only those immediately concerned are "in the know." Visitors are not
allowed, neutral foreign correspondents are told by the authorities in
Berlin that "it is impossible" to go to the Grosser Hauptquartier.
Two aeroplane guns are mounted on the hills across the river at a point
immediately opposite the Kaiser's residence, while near them a picked
squad of sharpshooters is on the watch night and day for hostile fliers.
To further safeguard not only the person of the Kaiser but the brains
of the fighting machine the spy hunt is kept up here with unrelenting
pertinacity.
"We went over the town with a fine-tooth comb and cleaned out all the
suspicious characters the very first day we arrived," said a friendly
detective.
"There are no cranks or anarchists left here. Today the order is going
out to arrest all men of military age--between 18 and 45--but there are
few, if any, left. We also made a house-to-house search for arms and
collected three wagonloads, mostly old.
"Our Kaiser is as safe here now as he would be anywhere in Germany. We
know every one who arrives and leaves town. It seems impossible for a
spy to slip in and still more to slip out again through the lines--but
we are always on the watch for the impossible. The fear of spies is not
a delusion or a form of madness, as you suggest. Here is one case of my
personal knowledge: A German Boy Scout of 16, who had learned to speak
French and English perfectly at school, volunteered his services and was
attached to the staff of an army corps. This young chap succeeded in
slipping into Rheims, where he was able to locate the positions of the
French batteries and machine guns, and make his way back to our lines
with this invaluable information. For this feat the boy received the
Iron Cross. After being in the field for six weeks he got home-sick,
however, and has been allowed to go home for a visit."
From a spectacular point of view the Great Headquarters is rather
disappointing. A few mixed patrols of Uhlans, dragoons, and hussars
occasionally ride through the principal streets to exercise their
horses. Occasionally, too, you see a small squad of strapping
grenadiers, who break into the goose step on the slightest provocation
as when they pass a General or other officer of the Great General Staff,
whom you recognize by the broad red stripes on their "field gray"
trousers.
There is no pomp or ceremony even when royalty is running around at
large. Thus when the King of Saxony arrived in town, a few hours after
I did, no fuss was made whatever. The Saxon King and his staff, three
touring car loads, all in field gray, drove straight to the villa
assigned them, and, after reciprocal informal visits between King and
Kaiser, the former left to visit some of the battlefields on which Saxon
troops had fought, and later paid a visit to his troops at the front.
For this exploit, the Kaiser promptly bestowed on him the Iron Cross,
first and second class, on his return to town.
Even the Kaiser's heart is not covered with medals, nor does he wear the
gorgeous white plume parade helmet nowadays, when going out for a
horse-back ride or a drive. I saw him come from a motor run late in the
afternoon--four touring cars full of staff officers and personal
entourage--and was struck by the complete absence of pomp and ceremony.
In the second car sat the Kaiser, wearing the dirty green-gray uniform
of his soldiers in the field. At a distance of fifteen feet, the Over
War Lord looked physically fit, but quite sober--an intense earnestness
of expression that seemed to mirror the sternness of the times.
The Kaiser goes for a daily drive or ride about the countryside usually
in the afternoon, but occasionally he is allowed to have a real outing
by his solicitous entourage--a day and more rarely a [Transcriber: text
missing in original]
"His Majesty is never so happy as when he is among his troops at the
front," another transplanted Berlin detective told me. "If his Majesty
had his way he would be among them all the time, preferably sleeping
under canvas and roughing it like the rest--eating the 'simple' food
prepared by his private field kitchen. But his life is too valuable to
be risked in that way, and his personal Adjutant, von Plessen, who
watches over his Majesty like a mother or a governess, won't let him go
to the front often. His Majesty loves his soldiers and would be among
them right up at the firing line if he were not constantly watched and
kept in check by his devoted von Plessen." However, the Kaiser sleeps
within earshot of the not very distant thunder of the German heavy
artillery pounding away at Rheims, plainly heard here at night when the
wind blows from the right direction.
Of barbarism or brutality the writer saw no signs, either here or at
other French villages occupied by the Germans. The behavior of the
common soldiers toward the natives is exemplary and in most cases
kindly. There are many touches of human interest. I saw about a hundred
of the most destitute hungry townsfolk, mostly women with little
children, hanging around one of the barracks at the outskirts of the
town until after supper the German soldiers came out and distributed the
remnants of their black bread rations to them. It is not an uncommon
sight to see staff officers as well as soldiers stopping on the streets
to hand out small alms to the begging women and children. Many of the
shops in town were closed and boarded up at the approach of the
Prussians, but small hotel keepers, cafe proprietors, and tradesmen who
had the nerve to remain and keep open are very well satisfied with the
German invasion in one way, for they never made so much money before in
their lives. Most of the German soldiers garrisoned here have picked up
a few useful words of French; all of them can, and do, call for wine,
white or red, in the vernacular. Moreover, they pay for all they
[Transcriber: original 'them'] consume. I was astonished to see even the
detectives paying real money for what they drank. Several tradesmen told
me they had suffered chiefly at the hands of the French soldiers
themselves, who had helped themselves freely to their stock before
retreating, without paying, saying it was no use to leave good wine, for
the Prussian swine.
I had not prowled around the Great Headquarters for many hours when the
Secret Field Police, patrolling all the streets, showed signs of
curiosity, and to forestall the orthodox arrest and march to
headquarters (already experienced [Transcriber: original 'experience']
once, in Cologne) waited upon Lieut. Col. von Hahnke, Military
Commandant of the city, and secured immunity in the form of the
Commandant's signature on a scrap of paper stamped in purple ink with
the Prussian eagle. Commandant Hahnke, after expressing the opinion that
it was good that American newspaper men were coming to Germany to see
for themselves, and hoping that "the truth" was beginning to become
known on the other side, courteously sent his Adjutant along to get me
past the guard at the Great General Staff and introduce me to Major
Nikolai, Chief of Division III. B., in charge of newspaper
correspondents and Military Attaches. Here, however, the freedom of the
American press came into hopeless, but humorous, collision with the
Prussian militarism.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get here?" snapped
the Prussian Major. A kind letter of introduction from Ambassador
Gerard, requesting "all possible courtesy and assistance from the
authorities of the countries through which he may pass," and emblazoned
with the red seal of the United States of America, which had worked like
magic on all previous occasions, had no effect on Major Nikolai. Neither
had a letter from the American Consul at Cologne, nor a letter of
introduction to Gen. von Buelow, nor any one of a dozen other impressive
documents produced in succession for his benefit.
"No foreign correspondents are permitted to be at the Great
Headquarters. None has been allowed to come here. If we allow one to
remain, fifty others will want to come, and we should be unable to keep
an eye on all of them," he explained. "You must go back to Berlin at
once."
Reluctant permission was finally obtained to remain one night on the
possibly unwarranted intimation that the great American people would
consider it a "national affront" if an American newspaperman was not
allowed to stay and see the American Military Attache, Major Langhorne,
who was away on a sightseeing tour near Verdun, but would be back in the
morning. However, a long cross-examination had to be undergone at the
hands of the venerable Herr Chief of the Secret Field Police Bauer, who
was taking no chances at harboring an English spy in the Houptquartier
disguised as a correspondent.
I found Major Langhorne standing the strain of the campaign
[Transcriber: original 'compaign'] well, and I gathered the impression
that he intended to see the thing through, and that there was much which
America could learn from the titanic operations of the Germans. Major
Langhorne and the Argentinian, Brazilian, Chilean, Spanish, Rumanian,
and Swedish military attaches are luxuriously quartered a mile and a
half out of town in the handsome villa of M. Noll, the landscape
painter, present whereabouts unknown. The attaches all have a sense of
humor, "otherwise," said one of them, "we could never stand being cooped
up here together." The gardener's daughter, a pretty young Frenchwoman,
the only servant who remained behind when the household fled at the
approach of the Germans, is both cook and housekeeper, and when I
arrived I found the seven military attaches resolved into a board of
strategy trying to work out the important problem of securing a pure
milk supply for her four-month-old baby.
Work consists of occasional motor runs to various points along the long
front. I was told that recently Major Langhorne ran into some heavy
shrapnel and shell fire, and was lucky to get away with a whole skin.
When asked to tell about it, Major Langhorne passed it off laughingly as
"all in the day's work."
In spite of the fact that they are engaged in keeping their end up in a
life-and-death fight for national existence, the Great General Staff has
found time to give the American Military Attache every possible
opportunity to see actual fighting.
The foreign military attaches have made many of their expeditions in
company with the small band of German war correspondents, who live in
another villa close by, under the constant chaperonage of Major von
Rohrscheldt. They are allowed to see much, but send little. The relative
position of the press in Germany is indicated by the fact that these
German war correspondents are nicknamed "hunger candidates." A military
expert who was well posted on American journalism explained to me,
however, that the very tight censorship lid was not for the purpose of
withholding news from the German people, but to keep valuable
information from being handed to the enemy. He pointed out that the
laconic German official dispatches dealt only with things actually
accomplished, and were very bare of detail, while, on the other hand,
the French and English press had been worth more than several army corps
to the Germans, concluding, "It may be poor journalism, but it's the
right way to make war."
* * * * *
KAISERIN'S BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.
Oct. 22.--It was hard to realize today that a great war was going on.
Every building in town occupied by the Germans was decorated with the
German flag in honor of the Kaiserin's birthday, and at night the
principal ones, including that occupied by the "War Cabinet," were
specially illuminated. All morning long, quantities of Generals came
rolling up in touring cars to the Kaiser's door to pay their homage and
offer congratulations. About noon the Crown Prince and staff arrived by
motor from the direction of the headquarters of his army. The Crown
Prince, who characteristically sat on the front seat next to the
chauffeur, looked as boyish and immature as his former pictures--his
military cap cocked slightly on one side. The responsibility of leading
an army had apparently not had a sobering effect on the Crown Prince as
yet, but I was told that the guiding brain and genius in the Crown
Prince's army headquarters was not that of the Crown Prince, but of his
chief adviser, Gen. von Haeseler, the brilliant cavalry leader of the
war of 1870 and now the "grand old man" of the German Army, sharing with
von Zeppelin the distinction of being the oldest living German Generals.
It seemed still harder to realize that men were fighting and dying not
fifty miles away when, after luncheon, Kaiser, Crown Prince, and staffs
went for a two hours' automobile ride, the Crown Prince leaving late in
the afternoon to rejoin his command.
The only warlike notes in the day's picture were a German military
aeroplane--one of the famous Taubes--that flew at a high altitude over
the Great Headquarters toward the enemies' lines; a battalion of Saxon
Landsturm that rested for an hour at the railroad station, then started
on the final hike for the front, refreshed by a glimpse of their
motoring Kaiser, and toward evening four automobile loads of wounded
German officers, who arrived from the direction of Rheims, where it was
rumored the French had made four desperate attempts to break through.
Here one gets more and more the impression that the Germans in their
war-making have learned a lesson from the hustling Americans--that they
have managed to graft American speed to their native thoroughness,
making a combination hard to beat. For instance, there is a regular
relay service of high-power racing motor cars between the Great
Headquarters and Berlin, the schedule calling for a total running time
of something under a day and a half, beating the best time at present
possible by train by four hours. One of the picked drivers, who has the
last lap--through France--said his running schedule required him to
average sixty miles an hour, and this running at night. A network of
fast relay automobile services is also run from the Great Headquarters,
through Belgium, linking up Brussels and Antwerp, and to the principal
points on the long line of battle.
How great a role the motor car plays among the Germans may be gathered
from an estimate made to the writer that 40,000 cars were in use for
military purposes. Many thousands of these are private automobiles
operated by their wealthy owners as members of the Volunteer War
Automobile Corps, of which Prince Waldemar, son of the sailor Prince
Henry, is chief. Their ranks include many big business men, captains of
industry, and men of social prominence and professional eminence.
They wear a distinctive uniform, that of an infantry officer, with a
collar of very dark red, and a short, purely ornamental sword or dagger.
* * * * *
BACK TO LUXEMBURG.
LUXEMBURG, Oct. 24.--I have just returned from the German Great
Headquarters in France, the visit terminating abruptly on the fourth
day, when one of the Kaiser's secret field police woke me up at 7
o'clock in the morning and regretfully said that his instructions were
to see that I "did not oversleep" the first train out. The return
journey along one of the German main lines of communication--through
Eastern France, across a corner of Belgium and through Luxemburg--was
full of interest, and confirmed the impression gathered at the centre of
things, the Great Headquarters, that this twentieth century warfare is
in the last analysis a gigantic business proposition which the Board of
Directors (the Great General Staff) and the thirty-six department heads
are conducting with the efficiency of a great American business
corporation.
The west-bound track is a continuous procession of freight trains--fresh
consignments of raw material--men and ammunition--being rushed to the
firing line to be ground out into victories. The first shipment we pass
is an infantry battalion--first ten flatcars loaded with baggage,
ammunition, provision wagons, and field kitchens, the latter already
with fire lighted and soup cooking as the long train steams slowly
along, for the trenches are only fifty miles away, and the Germans make
a point of sending their troops into battle with full stomachs.
After the flatcars come thirty box cars, all decorated with green
branches and scrawled over with chalked witticism at the expense of the
French and Russians. The men cheer as our train passes. A few kilometers
further backed on to a siding, is a train of some twenty flatcars, each
loaded with a touring car. Then we pass a battery of artillery on
flatcars, the guns still garlanded with flowers; then a short freight
train--six cars loaded with nothing but spare automobile tires--then a
long train of heavy motor trucks, then more infantry trains, then an
empty hospital train going back for another load, then a train of
gasoline tank cars, more cheering infantry, more artillery, another
empty hospital train, a pioneer train, a score of flatcars loaded with
long, heavy piles, beams, steel girders, bridge spans, and lumber, then
a passenger train load of German railway officials and servants going to
operate the railways toward the coast, more infantry, food trains,
ammunition trains, train loads of railway tracks already bolted to metal
ties and merely needing to be laid down and pieced together, and so on
in endless succession all through France and through Belgium. The
two-track road, shaky in spots, especially when crossing rivers, is
being worked to capacity, and how well the huge traffic is handled is
surprising even to an American commuter.
Our fast train stops at the mouth of a tunnel, then crawls ahead
charily, for the French, before retreating, dynamited the tunnel. One
track has been cleared, but the going is still bad. To keep it from
being blocked again by falling debris the Germans have dug clean through
the top of the hill, opening up a deep well of light into the tunnel.
Looking up, you see a pioneer company in once cream-colored, now
dirty-colored, fatigue uniform still digging away and terracing the
sides of the big hole to prevent slides. Half an hour later we go slow
again in crossing a new wooden bridge over the Meuse--only one track as
yet. It took the German pioneers nearly a week to build the substitute
for the old steel railway bridge dynamited by the French, whose four
spans lie buckled up in the river. The pioneers are at work driving
piles to carry a second track. The process is interesting. A
forty-man-power pile driver is rigged upon the bow end of a French river
barge with forty soldiers tugging at forty strands of the main rope.
The "gang" foreman, a Captain in field gray, stands on the river bank
and bellows the word of command. Up goes the heavy iron weight; another
command, and down it drops on the pile. It looks like a painfully slow
process, but the bridges are rebuilt just the same.
Further on, a variety of interest is furnished to a squad of French
prisoners being marched along the road. Then a spot of ant-hill-like
activity where a German railway company is at work building a new branch
line, hundreds of them having pickaxes and making the dirt fly. You half
expect to see a swearing Irish foreman. It looks like home--all except
the inevitable officer (distinguished by revolver and field glass)
shouting commands.
The intense activity of the Germans in rebuilding the torn-up railroads
and pushing ahead new strategic lines, is one of the most interesting
features of a tour now in France. I was told that they had pushed the
railroad work so far that they were able to ship men and ammunition
almost up to the fortified trenches. The Germanization of the railroads
here has been completed by the importation of station Superintendents,
station hands, track walkers, &c., from the Fatherland. The stretch over
which we are traveling, for example, is in charge of Bavarians. The
Bavarian and German flags hang out at every French station we pass.
German signs everywhere, even German time. It looks as if they thought
to stay forever.
Now we creep past a long hospital train, full this time, which has
turned out on a siding to give us the right of way--perhaps thirty
all-steel cars--each fitted with two tiers of berths, eight to a side,
sixteen to a car. Every berth is taken. One car is fitted up as an
operating room, but fortunately no one is on the operating table as we
crawl past. Another car is the private office of the surgeon in charge
of the train. He is sitting at a big desk receiving reports form the
orderlies. During the day we pass six of these splendidly appointed new
all-steel hospital trains, all full of wounded. Some of them are able
to sit up in their bunks and take a mild interest in us. Once, by a
queer coincidence, we simultaneously pass the wounded going one way and
cheering fresh troops going the other.
*How the Belgians Fight*
[By a Correspondent of The London Daily News.]
