Athens, Saturday, March 6, (Dispatch to The London Daily
Chronicle.)--The bombardment of the Dardanelles forts, according to the
latest news, proceeds with success and cautious thoroughness. It is now
anticipated that before another two weeks are over the allied fleet will
be in the Sea of Marmora, and Constantinople will quickly fall to the
victorious Allies.
Two features of the operations make extreme caution necessary for the
attacking battleships. In the first place, the number of mines laid in
the strait has been found to be enormous. They must all be picked up,
and the work takes considerable time, seeing that it must be done
thoroughly.
In the second place, the larger batteries, against whom the allied fleet
is contending, are very skillfully hidden.
I have had an interesting talk with a gentleman who has just arrived
from Tenedos, where, from the height of Mount Ilios, he witnessed the
bombardment. He tells me:
"The sight was most magnificent. At first the fleet was ranged in a
semi-circle some miles out to sea from the entrance to the strait. It
afforded an inspiring spectacle as the ships came along and took up
position, and the picture became most awe-inspiring when the guns began
to boom.
"The bombardment at first was slow, shells from the various ships
screaming through the air at the rate of about one every two minutes.
Their practice was excellent, and with strong glasses I could see huge
masses of earth and stonework thrown high up into the air. The din, even
at the distance, was terrific, and when the largest ship, with the
biggest guns in the world, joined in the martial chorus, the air was
rent with ear-splitting noise.
"The Turkish batteries, however, were not to be drawn, and, seeing this,
the British Admiral sent one British ship and one French ship close
inshore toward the Sedd-el-Bahr forts.
"It was a pretty sight to see the two battleships swing rapidly away
toward the northern cape, spitting fire and smoke as they rode. They
obscured the pure atmosphere with clouds of smoke from their funnels and
guns; yet through it all I could see they were getting home with the
shots they fired.
"As they went in they sped right under the guns of the shore batteries,
which could no longer resist the temptation to see what they could do.
Puffs of white smoke dotted the landscape on the far shore, and dull
booms echoed over the placid water. Around the ships fountains of water
sprang up into the air. The enemy had been drawn, but his marksmanship
was obviously very bad. I think I am right in saying that not a single
shot directed against the ships came within a hundred yards of either."
The French Battlefront
Account of First Extended View of the Intrenchments Defending France
[By a Special Correspondent of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
Paris, March 7.--I have just been permitted a sight of the French
Army--the first accorded to any correspondent in so comprehensive a
measure since the outbreak of the war. Under the escort of an officer of
General Joffre's staff, I was allowed along a great section of the
fighting line, into the trenches under fire, and also received
scientific detailed information regarding this least known of European
forces.
France has been so silent about her army and her Generals and so
indifferent to the use of journalism in the war it is scarcely realized
even in France that 450 of the 500 miles of fighting front are held by
the French and only the remaining fifty by the British and Belgians. At
the outbreak of the war no newspaper men were allowed with the army, and
those who managed to get to the front, including myself, all returned to
Paris under escort. Although we saw what a powerful machine it was and
knew it was getting stronger every day, we were permitted to say very
little about it--Germany, meanwhile, granting interviews, taking war
correspondents to trenches and up in balloons in the campaign for
neutral sympathy.
France, or, rather, General Joffre, for his is the first and last word
on the subject of war correspondents, gradually decided to combat the
German advertising.
Only he decided to go them one better, as I hope to show. There have
been several trips, all tryouts. I was informed at the Foreign Office a
month ago that when the representative of so important a paper as THE
NEW YORK TIMES was to be taken to the front it would be for a more
important trip than any up to that date--that I was to be saved up for
such an occasion as I am now privileged to describe.
I propose to give as few names of places and Generals as possible,
first, to meet the wishes of the personal censor, who is the same
officer who escorted me throughout the trip, and, second, because I
believe general facts relating to the morale of the French Army and
their prospects in the Spring campaign will be of more interest than
specific details concerning places where the lines have been established
for the past six months.
