[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 noted given
the desire not to introduce unintentional errors.]

Field Marshal Sir John French
Commanding the British Forces in France and Belgium
(From Painting by John St. Helier Lander.)

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
Condé on the west, through Mons and Binche on the east. This line
was taken up as follows:

From Condé 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
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
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 Forêt 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. Sordêt, 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. Sordêt, 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. Sordêt, 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.

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 Fère, having then thrown off the weight of the
enemy’s pursuit.

On the 27th and 28th I was much indebted to Gen. Sordêt 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
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.

Map. 2.—The retreat continued. From Compiègne,
Sept. 1, to the new position south of Meaux, Sept. 3 and 4.

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.

7th 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
Fère 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
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 Sordêt’s corps of cavalry.

I finally arranged with Gen. Joffre to effect a further short
retirement toward the line Compiègne-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 Compiègne-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.

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 Compiègne, 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.

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, Château 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
Ferté-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
Trétoire, (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.

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 Ferté 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
Château 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
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.

Map 7—Sept. 10 (evening). End of the battle of
the Marne.
The Germans were driven over the Ourcq and retreated
to the Aisne.

Lieut. Gen. Sir Douglas Haig
Commanding one of Gen. French’s Corps
(From Painting by John St. Helier Lander.)

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
Vauxcéré 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 Courteçon 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 Condé, 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. Marguérite. 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.

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 Courteçon 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.

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
Compiègne, 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
Marguérite, 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 Condé, 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 Condé, 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.

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
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 Armentières. 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 rôle 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
Armentières, 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 Bassée, 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 rôle 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.”

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.
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 Fère.

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
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
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
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
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.

Gen. von Bülow
Commanding One of the German Armies in the West
(Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the
Berlin Photographic Co., N.Y.)

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 Armentières. 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 Bassée, 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
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
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 Bassée, 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 Armentières, 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’élite 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 Bassée 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 Compiègne 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.

“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 Liége
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.

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.

Gen. von Kluck
Commanding on the German Left Wing in the West
(Copyright, Photographische Gesellschaft, by permission of the
Berlin Photographic Co., N.Y.)

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
Misérables” 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 Doré’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 Moière.

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
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
débris 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.]

CHÂTEAU
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 débris 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 Ferté 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 Mülhausen, 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 Mezières, 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 Mezières. 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 Abbéville, 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
Abbéville, south of Amiens on the wooded heights, and thence in an
irregular line to south of Mézières. 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 Compiègne. 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
Abbéville 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
Compiègne, 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
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 Compiègne,
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 débordant
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 Compiègne, 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
Château Thiery to La Ferté-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. Galliéni, 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 cafés 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 Elysées 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 Hôtel 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 Hôtel 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 café of the Hôtel 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 café
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.

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
débris 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 Hôtel 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.

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.

Admiral Sir John Jellicoe
Commanding the British Fleets
(Photo from Rogers.)

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 débris, 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 Attaché; 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 Jäger 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, café 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
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
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 Attachés.
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 Attaché, 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 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 attachés 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 attachés 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 attachés 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 Attaché every possible
opportunity to see actual fighting.

The foreign military attachés 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 rôle 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 débris 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
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, Château-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 Lunéville. “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.”

Where the Armies are Contending in Alsace-Lorraine.

Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaievitch
The Russian Commander-in-Chief.
(Photo (C) by Underwood & Underwood.)

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 Lunéville. 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, Saarbrücken, 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 Liége,
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. Benoît 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
Château Chambley, a fine French country house. In the château
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. Benoît, five miles further on, a
subordinate headquarters was encountered, again in a château
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. Benoît 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 attachés, 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. Benoît the Côte 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 Liége, 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 Côte 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 Lunéville, 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
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 Côte 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 Mülhausen 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
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 Mülhausen. 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,
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 Mülhausen,
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
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.

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.

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
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 Papeéte, 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 Papeéte 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 Papeéte 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 Papeéte 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
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.

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,
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
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.