LONDON, Oct. 28.--Writing from an unnamed place in Belgium a
correspondent of The Daily News says:
"The regiment I am concerned with was fifteen days and nights in the
Antwerp trenches in countless engagements. It withdrew at dawn, hoping
then to rest. It marched forty-five kilometers with shouldered rifles.
In the next five days it marched nearly 200 kilometers until it reached
the Nieuport and Dixmude line. By an error of judgment it got two days
of drill and inspection in place of resting, then took its place in the
front line on the Yser to face the most desperate of the German
efforts."
The correspondent quotes a young volunteer in this regiment as follows:
"---- was evacuated by the Germans, and we were sent in at
nightfall. As soon as they saw our lights they began shelling us. We
lost terribly. A number of the men ran up the streets, but we got them
together. I had about twenty and retired in order. We were 600 who went
in, and must have left a third there.
"In the morning we moved down to reinforce a network of trenches on our
bank of the Yser. There was a farm on our right, and some of our men
were firing at it, but the door opened and three officers in Belgian
uniform came out shouting to us to cease fire, so we sent a detachment
to the farm, and they were swept away by machine gun fire from the
windows. No, I don't know what happened afterward about the farm. I lost
sight of it.
"We got into the trenches. They lay longways behind a raised artificial
bank on our side of the river. At the northern end of them were mazes of
cross trenches protecting them in case the Germans got across the bridge
there and started to enfilade us. They were full of water. I was firing
for six hours myself thigh deep in muddy water.
"The Germans got across the bridge. We could not show head or hand over
our bank. German machine guns shot us from crevices in their raised bank
across the river only a few yards away. I was hours and hours dragging
our wounded out of the cross trenches at the northern end of the bank
southward and behind a mound till there was no more room for them there,
and bringing up new men singly and two or three at a time from further
down the trenches to take their places. We lost our officers, but I got
the men to listen to me.
"Some Germans shelled us with a cross fire. They got into the cross
trenches. They fired down our lines from the side. We had to run back. I
was too tired and sleepy to drag my feet. I think I must have fallen
asleep.
"We had an order to advance again. The French were behind us on either
wing in support. I was too tired to get up. Some one kicked me. I looked
up. They were three of my friends, volunteers like myself. We had all
joined together. They apologized and ran forward. They are all wounded
now, but we are all still alive, and I never have been hit once in
thirty-four fights.
"I got up. So did a man lying on the field in front of me. He was shot
through the head and fell back on me. I got up again. A shell burst
beside me and I saw three men, who were running past, just disappear. I
was lying on my face again, and could not lift my head, either through
fear or sleep, I don't know which.
"I found myself running forward again. I called to men lying and running
near and held my revolver at them. We were all charging with bayonets
back at the Germans shooting us from our own trenches under the raised
bank. They did not wait for us. They looked like frightened gray beetles
as they scrambled up away over our bank and down into the river. It was
dusk, but we shot at them over the bank. The water seemed full of them.
We crouched in a big trench in muddy water behind the bank. No, we did
not sleep, but my head and eyes seemed to go to sleep from time to time.
"There were perhaps 200 left of our 600. I think there was one officer
further along, but it was quite dark. Some of the men talked very low.
Then I heard voices whispering and talking near us on the river side of
our bank. It was of earth perhaps five feet high and six feet thick. On
the other side the slope fell steeply to the river.
"I sent a hush along the line. We listened quite silent. I thought I
heard German words, an order passed along on the other side. I crawled
up on to the bank, not showing my head, you know. It was really about
300 Germans who had stayed there on our side under the bank, fearing to
cross the river under our fire. So we stayed all through the night. We
did not sleep nor did they.
"There was just six feet of piled wet earth between us. We only
whispered and could hear them muttering and the sound of their belts
creaking and of water bottles being opened.
"There was a thick gray mist hanging low in the morning. I crawled on to
the bank again, holding my revolver out-stretched. A gray figure stood
up in the mist below close to me. He looked like a British soldier in
khaki. He said: 'It's all right, we are English,' and I said, 'But your
accent isn't,' and I shot him through with my revolver. Some of our men
crept to the bank, but they shot them, and some of theirs climbed over,
but we fired at their heads or arms as they showed only a few feet
away, and they fell backward [Transcriber: original 'bakward'] or on to
us or lay hanging on the bank. Then we all waited.
"As it grew lighter they did not dare move away, and none of us could
get out alive or over the bank to use the bayonet. A few men made holes
in the looser earth, and so we fired at each other through the bank here
and there. Our guns could not help us, and theirs could not shoot
across, for we were all together, and yet we could not get at each
other. Some of the men--theirs and ours--got over lower down, so there
was firing now and then, and two men were killed near me sliding down
into the water in the trenches.
"Somebody threw a cartridge case across close to me. On a paper inside
was scrawled one word: 'Surrender!' We did not know if they wanted to
surrender themselves or wanted us to surrender. They were more numerous,
but we were better placed, so we went on scrapping and crawling around
to get a shot at them.
"Perhaps it was the French who got round at the ends. There was heavy
firing. We heard quite close through the raised bank a few slipping down
on the river edge and water splashing. Some of us pulled ourselves up on
to the bank. I heard our men scrambling up on either side of me, but
could not see them. I think I was too sleepy. I shouted to charge, and
then must have fallen over on my head, rolling down the bank.
"I am on the way down with these wounded. There are fifteen of us unhit
here, but I think we came away just now with nearly a hundred out of our
600 of yesterday."
He was doing gallant Captain's work, a young, slight, ordinary Belgian
trooper, a volunteer private in the ranks, muddy, limping, and
unspeakably tired in muscle and nerve. His story is as nearly as
possible in his own words, interrupted by blanks in his own
consciousness of events--lapses familiar to men whose muscles and nerves
are exhausted, but who must still work on without sleep.
For the following ten hours, without pause, he acted as interpreter and
most capable adviser in getting long trains of stretchers with his
wounded Belgian compatriots down and on to the British hospital ships.
*A Visit to the Firing Line in France*
[By a Correspondent of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
PARIS, Sept. 30.--In company with several representatives of American
newspapers, I was permitted to pass several days in "the zone of
military activity," on credentials obtained at the personal request of
Ambassador Herrick, that we might describe the destruction caused by the
Germans in unfortified towns. Although I have given a parole to say
nothing concerning the movement of the troops or to mention certain
points that I visited, I am now permitted to send a report of a part of
my experiences.
We crossed the entire battlefield of the Marne, passed directly behind
the lines of the battle still raging on the Aisne, accidentally getting
under fire for an entire afternoon, and lunching in a hotel to the
orchestra of bursting shells, one end of the building being blown away
during the bombardment. We witnessed a battle between an armored French
monoplane and a German battery, and also had the experience of being
accused of being German spies by two men wearing the English uniform,
who, on failing to account for their own German accent, were speedily
taken away under guard with their "numbers up," as the French Commandant
expressed what awaited them.
On account of our exceptional credentials we were able to see more
actual war than many correspondents, who when they learned that permits
to go to the front were not forthcoming, went anyway, usually falling
into the hands of the military authorities before getting far. In fact,
getting arrested has been the chief occupation of the war correspondents
in this war, even our accidental view of the fighting being sufficient
to cause our speedy return to Paris under parole.
Going over the battlefield of the Marne, we found the battle had
followed much the same tactics as a cyclone, in that in some places
nothing, not even the haystacks, had been disturbed, while in others
everything, the villages, roads, and fields, had been utterly devastated
by shells. We talked with the inhabitants of every village and always
heard the same story--that during occupation the Germans, evidently
having been ordered to be on their good behavior after the Belgian
atrocities, had offered little trouble to the civilians, and had
confined their activities to looting and wasting the provisions. Also
that when retreating they had destroyed all the food they were unable to
carry.
Our baptism of fire appropriately came while we were in a church. At
noon of the second day we motored into a deserted village, and were
stopped by a sentry who acknowledged our credentials, but warned us if
we intended to proceed to beware of bullets. But there was not a hostile
sound to alarm us.
As we drove carelessly over the brow of a hill where the road dipped
down a valley into the town, we were in direct line with the German
fire, as great holes in the ground and fallen trees testified. It is a
wonder our big motor car was not an immediate mark. On the way in we
noticed a church steeple shot completely off, so after finding an inn,
where the proprietor came from the cellar and offered to guard our car
and prepare luncheon, we decided first to examine the church. The
innkeeper explained that we had come during a lull in the bombardment,
but the silent, deserted place lulled all sense of danger. The verger
showed us over the church and we were walking through the ruined nave
when suddenly we heard a sound like the shrill whistling of the wind.
"It begins again," our conductor said simply. As the speech ended we
heard a loud boom and the sound of falling masonry as a shell struck the
far end of the building. We hurried to the hotel, the shells screaming
overhead. We saw the buildings tumbling into ruins, glass falling in
fine powder and remnants of furniture hanging grotesquely from scraps of
masonry.
All my life I had wondered what would be the sensation if I ever were
under fire--would I be afraid? To my intense relief I suddenly became
fatalistic. I was under fire with a vengeance, but instead of being
afraid I kept saying to myself, "Being afraid won't help matters;
besides nothing will happen if we just keep close to the walls and away
from the middle street."
On the way we met two men in English uniform who later denounced us as
spies. We hailed them, and they replied that they had been cut off from
their regiment and were now fighting with the French. Just as luncheon
was announced eight soldiers filed into the hotel, arrested us, and
marched us before the Commandant, who saw that our papers were all
right, but suggested that on account of the dangerous position we leave
as soon as possible. We asked permission to finish our luncheon. It was
lucky that we were arrested then--before the accusation that we were
spies--for when that question arose there was no doubt in the mind of
the Commandant concerning us, so our accusers' charge merely reacted
upon themselves.
During the episode of arrest there was another lull in the bombardment,
which began again as we were seated at luncheon. All through the meal
the shells whistled and screamed overhead, and the dishes rattled
constantly on the table.
When the meal was over the proprietor called us to witness what had
happened to the far wing of the hotel. It was completely demolished.
"Alert" had just been sounded, and the soldiers were running through the
streets. We ran out in time to see a building falling half a block away,
completely filling the street by which we had entered the town an hour
earlier.
In a few minutes we heard the sharp crackle of infantry fire about half
a mile away, and we had a sudden desire to get away before the
automobile retreat was cut off. Just then we heard the sound of an aero
engine overhead. It was flying so low that through a glass we could
easily see the whirring propeller. The machine was mounted with a
rapid-fire gun which was trying to locate the German gunners, who
immediately abandoned the destruction of the town in an attempt to bring
it down. For ten minutes we saw shells bursting all about it. At times
it was lost in smoke, but when the smoke cleared there was the monoplane
still blazing away, always mounting to a higher level, and finally
disappearing toward the French lines.
There was another lull in the cannonade, and we were permitted to pass
down the street near the river, where, by peering around a building, we
could see where the German batteries were secreted in the hills. We were
warned not to get into the street which led to the bridge, as the
Germans raked that street with their fire if a single person appeared.
We then took advantage of a lull in the firing and departed to the south
at seventy miles an hour, in order to beat the shells, if any were aimed
our way as we crossed the rise of the hill.
*Unburied Dead Strew Lorraine*
*By Philip Gibbs of The London Daily Chronicle.*
DIJON, Sept. 26.--Although great interest is concentrated upon the
northwest side of the line of of battle in France, it must not be
forgotten that the east side is also of high importance. The operation
of the French and German forces along the jagged frontier from north to
south is of vital influence upon the whole field of war, and any great
movement of troops in this direction affects the strategy of the
Generals to command on the furthermost wings.
It was a desire to know something of what had been happening in the east
which led me to travel to the extreme right. Few correspondents have
been in this part of the field since the beginning of the war. It is far
from their own line of communications. For this reason there have been
no detailed narratives of the fighting in Lorraine, and a strange
silence has brooded over those battlefields. The spell of it has been
broken only by official bulletins telling in a line or two the uncertain
result of the ceaseless struggle for mastery.
Here are regiments of young men who have the right already to call
themselves veterans, for they have been fighting continually for six
weeks in innumerable engagements, for the most part unrecorded in
official dispatches. I had seen them answering the call to mobilization,
singing joyously as they marched through the streets. Then they were
smart fellows, clean shaven and spruce in their new blue coats and
scarlet trousers. Now war has put its dirt upon them and seems to have
aged them by fifteen years, leaving its ineffaceable imprint upon their
faces. Their blue coats have changed to a dusty gray, but they are hard
and tough for the most part, and Napoleon himself would not have wished
for better fighting men.
Now for the first time since the beginning of the war there will be a
little respite on the Lorraine frontier, and in the wooded country of
the two lost provinces there will be time to bury the dead which
incumber its fields. Words are utterly inadequate to describe the
horrors of the region to the east of the Meurthe, in and around the
little towns of Blamont, Badonviller, Cirey-les-Forges, Arracourt,
Chateau-Salins, Morhauge, and Baudrecourt, where for six weeks there has
been incessant fighting. After the heavy battle of Sept. 4, when the
Germans were repulsed with severe losses after an attack in force, both
sides retired for about twelve miles and dug themselves into lines of
trenches which they still hold; but every day since that date there has
been a kind of guerrilla warfare, with small bodies of men fighting from
village to village and from wood to wood, the forces on each side being
scattered over a wide area in advance of their main lines. This method
of warfare is even more terrible than a pitched battle.
"It is absurd to talk of Red Cross work," said one of the French
soldiers who had just come out of the trenches at Luneville. "It has not
existed as far as many of these fights are concerned How could it? A few
litter-carriers came with us on some of our expeditions, but they were
soon shot down, and after that the wounded just lay where they fell, or
crawled away into the shelter of the woods. Those of us who were unhurt
were not allowed to attend to our wounded comrades; it is against
orders. We have to go on regardless of losses. My own best comrade was
struck down by my side. I heard his cry and saw him lying there with
blood oozing through his coat. My heart wept to leave him. He wanted me
to take his money, but I just kissed his hand and went on, I suppose he
died, for I could not find him when we retreated."
[Illustration: Where the Armies are Contending in Alsace-Lorraine.]
[Illustration: GRAND DUKE NICHOLAS NICHOLAIEVITCH
The Russian Commander-in-Chief. _
(Photo (C) by Underwood & Underwood._)]
[Illustration: GEN. RENNENKAMPF
The Russian General Who Was Removed by the Grand Duke
[Transcriber: photo credit ineligible]]
Another French soldier lay wounded at the edge of a wood ten miles from
Luneville. When he recovered consciousness he saw there were only dead
and dying men around him. He remained for two days, unable to move his
shattered limbs, and cried out for death to relieve him of his agony. At
night he was numbed by cold; in the day thirst tortured him to the point
of madness. Faint cries and groans came to his ears across the field. It
was on the morning of the third day that French peasants came to rescue
those who still remained alive.
There have been several advances made by the French into Lorraine, and
several retirements. On each occasion men have seen new horrors which
have turned their stomachs. There are woods not far from Nancy from
which there comes a pestilential stench which steals down the wind in
gusts of obscene odor. For three weeks and more dead bodies of Germans
and Frenchmen have lain rotting there. There are few grave diggers. The
peasants have fled from their villages, and the soldiers have other work
to do; so that the frontier fields on each side are littered with
corruption, where plague and fever find holding ground.
I have said that this warfare on the frontier is pitiless. This is a
general statement of a truth to which there are exceptions. One of these
was a reconciliation on the battlefield between French and German
soldiers who lay wounded and abandoned near the little town of Blamont.
When dawn came they conversed with each other while waiting for death. A
French soldier gave his water bottle to a German officer who was crying
out with thirst. The German sipped a little and then kissed the hand of
the man who had been his enemy. "There will be no war on the other
side," he said.
Another Frenchman, who came from Montmartre, found a Luxembourger lying
within a yard of him whom he had known as a messenger in a big hotel in
Paris. The young German wept to see his old acquaintance. "It is
stupid," he said, "this war. You and I were happy when we were good
friends in Paris. Why should we have been made to fight with each
other?" He died with his arms around the neck of the soldier who told me
the story, unashamed of his own tears.
I could tell a score of tales like this, told to me by men whose eyes
were still haunted by the sight of these things; and perhaps one day
they will be worth telling, so that people of little imagination may
realize the meaning of this war and put away false heroics from their
lips. It is dirty business, with no romance in it for any of those fine
young Frenchmen I have learned to love, who still stay in the trenches
on the frontier lines or march a little way into Lorraine and back
again.
Some of those trenches on either side are still filled with men leaning
forward with their rifles pointing to the enemy--quite dead, in spite of
their lifelike posture.
*Along the German Lines Near Metz*
[Correspondence of The Associated Press.]
WITH THE GERMAN ARMY BEFORE METZ, Sept. 30, (by Courier to Holland and
Mail to New York.)--A five-day trip to the front has taken the
correspondent of The Associated Press through the German fortresses of
Mainz, Saarbruecken, and Metz, through the frontier regions between Metz
and the French fortress line from Verdun to Toul, into the actual
battery positions from which German and Austrian heavy artillery were
pounding their eight and twelve-inch shells into the French barrier
forts and into the ranks of the French field army which has replaced the
crumbling fortifications of steel and cement with ramparts of flesh and
blood.
Impressions at the end are those of some great industrial undertaking
with powerful machinery in full operation and endless supply trains
bringing up the raw materials for manufacture rather than of war as
pictured.
From a point of observation on a hillside above St. Mihiel the great
battlefield on which a German army endeavoring to break through the line
of barrier forts between Verdun and Toul and the opposing French forces
could be surveyed in its entirety. In the foreground lay the level
valley of the Meuse, with the towns of St. Mihiel and Banoncour nestling
upon the green landscape. Beyond and behind the valley rose a tier of
hills on which the French at this writing obstinately hold an intrenched
position, checking the point of the German wedge, while the French
forces from north and south beat upon the sides of the triangle, trying
to force it back across the Meuse and out from the vitals of the French
fortress line.
Bursting shells threw up their columns of white or black fog around the
edge of the panorama. Cloudlets of white smoke here and there showed
where a position was being brought under shrapnel fire. An occasional
aeroplane could be picked out hovering over the lines, but the infantry
and the field battery positions could not be discerned even with a
high-power field glass, so cleverly had the armies taken cover. The
uninitiated observer would have believed this a deserted landscape
rather than the scene of a great battle, which, if successful for the
Germans, would force the main French Army to retreat from its intrenched
positions along the Aisne River.
About three miles away, across the Meuse, a quadrangular mound of black,
plowed-up earth on the hillside marked the location of Fort Les
Paroches, which had been silenced by the German mortars the night
before. Fort Camp des Romains, so named because the Roman legions had
centuries ago selected this site for a strategic encampment, had been
stormed by Bavarian infantry two days earlier after its heavy guns had
been put out of action, and artillery officers said that Fort Lionville,
fifteen miles to the south and out of the range of vision, was then
practically silenced, only one of its armored turrets continuing to
answer the bombardment.
The correspondent had spent the previous night at the fortress town of
Metz, sleeping under the same roof with Prince Oscar of Prussia,
invalided from the field in a state of physical breakdown; Prince
William of Hohenzollern, father-in-law of ex-King Manuel, and other
officers, either watching or engaged in the operations in the field, and
had traveled by automobile to the battlefront thirty-five miles to the
west. For the first part of the distance the road led through the hills
on which are located the chain of forts comprising the fortress of Metz;
but, although the General Staff officer in the car pointed now and then
to a hill as the site of this or that fort, traces of the fortifications
could only occasionally be made out. Usually they were so skillfully
masked and concealed by woods or blended with the hillsides that nothing
out of the ordinary was apparent, in striking contrast to the exposed
position of the forts at the recently visited fortress of Liege, which
advertised their presence from the sky line of the encompassing hills
and fairly invited bombardment.
The country as far as the frontier town of Gorze seemed bathed in
absolute peace. No troops were seen, rarely were automobiles of the
General Staff encountered, and men and women were working in the field
and vineyards as if war were a thousand miles away instead of only next
door.
Beyond Gorze, however, the road leading southwest through Chambley and
St. Benoit Vigneuilles to St. Mihiel was crowded with long columns of
wagons and automobile trucks bearing reserve ammunition, provisions, and
supplies to the front, or returning empty for new loads to the unnamed
railroad base in the rear. Strikingly good march discipline was
observed, part of the road being always left free from the passage of
staff automobiles or marching troops. Life seemed most comfortable for
the drivers and escorts, as the army in advance had been so long in
position, and its railroad base was so near, that supplying it involved
none of the sleepless nights and days and almost superhuman exertions
falling to the lot of the train in the flying march of the German armies
toward Paris.
A few miles beyond Gorze the French frontier was passed, and from this
point on the countryside, with its deserted farms, rotting shocks of
wheat, and uncut fields of grain, trampled down by infantry and scarred
with trenches, excavations for batteries, and pits caused by exploding
shells, showed war's devastating heel prints.
Main army headquarters, the residence and working quarters of a
commanding General whose name may not yet be mentioned, were in Chateau
Chambley, a fine French country house. In the chateau the commanding
General made all as comfortable as in his own home. Telegraph wires led
to it from various directions, a small headquarters guard lounged on the
grass under the trees, a dozen automobiles and motor cycles were at
hand, and grooms were leading about the chargers of the General and his
staff. At St. Benoit, five miles further on, a subordinate headquarters
was encountered, again in a chateau belonging to a rich French resident.
The Continental soldier leaves tents to the American Army and quarters
himself, whenever it is possible, comfortably in houses, wasting no
energy in transporting and setting up tented cities for officers and
men. No matter how fast or how far a German army moves, a completely
equipped telegraph office is ready for the army commander five minutes
after headquarters have been established.
At St. Benoit a party of some 300 French prisoners was encountered,
waiting outside headquarters. They were all fine young fellows, in
striking contrast to the elderly reservist type which predominates in
the German prison camps. They were evidently picked troops of the line,
and were treated almost with deference by their guards, a detachment of
bearded Landwehr men from South Germany. They were the survivors of the
garrison of Fort Camp des Romains, who had put up such a desperate and
spirited defense as to win the whole-hearted admiration and respect of
the German officers and men. Their armored turrets and cemented
bastions, although constructed after the best rules of fortification of
a few years ago, had been battered about their ears in an unexpectedly
short time by German and Austrian siege artillery. Their guns were
silenced, and trenches were pushed up by an overwhelming force of
pioneers and infantry to within five yards of their works before they
retreated from the advanced intrenchments to the casemates of the fort.
Here they maintained a stout resistance, and refused every summons to
surrender. Hand grenades were brought up, bound to a backing of boards,
and exploded against the openings into the casemates, filling these with
showers of steel splinters. Pioneers, creeping up to the dead angle of
the casemates, where the fire of the defenders could not reach them,
directed smoke tubes and stinkpots against apertures in the citadel,
filling the rooms with suffocating smoke and gases.
"Have you had enough?" the defenders were asked, after the first smoke
treatment.
"No!" was the defiant answer.
The operation was repeated a second and third time, the response to the
demand for surrender each time growing weaker, until finally the
defenders were no longer able to raise their rifles, and the fort was
taken. When the survivors of the plucky garrison were able to march out,
revived by the fresh air, they found their late opponents presenting
arms before them in recognition of their gallant stand. They were
granted the most honorable terms of surrender, their officers were
allowed to retain their swords, and on their march toward an honorable
captivity they were everywhere greeted with expressions of respect and
admiration.
The headquarters guard here was composed of a company of infantry. The
company's field kitchen, the soup-boiler and oven on wheels, which the
German army copied from the Russians and which the soldiers facetiously
and affectionately name their "goulash cannon," had that day, the
Captain said, fed 970 men, soldiers of his own and passing companies,
headquarters attaches, wounded men and the detachment of French
prisoners.
Experienced German officers rank the field kitchens, with the sturdy
legs of the infantry, the German heavy artillery and the aviation corps,
as the most important factors in the showing made by the German armies.
Beyond St. Benoit the Cote Lorraine, a range of wooded hills running
north and south along the east bank of the Meuse, rises in steeply
terraced slopes several hundred feet from the frontier plain,
interposing a natural rampart between Germany and the French line of
fortresses beyond the Meuse. The French had fortified these slopes with
successive rows of trenches, permitting line above line of infantry to
fire against an advancing enemy. For days a desperate struggle was waged
for the possession of the heights, which was imperative for the German
campaign against the line of fortresses.
Germans do not mention the extent of their losses in any particular
action, but it was admitted and evident that it had cost a high price to
storm those steep slopes and win a position in the woods crowning the
range from which their batteries could be directed against the French
forts. Vigneuilles, a village at the foot of the hillside, shot into
ruins by artillery and with every standing bit of house wall scarred
with bullet marks from the hand-to-hand conflicts which had swayed to
and fro in its streets, was typical of all the little stone-built towns
serving as outposts to this natural fortress which had been the scene of
imbittered attacks and counter-attacks before the German troops could
fight their way up the hillsides.
The combat is still raging on this day from north and south against the
segment of this range captured by the Germans. The French, massing their
troops by forest paths from Verdun and Toul, throw them against the
Germans in desperate endeavors to break the lines which protect the
sites for the German siege artillery, heavy mortars of 8-1/4 and 16-1/2
inch calibre and an intermediate sized type, and for the Austrian
automobile batteries of 12-inch siege guns.
The correspondent had no opportunity to inspect at close range the
16-1/2-inch guns, the "growlers" of Liege, Namur, and other fortresses,
which Krupp and the German Army uncovered as the surprise of this war.
They could be heard even from Metz speaking at five-minute intervals. A
battery of them, dug into the ground so that only the gun muzzles
projected above the pits, was observed in action at a distance of about
a half mile, the flash of flames being visible even at this distance.
Their smaller sisters were less coy. A dismounted battery of the
intermediate calibre, details of which are not available for
publication, was encountered by the roadside, awaiting repairs to the
heavy traction engine in whose train it travels in sections along the
country roads, while the German 8-1/4-inch (21 centimeter) and the
Austrian 12-inch (30.5 centimeter) batteries were seen in action.
The heavy German battery lay snugly hidden in a wood on the rolling
heights of the Cote Lorraine. Better off than the French, whose aviators
had for days repeatedly scrutinized every acre of land in the vicinity
looking for these guns, we had fairly accurate directions how to find
the battery, but even then it required some search and doubling back and
forth before a languid artilleryman lounging by the roadside pointed
with thumb over shoulder toward the hidden guns.
These and the artillerymen were enjoying their midday rest, a pause
which sets in every day with the regularity of the luncheon hour in a
factory. The guns, two in this particular position, stood beneath a
screen of thickly branching trees, the muzzles pointing toward round
openings in this leafy roof. The gun carriages were screened with
branches. The shelter tents of the men and the house for the ammunition
had also been covered with green, and around the position a hedge of
boughs kept off the prying eyes of possible French spies wandering
through the woods.
It was the noon pause, but the Lieutenant in charge of the guns, anxious
to show them off to advantage, volunteered to telephone the battery
commander, in his observation post four miles nearer the enemy, for
permission to fire a shot or two against a village in which French
troops were gathering for the attack. This battery had just finished
with Les Paroches, a French barrier fort across the Meuse, and was now
devoting its attention to such minor tasks. Only forts really counted,
said the Lieutenant, recalling Fort Manonvillers, near Luneville, the
strongest French barrier fort, which was the battery's first "bag" of
the war. Its capture, thanks to his guns, had cost the German Army only
three lives, those of three pioneers accidentally killed by the fire of
their own men. Now Les Paroches was a heap of crumbled earth and stone.
In default of forts the guns were used against any "worthy target"--a
"worthy target" being defined as a minimum of fifty infantrymen.
At this moment the orderly reported that the battery commander
authorized two shots against the village in question. At command the gun
crew sprang to their posts about the mortar, which was already adjusted
for its target, a little less than six miles away, the gun muzzle
pointing skyward at an angle of about 60 degrees. As the gun was fired
the projectile could be seen and followed in its course for several
hundred feet. The report was not excessively loud.
Before the report died away the crew were busy as bees about the gun.
One man, with the hand elevating gear, rapidly cranked the barrel down
to a level position, ready for loading. A second threw open the breech
and extracted the brass cartridge case, carefully wiping [Transcriber:
original 'wipping'] it out before depositing it among the empties; four
more seized the heavy shell and lifted it to a cradle opposite the
breech; a seventh rammed it home; number eight gingerly inserted the
brass cartridge, half filled with a vaseline-like explosive; the breech
was closed, and the gun pointer rapidly cranked the gun again into
position. In less than thirty seconds the men sprang back from the gun,
again loaded and aimed. A short wait, and the observer from his post
near the village ordered "next shot fifty meters nearer."
The gun pointer made the slight correction necessary, the mortar again
sent its shell purring through the air against the village, which this
time, it was learned, broke into flames, and while the men went back to
their noonday rest, the Lieutenant explained the fine points of his
beloved guns. One man, as had been seen, could manipulate the elevation
gear with one hand easily and quickly; ten of his horses could take the
mortar, weighing eight tons, anywhere; it could fire up to 500 shots per
day. He was proud of the skillful concealment of his guns, which had
been firing for four days from the same position without being
discovered, although French aviators had located all the sister
batteries, all of which had suffered loss from shrapnel fire.
Along the roadside through the Cote Lorraine were here and there graves
with rude crosses and penciled inscriptions. At the western edge of the
forest the battle panorama of the Meuse Valley suddenly opened out, the
hills falling away again steeply to the level valley below. The towns
below--St. Mihiel and Banoncour--seemed absolutely deserted, not a
person being visible even around the large barracks in the latter town.
While the little party of officers and spectators, including the
correspondent, were watching the artillery duel on the far horizon or
endeavoring to pick out the infantry positions, a shrapnel suddenly
burst directly before them, high in the air. There was a general stir,
the assumption being that the French had taken the group on the
hillside for a battery staff picking out positions for the guns; but as
other shots were fired it was seen that the shrapnel was exploding
regularly above the barracks, a mile and a half away, the French
evidently suspecting the presence of German troops there.
A ten-mile ride southward led to the position of the Austrian 12-inch
battery. The two guns this time were planted by the side of the road,
screened only in front by a little wood, but exposed to view from both
sides, the rear, and above. For this greater exposure the battery had
paid correspondingly, several of its men having been killed or wounded
by hostile fire. Here, as in the German batteries, the war work in
progress went on with a machinelike regularity and absence of
spectacular features more characteristic of a rolling mill than a
battle. The men at the guns went through their work with the deftness
and absence of confusion of high-class mechanics. The heavy shells were
rolled to the guns, hoisted by a chain winch to the breech opening, and
discharged in uninteresting succession, a short pause coming after each
shot, until the telephonic report from the observation stand was
received. The battery had been firing all day at Fort Lionville, at a
range of 9,400 meters, (nearly six miles,) and the battery commander was
then endeavoring to put out of action the only gun turret which still
answered the fire. The task of finding this comparatively minute target,
forty or fifty feet in diameter, was being followed with an accuracy
which promised eventual success.
The shells from the guns started on their course with characteristic
minute-long shrieks. Watches were pulled out to determine just how long
the shrieks could be heard, and the uninitiated were preparing to hear
the sound of the explosion itself. The battery chief explained, however,
that this scream was due to the conditions immediately around the muzzle
of the gun, and could not be heard from other points. He invited close
watch of the atmosphere a hundred yards before the gun at the next shot.
Not only could the projectile be seen plainly in the beginning of its
flight, but the waves of billowing air, rushing back to fill the void
left by the discharge and bounding and rebounding in a tempestuous sea
of gas, could be distinctly observed. This airy commotion caused the
sound heard for more than a minute.
*The Slaughter in Alsace*
*By John H. Cox of The London Standard.*
BASLE, Switzerland, Aug. 19.--I have just returned from an inspection of
the scenes of the recent fighting between the French and Germans in the
southern districts of Alsace.
Dispatches from Paris and Berlin describe the engagements between the
frontier and Muelhausen as insignificant encounters between advance
guards. If this be true in a military sense, and the preliminaries of
the war produce the terrible effects I have witnessed, the disastrous
results of the war itself will exceed human comprehension.
As a Swiss subject I was equipped with identification papers and
accompanied by four of my countrymen, all on bicycles.
At the very outset the sight of peasants, men and women, unconcernedly
at work in the fields gathering the harvest, struck me as strange and
unnatural. The men were either old or well advanced in middle age.
Everywhere women, girls, and mere lads were working.
The first sign of war was the demolished villa of a Catholic priest at a
village near Ransbach. This priest had lived there for many years,
engaged in religious work and literary pursuits. After the outbreak of
the war the German authorities jumped at the conclusion that he was an
agent of the French Secret Service and that he had been in the habit of
sending to Belfort information concerning German military movements and
German measures for defense--very often by means of carrier pigeons.
The Alsatians say that these accusations were utterly unjust; but last
week a military party raided the priest's house, dragged him from his
study, placed him against his own garden wall and shot him summarily as
a traitor and spy. The house was searched from top to bottom, and
numerous books and papers were removed, after which the building was
destroyed by dynamite. The priest was buried without a coffin at the end
of his little garden plot, and some of the villagers placed a rough
cross on the mound which marked the place of interment.
In the next large village we were told that it had been successively
occupied by French and German troops and had been the scene of stiff
infantry fighting.
Here we found groups of old men and boys burying dead men and horses,
whose bodies were already beginning to be a menace to health. The
weather here has been exceptionally hot, and the countryside is bathed
in blazing sunshine. Further on were a number of German soldiers beating
about in the standing crops on both sides of the road, searching for
dead and wounded. They said many of the wounded had crawled in among the
wheat to escape being trodden upon by the troops marching along the
road, and also to gain relief from the heat.
On the outskirts of another large village we saw a garden bounded by a
thick hedge, behind which a company of French infantry had taken their
stand against the advancing German troops. Among the crushed flowers
there were still lying fragments of French soldiers' equipments, two
French caps stained with blood and three torn French tunics, likewise
[Transcriber: original 'liewise'] dyed red. The walls of the cottage
bore marks of rifle bullets, and the roof was partially burned.
Passing through the villages we saw on all sides terrible signs of the
devastation of war--houses burned, uncut grain trodden down and rendered
useless, gardens trampled under foot; everywhere ruin and distress.
At a small village locally known as Napoleon's Island we found the
railway station demolished and the line of trucks the French had used as
a barricade. These trucks had been almost shot to pieces, and many were
stained with blood. Outside the station the small restaurant roof had
been shot away; the windows were smashed, and much furniture had been
destroyed. Nevertheless the proprietor had rearranged his damaged
premises as well as possible and was serving customers as if nothing had
happened.
Just outside this village there are large common graves in which French
and German soldiers lie buried together in their uniforms. Large mounds
mark these sites. Here again the villagers have placed roughly hewn
crosses.
Not far from Huningen we met an intelligent Alsatian peasant who
remembered the war of 1870 and had witnessed some engagements in the
last few days. Here is his account of what he saw:
"The bravery on both sides was amazing. The effects of artillery fire
are terrific. The shells burst, and where you formerly saw a body of
soldiers you see a heap of corpses or a number of figures writhing on
the ground, torn and mutilated by the fragments of the shell. Those who
are unhurt scatter for the moment, but quickly regain their composure
and take up their positions in the fighting line as if nothing had
happened. The effects of other weapons are as bad. It seems remarkable
that soldiers can see the destruction worked all around them, yet can
control their nerves sufficiently to continue fighting.
"I remember the battles of 1870, in five or six of which I fought
myself, but they bear no comparison with the battles of 1914. War
forty-four years ago was child's play compared with war at the present
time."
In several villages the schools and churches and many cottages are
filled with wounded Frenchmen and Germans, and everything is being done
to relieve their sufferings. In the stress of fighting many wounded
soldiers were left from three to ten or twelve hours lying in the fields
or on the roads. The ambulance equipment of modern armies appears
utterly inadequate, and most of the wounded were picked up by villagers.
A French aeroplane from Belfort reconnoitred the German positions behind
Muelhausen. As it passed over the German works at the Isteiner Klotz
there ensued a continuous firing of machine guns and rifles. The
aeroplane, which had swerved downward to give its two occupants a closer
and clearer view of the German position, immediately rose to a much
greater altitude and escaped injury. It cruised over the German position
for more than an hour, now rising, now falling, always pursued by the
bullets of the enemy.
This aerial reconnoissance [Transcriber: original 'reconnoisance'], part
of which was carried out at an altitude as low as 1,000 feet, was
undertaken at terrible risk, but in this case the aeroplane escaped all
injury and returned in the direction of Belfort, doubtless with all the
information it had set out to collect.
* * * * *
[Special Cable to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
BERNE, Aug. 22, (Dispatch to The London Morning Post.)--Gebweiler, in
Alsace, twelve miles to the northwest of Muelhausen, was taken by the
French at the point of the bayonet on Aug. 20. My correspondent, who has
just arrived at Basle from the field of battle, says that eight
battalions of the German One Hundred and Fourteenth Regiment, numbering
about 10,000 men, engaged the French Army. The French artillery was
deadly and caused great ravages among the Germans, few officers
escaping.
During the whole night the wounded were being transported to villages in
the neighborhood, beyond the reach of artillery. All the buildings of
Sierenz were filled with wounded.
Hundreds of horses were stretched on the field of battle. Those of the
German artillery were killed, and in consequence the German forces left
their artillery, of which about twenty guns are now in the hands of the
French.
The object of the German troops was to cut off the retreat of the French
and force them toward the Swiss frontier--an object which they failed to
achieve.
The wounded received here say that they passed a terrible night in the
open, without water or other succor, with the pitiful neighing of
wounded horses ringing in their ears.
*Rennenkampf on the Prussian Border*
[By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle.]
GRADNO, (via Petrograd,) Oct. 21.--I have returned here after a journey
along the East Prussian frontier, as close to the scenes of daily
fighting as I could obtain permission to go. The route was from the
north of Suwalki southward to Graevo, a stretch of country recently in
German occupation, but where now remains not a single German outpost.
It is stimulating to see the Russian soldier in his habits as he lives
and fights. I have seen many thousands of them camped in the rain,
swamped in bogs, or marching indefatigably over the roads which are long
quagmires of mud, always with an air of stolid contentment and the look
of being bent on business. They include Baltic Province men speaking
German. Jews from Riga and Libau are brigaded with huge Siberians, whose
marching must constitute a world record. The Cossacks are past counting,
and with them are long-coated, tight-belted Circassians and Kalmucks,
all representing a mixture of races and languages like that of the
British Empire itself.
Actually the whole line is a battle front from north of Wirballen to
well into Poland, and no day passes without contact with the Germans.
This is an army in which every man has fought. Most of them have been in
hand-to-hand conflict with the Germans. They have approached the front
through a country which the enemy has devastated. There is no village
which does not bear the mark of wanton destruction. I have seen these
things for myself. Houses have been burned, others pillaged and the
contents dragged into the streets and there smashed. Churches have been
invariably gutted and defiled.
It is impossible not to admire these endless battalions of Siberians.
They are common objects of this countryside. I came past Suwalki as they
were moving up, column after column, in gray overcoats aswing in the
rhythm of their stride, like the kilts of Highlanders. It was they who
bore the brunt of the fighting, unsupported by artillery, in forests of
Augustowo, and, with the Baltic regiments, pushed on and took Lyck.
These are the men who marched forty miles, starting at midnight, then
went into action between Gor and Raigrod and delivered a bayonet charge
which their officers still boast about today.
I may not indicate the geography of the front on which the Russians and
Germans are now facing each other, but the German general plan is to
protect the railway and all approaches to a vital junction such as
Goldapp and Insterburg. Between them and the frontier lies a country of
singular difficulty for the troops. It is easy of defense, with small
broken hills, innumerable lakes and roads winding in watered valleys
among woods. The Germans have gone to earth in their usual lavish
fashion, digging themselves in with a thoroughness worthy of permanent
fortifications. Their trenches are five feet deep, with earthworks in
front zig-zagging as a precaution against enfilading. Some of them are
very cleverly hidden with growing bushes. All peasants remaining at the
country-side in Prussia are compelled to work digging trenches. The
emplacements [Transcriber: original 'implacements'] for guns of large
calibre have concrete foundations.
The Germans had fortified Suwalki, employing forced labor. They had
connected up the trench system with telephone installation and appointed
a Military Governor and other functionaries. Many German officers were
joined there by their wives and families, who when they retired took
with them souvenirs consisting of nearly every portable object of value
in the town, besides much furniture and clothing.
The Russian trenches are scarcely more than shallow grooves in the
ground with earth thrown up in front of them, making barely sufficient
cover for prone riflemen.
At once the German outer positions were carried by storm with ghastly
carnage.
"We didn't dig much," said a Russian officer to me. "We knew we
shouldn't stay there. We should either go forward or back, and we were
sure to go forward."
The cloud of patrols, mostly Cossacks, which flits unceasingly along the
German front is the subject of innumerable stories.
When the news was issued that the Kaiser had come east to take command
of his army on this front a Cossack came in, driving before him a plump,
distressed Prussian Captain whom he had gleaned during the day's work.
"I've brought him," he announced. "I knew him by his mustache," and he
produced an old picture postcard from his breast showing the Kaiser
with his characteristic mustache.
Near Augustowo the roads are literally blocked in many places with
abandoned German transports which became trapped in the terribly muddy
country. Dead horses in hundreds lie everywhere and the Russian Sanitary
Corps is busy burying them. Yet the Russians who are still moving about
this country retain not only their usual average health, but do not even
complain.
Between Augustowo and Raigrod a small stream is actually blocked with
German stores, including much gun ammunition. The German advance which
ended in this debacle has been the costliest defeat in point of
materials which they have yet suffered.
*The First Fight at Lodz*
*By Percival Gibbon of The London Daily Chronicle.*
WARSAW, Dec. 5, (by Courier to Petrograd.)--I have wired you previously
of the German force which advanced around Lodz and was cut off south and
east of the town. This consisted of two army corps--the Twenty-fifth
Corps and the Third Guard Corps. The isolated force turned north and
endeavored to cut its way out through the small town of Breziziny. It
was at Breziziny that final disaster overtook them.
The town and road lie in a hollow in the midst of wooded country, where
the Germans were squeezed from the Vistula and pressed to the rear. They
had fought a battle during the slow retirement of five days and were
showing signs of being short of ammunition. On the fifth day they made
their final attempt to pass through Breziziny. That was where that fine
strategist and fighting man who held Ivangorod on the Vistula brought
off the great dramatic coup for which he had been manoeuvring.
The Germans were holding the town and pouring through when he began his
general attack. Breziziny underwent nine hours of furious shelling and
only half the town is now remaining. The Russian infantry again proved
its sterling quality, and, supported by the tremendous fire of its own
guns, drove home charge after charge, smashing the German resistance
completely. By nightfall out of two army corps, numbering 80,000 men,
there remained only a remnant.
The number of prisoners reaches the total of about 20,000, and of the
remainder fully 80 per cent, were killed or wounded. This is the
estimate supplied to me. Owing to the small area on which the fighting
was concentrated, the dead are lying in great mounds and walls at points
where the charges were pushed home. For miles the countryside is dotted
with dead.
In the sparser grounds an unknown number of fugitives, most of whom are
wounded, are lurking in the woods. From Rawa, south of Skierniwice,
midway between Lodz and Warsaw, to Lodz on the line of the former German
retreat and present advance, not a single village remains. All the
burned-out district is utterly desolate.
On Dec. 1, 2, and 3 the force conducting the defense of the town of Lodz
was all but surrounded. The German positions were at Royicie on the
southern road, within four miles of the long, straggling street which
comprises most of the town of Lodz, while at Zgierz, seven miles to the
north, they had a battery of heavy guns with which they shelled the town
itself, killing several hundred civilians. The fire was chiefly directed
on the railway and station and the Russian guns were unable for some
time to locate the battery. It was discovered and reconnoitred at last
by an aeroplane.
[Illustration: The War in the East (with Net Change of Battle Line Up
to Jan, 1, 1915) from Eastern Prussia to Galicia.]
Then followed an act of heroism and harebrained enterprise which is now
the talk of the whole army. On Thursday night last the Colonel of
Artillery made his way out and with a little group of assistants
contrived to drag a field telephone wire within half a mile of the
German battery. While a searchlight was swinging over the face of the
country, he lay on the ground, and from there directed the Russian guns,
which with his help actually succeeded in silencing the battery. The
Russian guns were at this time placed in the streets of Lodz.
On Thursday night, when the attack culminated, there were 700 guns in
action at one time on both sides, and throughout the night all was
alight with flashes from the guns and bursting shells, and the thunder
of the guns was faintly audible on the outskirts of Warsaw, sixty miles
away.
Then there followed a general assault of the Germans, a charge of huge
masses of men, who followed up into the glare of the searchlights under
an inferno of gunfire. Here again the Siberians demonstrated the
qualities which have made them famous throughout the war. They met the
Germans with a rifle fire from the trenches which not only stopped them
but shattered them. They again played the old trick of allowing the
enemy to approach within fifty feet, meanwhile holding their fire, and
then blowing them off their feet with rifle fire and their use of the
mitrailleuse.
The attack failed utterly, and from the very manner of it the Russian
losses could not be otherwise than light, while the German losses in the
whole of the operations against Lodz and the neighboring positions
exceed a hundred thousand killed. No guess at the number of their
wounded can be attempted, but we know that score upon score of trains
filled with them have gone west along the Kalisz line, and still
continue to go.
*The First Invasion of Servia*
[By a Correspondent of The London Standard.]
NISH, Servia, Aug. 31.--After the butcheries and atrocities which I
witnessed during preceding battles I thought I would get accustomed and
insensible to these scenes of blood, but from my last visit to the
slaughter house I have brought such visions of horror that their very
thought makes me shudder. The object of the Austrian Army seems to have
been complete devastation.
The fierce battle which the Servians gave them incessantly for more than
a week may be divided into two conflicts of equal intensity which raged
along the ridge of the heights of Tser. Each of the two slopes,
descending one to the Save and the town of Shabatz and the other to the
Drina, is now nothing but a charnel house.
I could not say which of these two conflicts was more murderous, but
this admirably fertile region, with its countless fruit trees, is now
sheltering the last remains of hundreds of butchered men, women, and
children.
When after three days and three nights of truceless fighting the
Servians succeeded in surprising the enemy in the middle of the night at
Tser, the toll of dead was so colossal that the Servian troops were
constrained for the time being to abandon burying the corpses.
Everywhere the fighting was of the fiercest conceivable nature, for to
resist the invaders was to the Servians a question of life and death. At
several points they fought right up to the last man, succumbing but
never falling back.
The volunteer corps of Capt. Tankositch, the famous leader whose head
Austria is so anxious to gain, was charged to defend Kroupage, situated
south of the battle front, between Losnitza and Lionbovia. Considerable
Austrian forces attempted to advance with the view of driving the
Captain back.
For two days and three nights Tankositch and 236 volunteers held their
position. At last three whole Austrian regiments surrounded them, but
rather than yield to the enemy Tankositch and his gallant miniature army
resolved to fight to the last. In the dead of night he sent out a small
group to meet the Austrians. This group, consisting of a mere handful of
soldiers, hurled a shower of bombs at the enemy, cutting up his ranks,
and secured a free pass.
[Illustration: The Battlefield in Servia.]
At the first break of day, when Tankositch counted his men, only
forty-six answered the call. They surrounded more than a hundred
prisoners.
It will be realized that in the course of such sharp fighting the
Servian losses must have been considerable, although they were much
smaller than those of the enemy.
The most pitiful and heartrending aspect of these scenes was presented
by the long procession of Servian survivors from the neighboring
villages, consisting of old men, women, and children, bringing in the
heavy toll of mutilated human beings. At Valievo, the nearest town to
the field of battle, large masses of Servian and Austrian wounded kept
pouring in incessantly. About 10,000 have already arrived. All had to be
examined, all had to have their wounds dressed, and at Valievo there are
only six doctors.
In spite of this appalling shortage of medical aid, I witnessed
yesterday a most touching spectacle. A car drawn by oxen brought to the
hospital at Valievo its load of mutilated soldiers. In the first portion
of the car were three wounded Austrians and in the second two wounded
Servians and two more Austrians. The convoys wanted to carry the
Austrian wounded to the dressing room before their own wounded. A
Servian doctor stopped them.
"Bring the wounded in in the order in which they come," he commanded,
and, without any regard for the nationality of his patients, the doctor
and his colleagues commenced their humanitarian work.
What are the Red Crosses of the neutral countries waiting for? Why do
they not come here? In the name of gallant little Servia, in the name of
a humane and pitiful people, I make urgent appeal to the Red Crosses to
send a portion of their staff here. There are thousands of lives to be
saved.
Now I must begin a chapter of sorrows. I wanted to witness the
Austro-Hungarian excesses a second time before speaking of them, so that
I could give an exact and genuine account of actual facts. Courage
failed me to see all, but what I have seen can be summed up in one
phrase. In the environs of Shabatz the vanquished put the finishing
touch to their acts of fearful savagery by butchering their Servian
prisoners, whose corpses were found heaped up in the town.
Yesterday and the day before I ran across country through Valievo toward
Drina. Further north, barely forty miles from Valievo, at Seablatcha,
the poor refugees who had fled from their houses before the onslaught of
the Austrians showed me eight young people, tied one to another, who
were all pierced by bayonets.
Five miles from there, at Bella Tserka, fugitives of the village with
indescribable despair were burying the mutilated, bodies of fourteen
little girls. Six peasants were found hanging in an orchard.
At Lychnitsa, on the Drina, about a hundred old men, inoffensive
civilians, were massacred before the eyes of their wives and children.
All the women and children were led over on the other side of the bank
of the Drina in order to compel the Servians to stop their fire.
It is not war that Austria-Hungary tried to make on Servia. That great
nation wanted to exterminate the Servian people. She thought she would
succeed before Servia had time to defend herself.
Austrian prisoners affirm that they received orders to hang all those
striving against their country, to burn all the enemy's villages, and
put all their inhabitants to death.
The Servian Quartermaster General is drawing up an official list of
these Austro-Hungarian deeds.
*The Attack on Tsing-tau*
*By Jefferson Jones of The Minneapolis Journal and The Japan
Advertiser.*
JAPANESE HEADQUARTERS, Shantung, Nov. 2.--I have seen war from a grand
stand seat. I never before heard of the possibility of witnessing a
modern battle--the attack of warships, the fire of infantry and
artillery, the manoeuvring of airships over the enemy's lines, the
rolling up from the rear of reinforcements and supplies--all at one
sweep of the eye; yet, after watching [Transcriber: original 'watchnig']
for three days the siege of Tsing-tau from a position on Prinz Heinrich
Berg, 1,000 feet above the sea level and but three miles from the
beleaguered city, I am sure that there is actually such a thing as a
theatre of war.
On Oct. 31, the date of the anniversary of the birth of the Emperor of
Japan, the actual bombardment of Tsing-tau began. All the residents of
the little Chinese village of Tschang-tsun, where was fixed on that day
the acting staff headquarters of the Japanese troops, had been awakened
early in the morning by the roar of a German aeroplane over the village.
Every one quickly dressed and, after a hasty breakfast, went out to the
southern edge of the village to gaze toward Tsing-tau.
A great black column of smoke was arising from the city and hung like a
pall over the besieged. At first glance it seemed that one of the
neighboring hills had turned into an active volcano and was emitting
this column of smoke, but it was soon learned that the oil tanks in
Tsing-tau were on fire.
As the bombardment was scheduled to start late in the morning, we were
invited to accompany members of the staff of the Japanese and British
expeditionary forces on a trip to Prinz Heinrich Berg, there to watch
the investment of the city. It was about a three-mile journey to this
mountain, which had been the scene of some severe fighting between the
German and Japanese troops earlier in the month.
When we arrived at the summit there was the theatre of war laid out
before us like a map. To the left were the Japanese and British cruisers
in the Yellow Sea, preparing for the bombardment. Below was the Japanese
battery, stationed near the Meeker House, which the Germans had burned
in their retreat from the mountains. Directly ahead was the City of
Tsing-tau, with the Austrian cruiser Kaiserin Elisabeth steaming about
in the harbor, while to the right one could see the Kiao-Chau coast and
central forts and redoubts and the intrenched Japanese and British
camps.
We had just couched ourselves comfortably between some large, jagged
rocks, where we felt sure we were not in a direct line with the enemy's
guns, when suddenly there was a flash as if some one had turned a large
golden mirror in the field down beyond to the right. A little column of
black smoke drifted away from one of the Japanese trenches, and a minute
later those of us on the peak of Prinz Heinrich heard the sharp report
of a field gun.
"Gentlemen, the show has started," said the British Captain, as he
removed his cap and started adjusting his "opera glass." No sooner had
he said this than the reports of guns came from all directions with a
continuous rumble as if a giant bowling alley were in use. Everywhere
the valley at the rear of Tsing-tau was alive with golden flashes from
discharging guns, and at the same time great clouds of bluish-white
smoke would suddenly spring up around the German batteries where some
Japanese shell had burst. Over near the greater harbor of Tsing-tau we
could see flames licking up the Standard Oil Company's large tanks. We
afterward learned that these had been set on fire by the Germans and
not by a bursting shell.
And then the warships in the Yellow Sea opened fire on Iltis Fort, and
for three hours we continually played our glasses on the field--on
Tsing-tau and on the warships. With glasses on the central redoubt of
the Germans we watched the effects of the Japanese fire until the boom
of guns from the German Fort A, on a little peninsula jutting out from
Kiao-Chau Bay, toward the east, attracted our attention there. We could
see the big siege gun on this fort rise up over the bunker, aim at a
warship, fire, and then quickly go down again. And then we would turn
our eyes toward the warships in time to see a fountain of water 200
yards from a vessel, where the shell had struck. We scanned the city of
Tsing-tau. The 150-ton crane in the greater harbor, which we had seen
earlier in the day, and which was said to be the largest crane in the
world, had disappeared and only its base remained standing. A Japanese
shell had carried away the crane.
But this first day's firing of the Japanese investing troops was mainly
to test the range of the different batteries. The attempt also was made
to silence the line of forts extending in the east from Iltis Hill, near
the wireless and signal stations at the rear of Tsing-tau, to the coast
fort near the burning oil tank on the west. In this they were partly
successful, two guns at Iltis Fort being silenced by the guns at sea.
On Nov. 1, the second day of the bombardment, we again stationed
ourselves on the peak of Prinz Heinrich Berg. From the earliest hours of
morning the Japanese and British forces had kept up a continuous fire on
the German redoubts in front of the Iltis, Moltke, and Bismarck forts,
and when we arrived at our seats it seemed as though the shells were
dropping around the German trenches every minute. Particularly on the
redoubt of Taitung-Chen was the Japanese fire heavy, and by early
afternoon, through field glasses, this German redoubt appeared to have
had an attack of smallpox, so pitted was it from the holes made by
bursting Japanese shells. By nightfall many parts of the German
redoubts had been destroyed, together with some machine guns. The result
was the advancing of the Japanese lines several hundred yards from the
bottom of the hills where they had rested earlier in the day.
It was not until the third day of the bombardment that those of us
stationed on Prinz Heinrich observed that our theatre of war had a
curtain, a real asbestos one that screened the fire in the drops
directly ahead of us from our eyes. We had learned that the theatre was
equipped with pits, drops, a gallery for onlookers, exits, and an
orchestra of booming cannon and rippling, roaring pompons; but that
nature had provided it with a curtain--that was something new to us.
We had reached the summit of the mountain about 11 A.M., just as some
heavy clouds, evidently disturbed by the bombardment during the previous
night, were dropping down into Litsun Valley and in front of Tsing-tau.
For three hours we sat on the peak shivering in a blast from the sea,
and all the while wondering just what was being enacted beyond the
curtain. The firing had suddenly ceased, and with the filmy haze before
our eyes we conjured up pictures of the Japanese troops making the
general attack upon Iltis Fort, evidently the key to Tsing-tau, while
the curtain, of the theatre of war was down.
By early afternoon the clouds lifted, and with glasses we were able to
distinguish fresh sappings of the Japanese infantry nearer to the German
redoubts. The Japanese guns, which the day before were stationed below
us to the left, near the Meeker House, had advanced half a mile and were
on the road just outside the village of Ta-Yau. Turning our glasses on
Kiao-Chau Bay, we discovered that the Kaiserin Elisabeth was missing,
nor did a search of the shore line reveal her. Whether she was blown up
by the Germans or had hidden behind one of the islands I do not know.
All the guns were silent now, and the British Captain said: "Well,
chaps, shall we take advantage of the intermission?"
A half-hour later we were down the mountain and riding homeward toward
Tschang-Tsun.
To understand fully the operations of the Japanese troops in Shantung
during the present Far Eastern war one must be acquainted with the
topography of this peninsula, as well as with the conditions that exist
for the successful movements of the troops.
Since the disembarkation of the Japanese Army on Sept. 2 everything has
seemingly favored the Germans. The country, which is unusually
mountainous, offering natural strongholds for resisting the invading
army, is practically devoid of roads in the hinterland. To add to this
difficulty, the last two months in Shantung have seen heavy rains and
floods which have really aided in holding off the ultimate fall of
Kiao-Chau.
One had only to see the road from Lanschan over Makung Pass, on which
the Japanese troops were forced to rely for their supplies, partly to
understand the reason for the German garrison at Tsing-tau still holding
out. The road, especially near the base, is nothing but a sea of clay in
which the military carts sink up to their hubs. Frequent rains every
week keep the roadway softened up and thus render it necessary for the
Japanese infantry to rebuild it and to construct drainage ditches in
order that there may be no delay in getting supplies and ammunition to
the troops at the front.
The physical characteristics of Kiao-Chau make it an ideal fortress. The
entrance of the bay is nearly two miles wide and is commanded by hills
rising 600 feet directly in the rear of Tsing-tau. The ring of hills
that surrounds the city does not extend back into the hinterland, and
thus there is no screen behind which the Japanese forces can quickly
invest the city. Germany has utilized the semicircle of hills in the
construction of large concrete forts equipped with Krupp guns of 14 and
16 inch calibre, which, for four or five miles back into the peninsula,
command all approaches to the city.
The Japanese Army in approaching Tsing-tau has had to do so practically
in the open. The troops found no hills behind which they could with
safety mount heavy siege guns without detection by the German garrison.
In fact, the strategic plan for the capture of the town has been much
like the plan adopted by the Japanese forces at Port Arthur--they have
forced their approach by sappings. While this is a gradual method, it is
certain of victory in the end and results in very little loss of life.
The natural elevations of the Iltis, Bismarck, and Moltke forts at the
rear of Tsing-tau have another advantage in that they are so situated
that they are commanded by at least two other forts. All of the guns had
been so placed that they can be turned on their neighbors if the
occasion arises.
A Japanese aeroplane soaring over Tsing-tau on Oct. 30 scattered
thousands of paper handbills on which was printed the following
announcement, in German, from the Staff Headquarters:
"To the Honored Officers and Men in the Fortress: It is against the will
of God as well as the principles of humanity to destroy and render
useless arms, ships of war, merchantmen, and other works and
constructions not in obedience to the necessity of war, but merely out
of spite lest they fall into the hands of the enemy.
"Trusting, as we do, that, as you hold dear the honor of civilization,
you will not be betrayed into such base conduct. We beg you, however, to
announce to us your own view as mentioned above."
*The German Attack on Tahiti*
*As Told by Miss Geni La France, an Eyewitness.*
SAN FRANCISCO, Cal., Oct. 7.--Graphic stories of the plight of Papeete,
capital of Tahiti, in the Society Islands, were told here today by
passengers arriving on the Union Steamship Company's liner Moana.
Several of those on board the steamer were in Papeete when the town was
bombarded by the German cruisers Gneisenau and Scharnhorst. They said
the place was in ruins and that the natives were still hiding in the
hills, whence they fled when the bombardment began.
The stories of those arriving on the Moana vary only in unimportant
details. Perhaps the most graphic story was that told by Miss Geni La
France, a French actress. She told of the Governor's heroism and his
self-sacrificing devotion to duty, which caused him to face death rather
than surrender. All of the passengers were loud in their praise of this
Frenchman, who thought first of his country, next of his guests--for so
he considered all travelers--and next of the city's residents.
"While the shells screamed and exploded with a deafening roar, tearing
buildings and leaving wreck and ruin in their wake, this old Governor
was calm throughout," said Miss La France.
"It was his bravery that enabled us to bear up under the terrible
strain, although it was impossible to flee the city, as shells were
exploding all about.
"I was sitting on the veranda of the hotel, having a lovely holiday.
Every one was happy and contented. The sunshine was lovely and warm and
the natives were busy at their work. I noticed two dark ships steaming
up the little river, but was too lazy and 'comfy' to take any interest
in them.
"Suddenly, without any warning, shots began exploding around us. Two of
the houses near the hotel fell with a crash, and the natives began
screaming and running in every direction. For a minute I didn't realize
what was happening. But when another volley of shells burst dangerously
near and some of the pieces just missed my head, I was flying, too.
"Every one was shouting, 'To the hills, to the hills!' My manager could
not obtain a wagon or any means of conveyance to take me there. I felt
as if I had on a pair of magic boots that would carry me to the hills in
three steps. But I didn't. It was a good six miles, over bad roads, and
we had to run.
"The shells from the German battleships kept breaking, and the
explosions were terrible. I am sure that I made a record in sprinting
that six miles. The cries of the people were terrible. I was simply
terror-stricken and could not cry for fear. I seemed to realize that I
must keep my strength in order to reach the hills.
"We hid in the hills and the natives gave up their homes to the white
people, and were especially kind to the women."
"The native population probably hasn't come back from the hills yet, and
when we left, two days after the bombardment, the European population
was still dazed," said E.P. Titchener, a Wellington, New Zealand,
merchant, who went through the bombardment.
"From 8 o'clock until 10 the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau circled in the
harbor, firing broadsides of eight-inch guns at the little gunboat Zelie
and the warehouses beyond.
"Only the American flag, which the American Consul hoisted, and an
American sailing vessel also ran up, the two being in line before the
main European residence section, saved that part of the town, for the
German cruisers were careful not to fire in that direction."
According to all accounts, the cruisers directed their fire solely
toward the Zelie, but their marksmanship was said to be poor. Many shots
fell short and many went wide, so that the whole business district, the
general market, and the warehouses along the water front were peppered
and riddled.
The French replied from some old guns on the hills as well as three
shots from the Zelie, but ineffectively.
"It was plucky of the French to fire at all," said Mr. Titchener. "At 7
o'clock we could see two war vessels approaching, and soon made out they
were cruisers. They came on without a flag, and the Zelie, lying in the
harbor, fired a blank shot.
"Then the Germans hoisted their flag and the Zelie fired two shots. The
Germans swung around and fired their broadsides, and all the crew of the
Zelie scuttled ashore. No one was hurt.
"The Germans continued to swing and fire. Their shells flew all over the
town above the berth of the Zelie and the German prize ship Walkure,
which the Zelie had captured. Perhaps not knowing they were firing into
a German vessel, the Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst continued their wild
cannonades.
"During the two hours of bombardment a hundred shells from the big
8-inch guns of the cruisers fell and exploded in the town. The sound was
terrific, and nobody blamed the natives for running away.
"With all the destruction, only three men were killed--one Chinaman and
two natives. The Germans evidently made an effort to confine their fire,
but many shots went wide, and these did the main mischief.
"Finally, about 10 o'clock, without attempting to land, and not knowing
that the German crew of the Walkure were prisoners in the town, the
Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst steamed away and disappeared over the
horizon. They sailed off to the westward, but of course we could not
tell how they set their course when they got beyond our vision."
The damage to Papeete was estimated at $2,000,000. Two vessels were sunk
and two blocks of business houses and residences were destroyed. The
French set fire to a 40,000-ton coal pile to prevent the Germans
replenishing their bunkers.
The voyage of the Moana was fraught with adventure. From Papeete the
vessel, which flies the British flag, sailed with lights out and dodged
four German cruisers after being warned by the wireless operator, who
had picked up a German code message sent out by the cruisers which had
razed the island city.
*The Bloodless Capture of German Samoa*
*By Malcolm Ross, F.R.G.S.*
[Special Correspondence of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
WELLINGTON, N.Z., Sept. 19.--The advance detachment of the New Zealand
Expeditionary Force which was ordered to seize German Samoa left
Wellington in two troopships at dawn on Aug. 15, and was met in the
ocean in latitude 36.0 south, longitude 178.30 east by three of the
British cruisers in New Zealand waters--the Psyche, Pyramus, and
Philomel.
As it was known that the armored cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were
still at large in Pacific waters, it was decided not to go direct to
Samoa, but to shape a course direct for New Caledonia. For the next
fortnight or so we were playing a game of hide and seek in the big
islanded playground of the Pacific Ocean. The first evening out the
Psyche signaled "Whereabouts of Scharnhorst and Gneisenau still unknown;
troopships to extinguish all lights and proceed with only shaded lights
at bow and stern." Military books and papers were quickly gathered
together, and the remaining few minutes of daylight were used for
getting into bed, while the difficult task was set us of trying to sleep
the round of the clock. Thus, night after night, with lights out, we
steamed along our northward track, the days being spent in drill and
ball firing with rifles and the Maxim guns.
On the morning of Aug. 2 we proceeded along the shores of New Caledonia
and saw the big French cruiser Montcalm entering the harbor. Next day we
were joined by the battle cruiser Australia and the light cruiser
Melbourne. The contingent received an enthusiastic reception in New
Caledonia. As we passed the Montcalm our band played the "Marseillaise,"
and the band on the French cruiser responded with our national anthem.
Cheers from the thousands of men afloat and the singing of patriotic
songs added to the general enthusiasm, the French residents being
greatly excited with the sudden and unexpected appearance of their
allies from New Zealand.
A delay of twenty-four hours was caused by one of the troopships
grounding on a sand bank in the harbor, but on Sunday, Aug. 23, the
expedition got safely away.
We steamed through the Havannah Pass, at the southeastern end of the
island, where we awaited Rear Admiral Sir George Patey, in command of
the allied fleets. In due course the Australia and the Melbourne came up
with us. Then in turn waited for the Montcalm. All the ships, eight in
number, were now assembled, and they moved off in the evening light to
take up position in the line ahead.
Fiji was reached in due course, and at anchor in the harbor of Suva we
found the Japanese collier Fukoku Maru, and learned that she had been
coaling the German cruisers at the Caroline Islands just before the
declaration of war. After the coaling had been completed the Japanese
Captain went on to Samoa, calling at Apia. The Germans, however, would
not allow him to land. The Japanese Captain had been paid for his coal
by drafts on Germany, which, on reaching Suva, he found to be useless.
He was therefore left without means to coal and reprovision. As he was
not allowed to land at Samoa, he went on to Pago-Pago, in complete
ignorance that war had been declared, and, not being able to get
supplies there, left for Suva. At the latter port the harbor lights
being extinguished, he ran his vessel on to the reef in the night time.
Rockets were sent up, but no assistance could be given from the shore.
Fortunately, however, he got off as the tide made; but it was a narrow
call.
In the early dawn of Aug. 30 we got our first glimpse of German Samoa.
The American island of Tutuila was out of sight, away to the right, but
presently we rounded the southeastern corner of the island of Upolu,
with its beautiful wooded hills wreathing their summits in the morning
mists, and saw the white line of surf breaking along its coral
reef--historic Upolu, the home of Robert Louis Stevenson, the scene of
wars and rebellions and international schemings, and the scene also of
that devastating hurricane which wrecked six ships of war and ten other
vessels, and sent 142 officers and men of the German and American Navies
to their last sleep. The rusting ribs and plates of the Adler, the
German flagship, pitched high inside the reef, still stare at us as a
reminder of that memorable event.
The Psyche went boldly on ahead, and after the harbor had been swept for
mines she steamed in, under a flag of truce, and delivered a message
from Admiral Patey, demanding the surrender of Apia. The Germans, who
had been expecting their own fleet in, were surprised with the
suddenness with which an overwhelming force had descended upon them, and
decided to offer no resistance to a landing. Capt. Marshall promptly
made a signal to the troopships to steam to their anchorages; motor
launches, motor surfboats, and ships' boats were launched, and the men
began to pour over the ships' sides and down the rope ladders into the
boats.
In a remarkably brief space of time the covering party was on shore,
officers and men dashing out of the boats, up to the knees, and
sometimes the waist, in water. The main street, the cross-roads, and the
bridges were quickly in possession of our men, with their Maxims and
rifles, and then, one after another, the motor boats and launches began
to tow strings of boats, crammed with the men of the main body, toward
the shore. The bluejackets of the beach party, who had already landed,
urged them forward by word and deed in cheery fashion, and soon Apia was
swarming with our troops.
Guards were placed all about the Government buildings, and Col. Logan,
with his staff, was quickly installed in the Government offices.
Lieut. Col. Fulton dashed off to the telephone exchange and pulled out
all the plugs, so that the residents could hold no intercommunication by
that means. The Custom House and the offices of the Governor were also
seized without a moment's loss of time. An armed party was dispatched
along a bush road to seize the wireless station. Late that evening the
man in charge rang up in some alarm to state that there was dynamite
lying about and that the engine had been tampered with to such an extent
that the apparatus could not be used until we got our own machinery in
position.
Meantime the German flag, that had flown over the island for fourteen
years, was hauled down, the Germans present doffing their hats and
standing bareheaded and silent on the veranda of the Supreme Court as
they watched the soldier in khaki from New Zealand unceremoniously
pulling it down, detaching it from the rope, and carrying it inside the
building.
Next morning the British flag was hoisted with all due ceremony. In the
harbor the emblem of Britain's might fluttered from the masts of our
cruiser escort, the Stars and Stripes waved in the tropic breeze above
the palms surrounding the American Consulate, and out in the open sea
the white ensign and tricolor flew on the powerful warships of the
allied fleets of England and France.
A large crowd of British and other residents and Samoans had gathered.
In the background were groups of Chinese coolies, gazing wonderingly
upon the scene. The balconies of the adjoining buildings were crowded
with British and Samoans. Only the Germans were conspicuous by their
absence. With undisguised feelings of sadness they had seen their own
flag hauled down the day before. Naturally they had no desire to witness
the flag of the rival nation going up in its place.
A few minutes before 8 o'clock all was ready. Two bluejackets and a
naval Lieutenant stood with the flag, awaiting the signal. The first gun
of the royal salute from the Psyche boomed out across the bay. Then
slowly, to the booming of twenty-one guns, the flag was hoisted to the
summit of the staff, the officers, with drawn swords, silently watching
it go up. With the sound of the last gun it reached the top of the
flagstaff [Transcriber: original 'fliagstaff'] and fluttered out in the
southeast trade wind above the tall palms of Upolo.
There was a sharp order from the officer commanding the expedition, and
the troops came to the royal salute. The national anthem--never more
fervently sung--and three rousing cheers for King George followed.
Then came the reading of the proclamation by Col. Logan, the troops
formed up again, and, to the music of the, band of the Fifth Regiment,
marched back to quarters.
*How the Cressy Sank*
*By Edgar Rowan of The London Daily Chronicle.*
MUIDEN, Holland, Sept. 23.--(Dispatch to The London Daily
Chronicle.)--When the history of this war comes to be written we shall
put no black borders, as men without pride or hope, around the story of
the loss of the cruisers Aboukir, Cressy, and Hogue. We shall write it
in letters of gold, for the plain, unvarnished tale of those last
moments, when the cruisers went down, helpless before a hidden foe,
ranks among the countless deeds of quiet, unseen, unconscious heroism
that make up the navy's splendid pages.
It is easy to learn all that happened, for the officers want chiefly to
tell how splendidly brave the men were, and the men pay a like tribute
to the officers. The following appears to be a main outline of the
disaster:
The three cruisers had for some time been patrolling the North Sea. Soon
after 6 o'clock Tuesday morning--there is disagreement as to the exact
time--the Aboukir suddenly felt a shock on the port side. A dull
explosion was heard and a column of water was thrown up mast high. The
explosion wrecked the stokehole just forward of amidship and, judging by
the speed with which the cruiser sank, tore the bottom open.
Almost immediately the doomed cruiser began to settle. Except for the
watch on deck, most of her crew, were asleep, wearied by constant vigil
in bad weather, but in perfect order officers and men rushed to
quarters. Quickfirers were manned in the hope of a dying shot at a
submarine, but there was not a glimpse of one. Of the few boats carried
when cleared for action, two were smashed in recent gales and another
was wrecked by the explosion.
The Aboukir's sister cruisers, each more than a mile away, saw and heard
the explosion. They thought the Aboukir had been struck by a mine. They
closed in and lowered boats. This sealed their own fate, for while they
were standing by to rescue survivors, first the Hogue and then the
Cressy was torpedoed.
The Cressy appears to have seen the submarines in time to attempt to
retaliate. She fired a few shots before she keeled over, broken in two,
and sank. Whether she sank any submarines is not known.
The men of the Aboukir afloat in the water hoped for everything from the
arrival of her sister cruisers, and all survivors agree that when these
also sank many gave up the struggle for life and went down. An officer
told me that when swimming, after having lost his jacket in the grip of
a drowning man, his chief thought was that the Germans had succeeded in
sinking only three comparatively obsolete cruisers which shortly would
have been scrapped anyway.
Twenty-four men were saved on a target which floated off the Hogue's
deck. The men were gathered on it for four hours waist deep in water.
The rescued officers unite in praising the skill and daring of the
German naval officers, and, far from bearing any grudge, they have
nothing but professional praise for the submarines' feat.
"Our only grievance," one said, "is that we did not have a shot at the
Germans. Our only share in the war has been a few uncomfortable weeks of
bad weather, mines, and submarines."
When I entered the billiard room of the hotel here sheltering survivors
and asked if any British officers were there, several unshaven men in
the khaki working kit of the Dutch Army or in fishermen's jerseys got up
from their chairs. Most of them had been saved in their pajamas, and
they had to accept the first things in the way of clothing offered by
the kindly Dutch. One Lieutenant apologized for closing the window, as
he had only a thin jacket over his pajamas. He gladly accepted the loan
of my overcoat while making a list of his men who had been saved.
While the survivors are technically prisoners in this neutral country,
to be interned until the end of the war, Muiden steadfastly refuses to
regard them as other than honored guests. The soldiers posted before
every building where officers or men are sheltered seem to be guards of
honor rather than prison warders, and every one in the place is
competing for the honor of lending clothes, running errands, or offering
cigars for the survivors.
When the Dutch steamer Flora arrived with survivors last night, flying
her flag at half-mast and signaling for a doctor, the Red Cross
authorities and the British Vice Consul, Mr. Rigorsberg, at once set the
machinery in motion, and soon the officers were settled in hotels and
the men were divided among a hospital, a church, and a young men's
institute.
I saw one bluejacket asleep covered with a white ensign. He had snatched
it up before diving overboard. He held it in his teeth while in the
water and refused to part with it when rescued. He is now prepared to
fight any one who may attempt to steal this last relic of his ship.
One survivor says that an English fishing boat also was sunk by the
submarines, but the story is not confirmed.
For hours Capt. Voorham of the Flora and Capt. Berkhout of the Titan,
caring nothing for risks of mines and submarines, cruised over the scene
of the disaster, and the gallant Dutch seamen were rewarded by the
rescue of 400 survivors.
Capt. Voorham, who landed all the survivors at Muiden, says:
"We left Rotterdam early Tuesday. In the North Sea we saw a warship,
which proved to be the Cressy. Not long afterward I saw her keel over,
break in two and disappear. Our only thought then was to save as many
survivors as possible. When we got to the spot where she disappeared
boats approached us and we began to get the men in them aboard. It was a
very difficult undertaking, as the survivors were exhausted and we were
rolling heavily.
"We also lowered our own boats and picked up many from the wreckage. All
were practically naked and some were so exhausted that they had to be
hauled aboard with tackle. Each as he recovered at once turned to help
my small crew to save others. Later I saw the Titan approaching and
signaled for help.
"One man was brought aboard with his legs broken. It was touching to see
how tenderly his mates handled him.
"Presently the British destroyers approached. A survivor on my ship
signaled with his arms that he was on a friendly ship, and the warships
passed on.
"Among those saved were two doctors, who worked hard to help the
exhausted men. One man died after they had tried artificial respiration
for an hour.
"My men collected all the clothes and blankets on board and gave them to
the survivors, and the cook was busy getting hot coffee and other food
for my large party of guests.
"By 11:30 we had picked up all the survivors we could see. Soon after we
saw German submarines, and, thinking it best to get to the nearest port,
called here."
Remember that Capt. Voorham had only a comparatively small ship and a
crew of only seventeen and realize the splendid work he did.
[Illustration]
*German Story of the Heligoland Fight*
[Special Correspondence of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
LONDON, Sept. 8.--Copies of the Berliner Tageblatt have been received
here containing the German account of the recent naval battle off
Heligoland between British and German vessels.
"Regarding the sinking of torpedo boat V-187," says the Tageblatt
account, "an eyewitness says the small craft fought heroically to the
bitter end against overwhelming odds. Quite unexpectedly the V-187 was
attacked by a flotilla of English destroyers coming from the north.
Hardly had the first shot been fired when more hostile destroyers, also
submarines, arrived and surrounded the German craft.
"The V-187, on which, in addition to the commander, was the flotilla
chief, Capt. Wallis, defended itself to the utmost, but the steering
gear was put out of business by several shots, and thus it was
impossible to withdraw from the enemy. When the commander saw there was
no further hope, the vessel was blown up so as not to fall into the
enemy's hands. But even while she sank the guns not put out of action
continued to be worked by the crew till the ship was swallowed up in the
waves. The flotilla commander, as well as Commander Lechler, was lost,
besides many of the crew.
"The enemy deserves the greatest credit for their splendid rescue work.
The English sailors, unmindful of their own safety, went about it in
heroic fashion.
"Boats were put out from the destroyers to save the survivors. While
this rescue work was still under way stronger German forces approached,
causing the English torpedo boats to withdraw, abandoning the small
rescue boats which they had put out, and those who had been saved were
now taken from the English boats aboard our ships.
"When the thunder of the guns showed the enemy was near and engaged with
our torpedo boats, the small armored cruiser Ariadne steamed out to take
part in the scrap. As the Ariadne neared the outpost vessels it was
observed that various of our lighter units were fighting with the
English, which later, however, appeared to be escaping toward the west.
"The long-suppressed keenness for fighting could not be gainsaid and the
Ariadne pursued, although the fog made it impossible to estimate the
strength of the enemy. Presently, not far from the Ariadne, two hostile
cruisers loomed out of the mist--two dreadnought battle cruisers of
30,000 tons' displacement, armed with eight 13.5-inch guns. What could
the Ariadne, of 2,650 tons and armed with ten 4-inch guns, do against
those two Goliath ships?
"At the start of this unequal contest a shot struck the forward boiler
room of the Ariadne and put half of her boilers out of business,
lowering her speed by fifteen miles. Nevertheless, and despite the
overwhelming superiority of the English, the fight lasted half an hour.
The stern of the Ariadne was in flames, but the guns on her foredeck
continued to be worked.
"But the fight was over. The enemy disappeared to the westward. The crew
of the Ariadne, now gathered on the foredeck, true to the navy's
traditions, broke into three hurrahs for the War Lord, Kaiser Wilhelm.
Then, to the singing of 'Deutschland Ueber Alles,' the sinking, burning
ship was abandoned in good order. Two of our ships near by picked up the
Ariadne's crew. Presently the Ariadne disappeared under the waves after
the stern powder magazine had exploded.
"The first officer, surgeon, chief engineer, and seventy men were lost.
In addition, many were wounded."
*The Sinking of the Cressy and the Hogue*
*By the Senior Surviving Officers--Commander Bertram W.L. Nicholson and
Commander Reginald A. Norton.*
[By the Associated Press.]
LONDON, Sept. 25.--The report to the Admiralty on the sinking of the
Cressy, signed by Bertram W.L. Nicholson, Commander of the late H.M.S.
Cressy, follows:
"Sir: I have the honor to submit the following report in connection with
the sinking of H.M.S. Cressy, in company with H.M.S. Aboukir and Hogue,
on the morning of the 22d of September, while on patrol duty:
"The Aboukir was struck at about 6:25 A.M. on the starboard beam. The
Hogue and Cressy closed and took up a position, the Hogue ahead of the
Aboukir, and the Cressy about 400 yards on her port beam. As soon as it
was seen that the Aboukir was in danger of sinking all the boats were
sent away from the Cressy, and a picket boat was hoisted out without
steam up. When cutters full of the Aboukir's men were returning to the
Cressy the Hogue was struck, apparently under the aft 9.2 magazine, as a
very heavy explosion took place immediately. Almost directly after the
Hogue was hit we observed a periscope on our port bow about 300 yards
off.
"Fire was immediately opened and the engines were put full speed ahead
with the intention of running her down. Our gunner, Mr. Dougherty,
positively asserts that he hit the periscope and that the submarine
sank. An officer who was standing alongside the gunner thinks that the
shell struck only floating timber, of which there was much about, but it
was evidently the impression of the men on deck, who cheered and clapped
heartily, that the submarine had been hit. This submarine did not fire a
torpedo at the Cressy.
"Capt. Johnson then manoeuvred the ship so as to render assistance to
the crews of the Hogue and Aboukir. About five minutes later another
periscope was seen on our starboard quarter and fire was opened. The
track of the torpedo she fired at a range of 500 to 600 yards was
plainly visible and it struck us on the starboard side just before the
afterbridge.
"The ship listed about 10 degrees to the starboard and remained steady.
The time was 7:15 A.M. All the watertight doors, deadlights and scuttles
had been securely closed before the torpedo struck the ship. All the
mess stools and table shores, and all available timber below and on
deck, had been previously got up and thrown over side for the saving of
life.
"A second torpedo fired by the same submarine missed and passed about 10
feet astern. About a quarter of an hour after the first torpedo had hit
a third torpedo fired from a submarine just before the starboard beam
hit us under the No. 5 boiler room. The time was 7:30 A.M. The ship then
began to heel rapidly, and finally turned keel up, remaining so for
about twenty minutes before she finally sank, at 7:55 A.M.
"A large number of men were saved by casting adrift on Pattern 3 target.
The steam pinnace floated off her clutches, but filled and sank.
"The second torpedo which struck the Cressy passed over the sinking hull
of the Aboukir, narrowly missing it. It is possible that the same
submarine fired all three torpedoes at the Cressy.
"The conduct of the crew was excellent throughout. I have already
remarked on the bravery displayed by Capt. Phillips, master of the
trawler L.T. Coriander, and his crew, who picked up 156 officers and
men."
The report to the Admiralty of Commander Reginald A. Norton, late of
H.M.S. Hogue, follows:
"I have the honor to report as follows concerning the sinking of the
Hogue, Aboukir, and Cressy: Between 6:15 and 6:30 A.M., H.M.S. Aboukir
was struck by a torpedo. The Hogue closed on the Aboukir and I received
orders to hoist out the launch, turn out and prepare all boats, and
unlash all timber on the upper deck.
"Two lifeboats were sent to the Aboukir, but before the launch could get
away the Hogue was struck on the starboard side amidships by two
torpedoes at intervals of ten to twenty seconds. The ship at once began
to heel to starboard. After ordering the men to provide themselves with
wood, hammocks, &c., and to get into the boats on the booms and take off
their clothes, I went, by Capt. Nicholson's direction, to ascertain the
damage done in the engine room. The artificer engineer informed me that
the water was over the engine-room gratings.
"While endeavoring to return to the bridge the water burst open the
starboard entry port doors and the ship heeled rapidly. I told the men
in the port battery to jump overboard, as the launch was close
alongside, and soon afterward the ship lurched heavily to starboard.
"I clung to a ringbolt for some time, but eventually was dropped on to
the deck, and a huge wave washed me away. I climbed up the ship's side
and again was washed off. Eventually, after swimming about from various
overladen pieces of wreckage, I was picked up by a cutter from the
Hogue, Coxswain L.S. Marks, which pulled about for some hours, picking
up men and discharging them to our picket boat and steam pinnace and to
the Dutch steamers Flora and Titan, and rescued, in this way, Commander
Sells of the Aboukir, Engineer Commander Stokes, (with legs broken,)
Fleet Paymaster Eldred, and about 120 others.
"Finally, about 11 A.M., when we could find no more men in the water, we
were picked up by the Lucifier, which proceeded to the Titan and took
off from her all our men except about twenty who were too ill to be
moved.
"A Lowestoft trawler and the two Dutch ships Flora and Titan were
extraordinarily kind, clothing and feeding our men. My boat's crew,
consisting mainly of Royal Navy Reserve men, pulled and behaved
remarkably well. I particularly wish to mention Petty Officer Halton,
who, by encouraging the men in the water near me, undoubtedly saved many
lives.
"Lieut. Commander Phillips-Wolley, after hoisting out the launch, asked
me if we should try to hoist out another boat, and endeavored to do so.
The last I saw of him was on the after bridge, doing well.
"Lieut. Commander Tillard was picked up by a launch. He got up a
cutter's crew and saved many lives, as did Midshipman Cazalet in the
Cressy's gig. Lieut. Chichester turned out the whaler very quickly.
"A Dutch sailing trawler sailed close by, but went off without rendering
any assistance [Transcriber: original 'asistance'], although we signaled
to her from the Hogue to close after we were struck.
"The Aboukir appeared to me to take about thirty-five minutes to sink,
floating bottom up for about five minutes. The Hogue turned turtle very
quickly--in about five minutes--and floated bottom up for several
minutes. A dense black smoke was seen in the starboard battery, whether
from coal or torpedo cordite I could not say. The upper deck was not
blown up, and only one other small explosion occurred and we heeled
over.
"The Cressy I watched heel over from the cutter. She heeled over to
starboard very slowly, dense black smoke issuing from her when she
attained an angle of about 90 degrees, and she took a long time from
this angle till she floated bottom up with the starboard screw slightly
out of water. I consider it was thirty-five to forty-five minutes from
the time she was struck till she was bottom up.
"All the men on the Hogue behaved extraordinarily [Transcriber: original
'extraordinarly'] well, obeying orders even when in the water swimming
for their lives, and I witnessed many cases of great self-sacrifice and
gallantry. Farmstone, an able seaman of the Hogue, jumped overboard from
the launch to make room for others, and would not avail himself of
assistance until all the men near by were picked up. He was in the water
about half an hour.
"There was no panic of any sort, the men taking off their clothes as
ordered and falling in with hammock or wood. Capt. Nicholson, in our
other cutter, as usual, was perfectly cool and rescued large numbers of
men. I last saw him alongside the Flora. Engineer Commander Stokes, I
believe, was in the engine room to the last, and Engineer Lieut.
Commander Fendick got steam on the boat hoist and worked it in five
minutes.
"I have the honor to submit that I may be appointed to another ship as
soon as I can get a kit."
*The Sinking of the Hawke*
[By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle.]
ABERDEEN, Scotland, Oct. 16.--The British cruiser Hawke was sunk in the
North Sea yesterday by a German submarine, and of her crew of 400
officers and men only 73 are known to have been saved.
The cruiser Theseus, a sister ship of the Hawke, was attacked by the
same submarine, but escaped because she obeyed the Admiralty's
instructions and looked to her own safety instead of rushing to the aid
of the Hawke's perishing crew.
A survivor of the Hawke gives the following description of the disaster:
"Within eight minutes the Hawke had gone under. Had the ship gone down
forward or aft there would have been some chance for us to get the boats
out and clear of the cruiser, but she keeled over on her beam ends, and
so of all boats we lowered those on the starboard side were useless, and
those on the port side were crushed as soon as they touched the water.
"I was proud to be among such comrades. Everything was absolutely in
perfect order. When the ship was struck a fearful explosion followed,
and grime and dust were everywhere. I was amidships at the time, and
could hardly see to grope my way to the ship's side. I heard orders
given to lower the boats, and then some one shouted, 'Look after
yourselves!' So I did that.
"Most of the men on board were married men. We saw hundreds in the
water, but we were afraid to pick them up as our boat was already
overcrowded. So we threw our lifebelts to them. It was all we could do.
"The weather was bitter cold, and I do not think that many, apart from
those who were landed at Aberdeen, were saved."
Here is the statement of a rescued stoker: "When the explosion occurred
I, along with others who were in the engine room, was sent flying into
space and was stunned for a time. When I came to my senses I found
myself in the midst of what must be described as an absolute inferno.
One of the cylinders of the engine had been completely wrecked, and
steam was passing out in dense, scalding clouds. The horror of the
situation was increased when a tank of oil fuel caught fire, and the
flames advanced with frightful rapidity.
"Seeing that there was not a ghost of a chance of doing any good by
remaining in what was obviously a deathtrap, I determined to make a dash
for it, and I scrambled up an iron ladder to the main deck. All this had
happened in less time than it takes to tell it, but such is British
pluck, coolness, and nerve even in such a situation that the commander
and other officers were on the bridge, and as calmly as if we were on
fleet manoeuvres the orders were given and as calmly obeyed.
"The buglers sounded a stiff call which summoned every man to remain at
his post. During the first minute or two many of us believed all that
was wrong was a boiler explosion, but the rapidity with which the
cruiser was making water on the starboard side quickly disabused all our
minds of this belief. Realizing the actual situation, the commander gave
orders to close all the watertight doors. Soon after that came orders to
abandon the ship and get out the boats.
"One cutter was being launched from the port side, but the Hawke at that
moment heeled over before the boat could be got clear, and the cutter
lurched against the cruiser's side and stove in one or two of her
planks. As the Hawke went down a small pinnace and a raft which had been
prepared for such an emergency floated free, but such was the onrush of
men who had been thrown into the water that both were overcrowded. On
the raft were about seventy men knee deep in water, and the pinnace also
appeared to be overfilled.
"When those who managed to make their way into the cutter, which was
also in grave danger of being overturned, caught the last glimpse of
these two craft they were in a precarious condition. The cutter moved
around the wreck, picking up as many survivors as the boat would hold.
All those aboard her who had put on lifebelts took them off and threw
them to their comrades who were struggling in the water. Oars and other
movable woodwork also were pitched overboard to help those clinging to
the wreckage, many of whom were seen to sink."
*The Emden's Last Fight*
[By the Cable Operator at Cocos Islands.]
KEELING, Cocos Islands, Nov. 12, (Dispatch to The London Daily
Chronicle.)--It was early on Monday that the unexpected arrival of the
German cruiser Emden broke the calm of these isolated little islands,
which the distant news of the war had hitherto left unruffled. One of
the islands is known as Direction Island, and here the Eastern Telegraph
Company has a cable station and a staff engaged in relaying messages
between Europe and Australia. Otherwise the inhabitants are all Malays,
with the exception of the descendants of June Clunies Ross, a British
naval officer who came to these islands ninety years ago and founded the
line of "Uncrowned Kings."
The war seemed to be very far away. The official bulletins passed
through the cable station, but they gave us very little real news, and
the only excitement was when it was rumored that the company was sending
out rifles in case of a raid on the stations, and orders came that the
beach must be patrolled by parties on the lookout for Germans. Then we
heard from Singapore that a German cruiser had been dispatched to these
islands, and toward the end of August one of the cable staff thought he
saw searchlights out over the sea. Then suddenly we were awakened from
our calm and were made to feel that we had suddenly become the most
important place in the whole worldwide war area.
At 6 o'clock on Monday morning a four-funneled cruiser arrived at full
speed at the entrance to the lagoon. Our suspicions were aroused, for
she was flying no flag and her fourth funnel was obviously a dummy made
of painted canvas. Therefore we were not altogether surprised at the
turn of events. The cruiser at once lowered away an armored launch and
two boats, which came ashore and landed on Coral Beach three officers
and forty men, all fully armed and having four Maxim guns.
The Germans--for all doubt about the mysterious cruiser was now at
end--at once rushed up to the cable station, and, entering the office,
turned out the operators, smashed the instruments, and set armed guards
over all the buildings. All the knives and firearms found in possession
of the cable staff were at once confiscated.
I should say here that, in spite of the excitement on the outside, all
the work was carried on in the cable office as usual right up to the
moment when the Germans burst in. A general call was sent out just
before the wireless apparatus was blown up.
The whole of the staff was placed under an armed guard while the
instruments were being destroyed, but it is only fair to say that the
Germans, working in well-disciplined fashion under their officers, were
most civil. There was no such brutality as we hear characterizes the
German Army's behavior toward civilians, and there were no attempts at
pillaging.
While the cable station was being put out of action the crew of the
launch grappled for the cables and endeavored to cut them, but
fortunately without success. The electrical stores were then blown up.
At 9 A.M. we heard the sound of a siren from the Emden, and this was
evidently the signal to the landing party to return to the ship, for
they at once dashed for the boats, but the Emden got under way at once
and the boats were left behind.
Looking to the eastward, we could see the reason for this sudden
departure, for a warship, which we afterward learned was the Australian
cruiser Sydney, was coming up at full speed in pursuit. The Emden did
not wait to discuss matters, but, firing her first shot at a range of
about 3,700 yards, steamed north as hard as she could go.
At first the firing of the Emden seemed excellent, while that of the
Sydney was somewhat erratic. This, as I afterward learned, was due to
the fact that the Australian cruiser's range-finder was put out of
action by one of the only two shots the Germans got home. However, the
British gunners soon overcame any difficulties that this may have caused
and settled down to their work, so that before long two of the Emden's
funnels had been shot away. She also lost one of her masts quite early
in the fight. Both blazing away with their big guns, the two cruisers
disappeared below the horizon, the Emden being on fire.
After the great naval duel passed from our sight and we could turn our
attention to the portion of the German crew that had been left behind,
we found that these men had put off in their boats obedient to the
signal of the siren, but when their ship steamed off without them they
could do nothing else but come ashore again. On relanding they lined up
on the shore of the lagoon, evidently determined to fight to the finish
if the British cruiser sent a party ashore, but the dueling cruiser had
disappeared, and at 6 P.M. the German raiders embarked on the old
schooner Ayessa, which belongs to Mr. Ross, the "uncrowned king" of the
islands. Seizing a quantity of clothes and stores, they sailed out, and
have not been seen since.
Early the next morning, Tuesday, Nov. 10, we saw the Sydney returning,
and at 8:45 A.M. she anchored off the island. From various members of
the crew I gathered some details of the running fight with the Emden.
The Sydney, having an advantage in speed, was able to keep out of range
of the Emden's guns and to bombard her with her own heavier metal. The
engagement lasted eighty minutes, the Emden finally running ashore on
North Keeling Island and becoming an utter wreck.
Only two German shots proved effective. One of these failed to explode,
but smashed the main range finder and killed one man. The other killed
three men and wounded fourteen.
Each of the cruisers attempted to torpedo the other, but both were
unsuccessful, and the duel proved a contest in hard pounding at long
range. The Sydney's speed during the fighting was twenty-six knots and
the Emden's twenty-four knots, the British ship's superiority of two
knots enabling her to choose the range at which the battle should be
fought, and to make the most of her superior guns.
The Sydney left here at 11 A.M. Tuesday in the hope of picking up any of
the survivors of the Buresk, the collier that had been in attendance on
the Emden and was sunk after an engagement on the previous day. Finally,
with a number of wounded prisoners on board, the Sydney left here
yesterday, and our few hours of war excitement were over.
*Crowds See the Niger Sink*
[By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle.]
DEAL, England, Nov. 11.--By the destruction of the British torpedo
gunboat Niger, which was torpedoed and sunk by a submarine in the Downs
this afternoon, the realities of war were brought home to the
inhabitants of Deal and Walmer.
A loud explosion was heard from the gunboat as she lay off the Deal
pier, and great volumes of smoke enveloped the vessel. When the smoke
cleared the Niger was observed to be settling down forward. Men, women,
and children rushed to the sea front, exclaiming that the vessel had
been torpedoed or mined. They soon realized that the Niger was doomed.
The Deal and Kingsdown lifeboats as well as boats from other parts of
the beach were launched in an effort to save the sailors.
Consternation and almost panic prevailed among the hundreds who stood
watching the ghastly sight from the beach. Fortunately, the North Deal
galley Hope, commanded by Capt. John Budd, lay at anchor near the spot,
waiting to land the pilot from a London steamer which was going down the
channel. When the boatmen realized that the Niger had been hit by a
submarine or mine, to use their own expression, they rowed like the very
devil.
"We saw the sailors," said Capt. Budd, "jumping from the vessel's side
in dozens. As we neared the fast-disappearing vessel we came upon swarms
of men struggling in the sea and heroically helping to support each
other. Some were fully dressed, others only partly so. They were
clinging to pieces of wreckage and deck furniture, and some were in
lifeboats.
"It was a heartrending spectacle. The men were so thick in the water
that they grasped at our oars as we dipped them in the sea. We rescued
so many and our own boat got so choked that we could not move. With our
own gunwale only just out of the water, we were in danger of sinking
ourselves.
"We called to the men that we could take no more in or we should sink
ourselves, but they continued to pour over the sides, and some hung to
the stern of our boat. We had about fifty on board. Never had there been
so many in the boat before. One burly sailor, whom we told to wait until
the next boat came along, laughingly remarked [Transcriber: original
'remared'] while he was in the water, 'All right, Cocky, I will hold on
by my eyebrows,' and he drifted to another galley. Another Deal boat
then came along and relieved us of some of our men.
"Suddenly we heard a shout, and, looking around, saw the commander of
the Niger waving and beckoning to us from the stern of the sinking ship.
We could not go to him because our craft was so heavily laden. Another
galley then came along, and, after taking out some of our men, together
with those who were hanging on to our sides, we went closer to the
sinking gunboat and took off some more men, and at the Captain's special
request we waited until he took a final look around to see if there were
any more men left on board the vessel.
"By this time the ship was very nearly under water, and we shouted to
him to hurry up, as the Niger had turned over on her side and was likely
to go down at any moment. That brave Captain only just managed to jump
in time, when the gunboat gave a lurch and sank on her side in eight
fathoms of water. We were proud to rescue that Captain, for he was a
true sailor."
The other boats which picked up men were the Maple Leaf, the motor boat
Naru, the Annie, the May, and the Deal lifeboat.
The rescuing party saw one dead sailor floating by.
The majority of those rescued received first aid on being landed at
North Deal, and then they were taken in ambulances to the Marine
Hospital at Walmer.
One survivor, replying to a question as to whether the Niger was
torpedoed or mined, replied:
"Torpedoed, Sir. With the exception of the watch and the gun crews all
were below at the time. The first order we received was to close the
watertight doors."
So far as I can ascertain at present only one man is missing. Four or
five have been landed at Ramsgate. The crew is said to have numbered
ninety-six officers and men.
The sinking of the Niger came with tragic swiftness. It was
comparatively a fine, peaceful day, and the people were resting on the
promenade enjoying sea and fresh air. Anglers--men and women--were
calmly fishing from the pier. One angler whom I interviewed this evening
said:
"I had just baited my line and cast it out when I heard two loud
reports, like an explosion. I looked seaward and saw the Niger, only a
mile away, enveloped in smoke or steam. When it had cleared away. I said
to my fellow-anglers, 'Oh, he is letting off steam! When I looked at her
again I was startled to notice that she was lower in the water.
Fortunately I had slung across my shoulder a pair of glasses, and, on
looking at the vessel through them, I noticed that they were attempting
to lower the boats, while the remainder of the crew stood at attention
on the deck. We could see that the vessel was sinking, and the lifeboats
and other boats were hastening to the rescue.
"The vessel then gradually disappeared, bow first, and after about
fifteen minutes not a sign of her remained."
*Lieut. Weddigen's Own Story*
*By Herbert B. Swope.*
[Copyright, 1914, by The Press Publishing Company (The New York World).]
BERLIN, Sept. 30.--Through the kindness of the German Admiralty I am
able to tell exclusively the story of Capt. Lieut. Otto Weddigen,
commander of the now world famous submarine U-9, whose feat in
destroying three English cruisers has lifted the German Navy to a lofty
place in sea history.
There is an inviolable rule in the German Army and Navy prohibiting
officers from talking of their exploits, but because of the special
nature of Weddigen's exploit an exception was made, and through the good
offices of Count von Oppersdorf The World was granted the right of first
telling Weddigen's remarkable story.
It must be borne in mind that Lieut. Weddigen's account has been
officially announced and verified by German Navy Headquarters. That will
explain why certain details must be omitted, since they are of
importance if further submarine excursions are undertaken against the
British fleet. Following is Weddigen's tale, supplemented by the
Admiralty Intelligence Department:
By CAPT. LIEUT. OTTO WEDDIGEN.
Commander of the German Submarine U-9.
I am 32 years old and have been in the navy for years. For the last five
years I have been attached to the submarine flotilla, and have been most
interested in that branch of the navy. At the outbreak of the war our
undersea boats were rendezvoused at certain harbors in the North Sea,
the names of which I am restrained from divulging.
Each of us felt and hoped that the Fatherland might be benefited by such
individual efforts of ours as were possible at a time when our bigger
sisters of the fleet were prohibited from activity. So we awaited
commands from the Admiralty, ready for any undertaking that promised to
do for the imperial navy what our brothers of the army were so
gloriously accomplishing.
It has already been told how I was married at the home of my brother in
Wilhelmshaven to my boyhood sweetheart, Miss Prete of Hamburg, on Aug.
16.
Before that I had been steadily on duty with my boat, and I had to leave
again the next day after my marriage. But both my bride and I wanted the
ceremony to take place at the appointed time, and it did, although
within twenty-four hours thereafter I had to go away on a venture that
gave a good chance of making my new wife a widow. But she was as firm as
I was that my first duty was to answer the call of our country, and she
waved me away from the dock with good-luck wishes.
I set out from a North Sea port on one of the arms of the Kiel Canal and
set my course in a southwesterly direction. The name of the port I
cannot state officially, but it has been guessed at; nor am I permitted
to say definitely just when we started, but it was not many days before
the morning of Sept. 22 when I fell in with my quarry.
When I started from home the fact was kept quiet and a heavy sea helped
to keep the secret, but when the action began the sun was bright and the
water smooth--not the most favorable conditions for submarine work.
I had sighted several ships during my passage, but they were not what I
was seeking. English torpedo boats came within my reach, but I felt
there was bigger game further on, so on I went. I traveled on the
surface except when we sighted vessels, and then I submerged, not even
showing my periscope, except when it was necessary to take bearings. It
was ten minutes after 6 on the morning of last Tuesday when I caught
sight of one of the big cruisers of the enemy.
I was then eighteen sea miles northwest of the Hook of Holland. I had
then traveled considerably more than 200 miles from my base. My boat was
one of an old type, but she had been built on honor, and she was
behaving beautifully. I had been going ahead partly submerged, with
about five feet of my periscope showing. Almost immediately I caught
sight of the first cruiser and two others. I submerged completely and
laid my course so as to bring up in the centre of the trio, which held a
sort of triangular formation. I could see their gray-black sides riding
high over the water.
When I first sighted them they were near enough for torpedo work, but I
wanted to make my aim sure, so I went down and in on them. I had taken
the position of the three ships before submerging, and I succeeded in
getting another flash through my periscope before I began action. I soon
reached what I regarded as a good shooting point.
[The officer is not permitted to give this distance, but it is
understood to have been considerably less than a mile, although the
German torpedoes have an effective range of four miles.]
[Illustration: CAPT. KARL VON MULLER
Of the German Cruiser Emden
(_Photo (C) by American Press Assn._)]
[Illustration: GEN. JOSEPH JOFFRE
The French Commander-in-Chief.
(_Photo from International News Service._)]
Then I loosed one of my torpedoes at the middle ship. I was then about
twelve feet under water, and got the shot off in good shape, my men
handling the boat as if she had been a skiff. I climbed to the surface
to get a sight through my tube of the effect, and discovered that the
shot had gone straight and true, striking the ship, which I later
learned was the Aboukir, under one of her magazines, which in exploding
helped the torpedo's work of destruction.
There was a fountain of water, a burst of smoke, a flash of fire, and
part of the cruiser rose in the air. Then I heard a roar and felt
reverberations sent through the water by the detonation. She had been
broken apart, and sank in a few minutes. The Aboukir had been stricken
in a vital spot and by an unseen force; that made the blow all the
greater.
Her crew were brave, and even with death staring them in the face kept
to their posts, ready to handle their useless guns, for I submerged at
once. But I had stayed on top long enough to see the other cruisers,
which I learned were the Cressy and the Hogue, turn and steam full speed
to their dying sister, whose plight they could not understand, unless it
had been due to an accident.
The ships came on a mission of inquiry and rescue, for many of the
Aboukir's crew were now in the water, the order having been given, "Each
man for himself."
But soon the other two English cruisers learned what had brought about
the destruction so suddenly.
As I reached my torpedo depth I sent a second charge at the nearest of
the oncoming vessels, which was the Hogue. The English were playing my
game, for I had scarcely to move out of my position, which was a great
aid, since it helped to keep me from detection.
On board my little boat the spirit of the German Navy was to be seen in
its best form. With enthusiasm every man held himself in check and gave
attention to the work in hand.
The attack on the Hogue went true. But this time I did not have the
advantageous aid of having the torpedo detonate under the magazine, so
for twenty minutes the Hogue lay wounded and helpless on the surface
before she heaved, half turned over and sank.
But this time, the third cruiser knew of course that the enemy was upon
her and she sought as best she could to defend herself. She loosed her
torpedo defense batteries on boats, starboard and port, and stood her
ground as if more anxious to help the many sailors who were in the water
than to save herself. In common with the method of defending herself
against a submarine attack, she steamed in a zigzag course, and this
made it necessary for me to hold my torpedoes until I could lay a true
course for them, which also made it necessary for me to get nearer to
the Cressy. I had come to the surface for a view and saw how wildly the
fire was being sent from the ship. Small wonder that was when they did
not know where to shoot, although one shot went unpleasantly near us.
When I got within suitable range I sent away my third attack. This time
I sent a second torpedo after the first to make the strike doubly
certain. My crew were aiming like sharpshooters and both torpedos went
to their bullseye. My luck was with me again, for the enemy was made
useless and at once began sinking by her head. Then she careened far
over, but all the while her men stayed at the guns looking for their
invisible foe. They were brave and true to their country's sea
traditions. Then she eventually suffered a boiler explosion and
completely turned turtle. With her keel uppermost she floated until the
air got out from under her and then she sank with a loud sound, as if
from a creature in pain.
The whole affair had taken less than one hour from the time of shooting
off the first torpedo until the Cressy went to the bottom. Not one of
the three had been able to use any of its big guns. I knew the wireless
of the three cruisers had been calling for aid. I was still quite able
to defend myself, but I knew that news of the disaster would call many
English submarines and torpedo boat destroyers, so, having done my
appointed work, I set my course for home.
My surmise was right, for before I got very far some British cruisers
and destroyers were on the spot, and the destroyers took up the chase. I
kept under water most of the way, but managed to get off a wireless to
the German fleet that I was heading homeward and being pursued. I hoped
to entice the enemy, by allowing them now and then a glimpse of me, into
the zone in which they might be exposed to capture or destruction by
German warships, but, although their destroyers saw me plainly at dusk
on the 22d and made a final effort to stop me, they abandoned the
attempt, as it was taking them too far from safety and needlessly
exposing them to attack from our fleet and submarines.
How much they feared our submarines and how wide was the agitation
caused by good little U-9 is shown by the English reports that a whole
flotilla of German submarines had attacked the cruisers and that this
flotilla had approached under cover of the flag of Holland.
These reports were absolutely untrue. U-9 was the only submarine on
deck, and she flew the flag she still flies--the German naval
ensign--which I hope to keep forever as a glorious memento and as an
inspiration for devotion to the Fatherland.
I reached the home port on the afternoon of the 23d, and on the 24th
went to Wilhelmshaven, to find that news of my effort had become public.
My wife, dry eyed when I went away, met me with tears. Then I learned
that my little vessel and her brave crew had won the plaudit of the
Kaiser, who conferred upon each of my co-workers the Iron Cross of the
second class and upon me the Iron Cross of the first and second classes.
[Weddigen is the hero of the hour in Germany. He also wears a medal
for life-saving. Counting himself, Weddigen had twenty-six men. The
limit of time that his ship is capable of staying below the surface
is about six hours.]
THE SOLILOQUY OF AN OLD SOLDIER.
By O.C.A. CHILD.
You need not watch for silver in your hair,
Or try to smooth the wrinkles from your eyes,
Or wonder if you're getting quite too spare,
Or if your mount can bear a man your size.
You'll never come to shirk the fastest flight,
To query if she really cares to dance,
To find your eye less keen upon the sight,
Or lose your tennis wrist or golfing stance.
For you the music ceased on highest note--
Your charge had won, you'd scattered them like sand,
And then a little whisper in your throat,
And you asleep, your cheek upon your hand.
Thrice happy fate, you met it in full cry,
Young, eager, loved, your glitt'ring world all joy--
You ebbed not out, you died when tide was high,
An old campaigner envies you, my boy!
*The War at Home*
*How It Affects the Countries Whose Men Are At the Front.*
*The Effects of War in Four Countries*
*By Irvin S. Cobb.*
[From THE NEW YORK TIMES [Transcriber: original 'TMIES'], Dec. 2, 1914.]
[_The following story of conditions in Belgium, Germany, France,
Holland, and England was sent by Irvin S. Cobb of The Saturday
Evening Post to the American [Transcriber: original 'Aerican'] Red
Cross, to be used in bringing home to Americans urgent need for
relief in the countries affected by the great war. Red Cross
contributions for suffering non-combatants are received at the Red
Cross offices in the Russell Sage Foundation Building, 130 East
Twenty-second Street. Such contributions should be addressed to
Jacob H. Schiff, Treasurer, and, if desired, the giver can
designate the country to the relief of which he wishes the donation
applied._]
Recently I have been in four of the countries concerned in the present
war--Belgium, France, Germany, and England. I was also in Holland,
having traversed it from end to end within a week after the fall of
Antwerp, when every road coming up out of the south was filled with
Belgian refugees.
In Belgium I saw this:
Homeless men, women, and children by thousands and hundreds of
thousands. Many of them had been prosperous, a few had been wealthy,
practically all had been comfortable. Now, with scarcely an exception,
they stood all upon one common plane of misery. They had lost their
homes, their farms, their work-shops, their livings, and their means of
making livings.
I saw them tramping aimlessly along wind-swept, rain-washed roads,
fleeing from burning and devastated villages. I saw them sleeping in
open fields upon the miry earth, with no cover and no shelter. I saw
them herded together in the towns and cities to which many of them
ultimately fled, existing God alone knows how. I saw them--ragged,
furtive scarecrows--prowling in the shattered ruins of their homes,
seeking salvage where there was no salvage to be found. I saw them
living like the beasts of the field, upon such things as the beasts of
the field would reject.
I saw them standing in long lines waiting for their poor share of the
dole of a charity which already was nearly exhausted. I saw their towns
when hardly one stone stood upon another. I saw their abandoned farm
lands, where the harvests rotted in the furrows and the fruit hung
mildewed and ungathered upon the trees. I saw their cities where trade
was dead and credit was a thing which no longer existed. I saw them
staggering from weariness and from the weakness of hunger. I saw all
these sights repeated and multiplied infinitely--yes, and magnified,
too--but not once did I see a man or woman or even a child that wept or
cried out.
If the Belgian soldiers won the world's admiration by the resistance
which they made against tremendously overpowering numbers, the people of
Belgium--the families of their soldiers--should have the world's
admiration and pity for the courage, the patience, and the fortitude
they have displayed under the load of an affliction too dolorous for any
words to describe, too terrible for any imagination to picture.
In France I saw a pastoral land overrun by soldiers and racked by war
until it seemed the very earth would cry out for mercy. I saw a country
literally stripped of its men in order that the regiments might be
filled. I saw women hourly striving to do the ordained work of their
fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons, hourly piecing together the
jarred and broken fragments of their lives. I saw countless villages
turned into smoking, filthy, ill-smelling heaps of ruins. I saw schools
that were converted into hospitals and factories changed into barracks.
I saw the industries that were abandoned and the shops that were bare of
customers, the shopkeepers standing before empty shelves looking
bankruptcy in the face. I saw the unburied dead lying between battle
lines, where for weeks they had lain, and where for weeks, and perhaps
months to come, they would continue to lie, and I saw the graves of
countless numbers of other dead who were so hurriedly and carelessly
buried that their limbs in places protruded through the soil, poisoning
the air with hideous smells and giving abundant promise of the
pestilence which must surely follow. I saw districts noted for their
fecundity on the raw edge of famine, and a people proverbial for their
light-heartedness who had forgotten how to smile.
In Germany I saw innumerable men maimed and mutilated in every
conceivable fashion. I saw these streams of wounded pouring back from
the front endlessly. In two days I saw trains bearing 14,000 wounded men
passing through one town. I saw people of all classes undergoing
privations and enduring hardships in order that the forces at the front
might have food and supplies. I saw thousands of women wearing widow's
weeds, and thousands of children who had been orphaned.
I saw great hosts of prisoners of war on their way to prison camps,
where in the very nature of things they must forego all hope of having
for months, and perhaps years, those small creature comforts which make
life endurable to a civilized human being. I saw them, crusted with
dirt, worn with incredible exertions, alive with crawling vermin, their
uniforms already in tatters, and their broken shoes falling off their
feet.
On the day before I quit German soil--the war being then less than
three months old--I counted, in the course of a short ride through the
City of Aix-la-Chapelle two convalescent soldiers who were totally
blind, three who had lost an arm, and one, a boy of 18 or thereabout,
who had lost both arms. How many men less badly injured I saw in that
afternoon I do not know; I hesitate even to try to estimate the total
figure for fear I might be accused of exaggeration.
In Holland I saw the people of an already crowded country wrestling
valorously with the problem of striving to feed and house and care for
the enormous numbers of penniless refugees who had come out of Belgium.
I saw worn-out groups of peasants huddled on railroad platforms and
along the railroad tracks, too weary to stir another step.
In England I saw still more thousands of these refugees, bewildered,
broken by misfortune, owning only what they wore upon their backs,
speaking an alien tongue, strangers in a strange land. I saw, as I have
seen in Holland, people of all classes giving of their time, their
means, and their services to provide some temporary relief for these
poor wanderers who were without a country. I saw the new recruits
marching off, and I knew that for the children many of them were leaving
behind there would be no Santa Claus unless the American people out of
the fullness of their own abundance filled the Christmas stockings and
stocked the Christmas larders.
And seeing these things, I realized how tremendous was the need for
organized and systematic aid then and how enormously that need would
grow when Winter came--when the soldiers shivered in the trenches, and
the hospital supplies ran low, as indeed they have before now begun to
run low, and the winds searched through the holes made by the cannon
balls and struck at the women and children cowering in their squalid and
desolated homes. From my own experiences and observations I knew that
more nurses, more surgeons, more surgical necessities, and yet more,
past all calculating, would be sorely needed when the plague and famine
and cold came to take their toll among armies that already were thinned
by sickness and wounds.
The American Red Cross, by the terms of the Treaty of Geneva, gives aid
to the invalided and the injured soldiers of any army and all the
armies. If any small word from me, attempting to describe actual
conditions, can be of value to the American Red Cross in its campaign of
mercy, I write it gladly. I wish only that I had the power to write
lines which would make the American people see the situation as it is
now--which would make them understand how infinitely worse that
situation must surely become during the next few months.
*How Paris Dropped Gayety*
*By Anne Rittenhouse.*
[From THE NEW YORK TIMES, Sept. 23, 1914.]
On Friday night the Grand Boulevards were alive with people, motors,
voitures, singing, dancing, and each cafe thronged by the gayest light
hearts in the world.
On Saturday night the boulevards were thronged with growling, ominous,
surging crowds, with faces like those of the Commune, speaking strong
words for and against war.
On Sunday night mobs tore down signs, broke windows, shouted the
"Marseillaise," wreaked their vengeance on those who belonged to a
nation that France thought had plunged their country into ghastly war.
Aliens sought shelter; hotels closed their massive doors intended for
defense. Mounted troops corralled the mobs as cowboys round up
belligerent cattle. Detached groups smashed and mishandled things that
came in the way.
Monday night a calm so intense that one felt frightened. Boulevards
deserted, cafes closed, hotels shuttered. Patrols of the Civil Garde in
massed formation. France was keeping her pledge to high civilization.
Yellow circulars were pasted on the buildings warning all that France
was in danger and appealing by that token to all male citizens to guard
the women and the weak.
At daylight only was the dead silence broken; France was marching to war
at that hour. Will any one who was here forget that daily daybreak
tramp, that measured march of the thousands going to the front? Cavalry
with the sun striking the helmets; infantry with their scarlet overcoats
too large; aviators with their boxed machines, the stormy petrels of
modern war; and the dogs, veritably the dogs of war, going on the
humanest mission of all, to search for the wounded in the woods of
battle.
And, side by side with the marching millions, on 
The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915 / Various