From scores of letters received from America the first question which
seems to arise in the minds of neutrals outside the war zone is, What
are the prospects of the Germans taking Paris when the second great
phase of the war is really under way? First, let me admit that a lurking
fear that the Germans might penetrate the lines had caused me to make
certain arrangements for the hasty exit of my family from Paris as soon
as the Spring fighting began. I am now willing to cancel these
arrangements, for I am convinced there is no danger to Paris.
The German Army, in my opinion, will never for a second time dictate
terms of peace in Paris. I feel that I am in a position to make the
statement, founded on an unusual knowledge of the facts, that should
German ambition again fly that high they would need at least 3,000,000
men concentrated before the fortifications of Paris--these in addition
to the enormous force to oppose the French and allied field armies.
The defenses of Paris since the city had its narrow escape before the
battle of the Marne present one of the wonders of the world. Not only
has Gallieni's army intrenched the surrounding country and barb-wired it
until the idea of any forward advance seems preposterous, but every foot
of ground is measured and the exact artillery ranges taken to every
other foot of ground.
For instance, from every single trench which also contains an artillery
observatory the exact distance is recorded to every other trench, to
every house, hillock, tree, and shrub behind which the enemy might
advance. In fact, the German organization which threatened to rule the
world seems overtaken by French organization which became effective
since the war began.
All through the trip it was this new spirit of organization that
impressed me most. I have sent you many cables on the new spirit of the
French, but never before dared to picture them in the rôle which to my
mind they never before occupied--that of organizers. I started the trip
to see the real French Army in the most open but unexpectant frame of
mind. For weeks I had read only laconic official communiqués that told
me nothing. I saw well-fed officers in beautiful limousines rolling
about Paris with an air that the war was a million miles away. The best
way now to explain my enthusiasm is to give the words of a famous
English correspondent, also just returned from a similar trip, (he is
Frederic Villiers, who began war corresponding with Archibald Forbes at
the battle of Plevna, and this is his seventeenth war,) who said:
"In all my life this trip is the biggest show I have ever had."
The first point on the trip where the French intelligence proved
superior to the German was that I was allowed to pay my own expenses.
With the exception of motor cars and a hundred courtesies extended by
the scores of French officers, I paid my own railroad fare, hotel and
food bills.
"This army has nothing to hide," said one of the greatest Generals to
me. "You see what you like, go where you desire, and if you cannot get
there, ask."
This General was de Maud'Huy, the man who with a handful of territorials
stopped the Prussian Guard before Arras shortly after the battle of the
Marne and who since then has never lost a single trench. His name is
now scarcely known, even in France, but I venture the prophecy that when
the French Army marches down the Champs Elysées after the war is over,
when the vanguard passes under the Arch de Triomph, de Maud'Huy--a
nervous little firebrand--will be right up in the front rank with
Joffre.
While our party did all the spectacular stunts the Germans have offered
the correspondents in such profusion, such as visiting the trenches,
where in our case a German shell burst thirty feet from us, splattering
us with mud, also where snipers sent rifle balls hissing only a few feet
away, almost our greatest treats were the scientific daily discourses
given by our Captain concerning the entire history of the first
campaign, explaining each event leading up to the present position of
the two armies. He gave the exact location of every French and allied
army corps on the entire front.
On the opposite side of the line he demonstrated the efficiency of the
French secret service by detailing the position and name of every German
regiment, also the date and the position it now holds. Thus, we were
able to know during the journey that it was the crack Prussian Guard
that was stopped by de Maud'Huy's Territorials and that the English
section under General French was opposed by Saxons.
Our Captain by these lectures gave us an insight into the second great
German blunder after the failure to occupy Paris, which was the failure
immediately to swing a line across Northern France, thus cutting off
Calais and Boulogne, where they could really have leveled a pistol at
England's head. He explained that it was the superiority of the French
cavalry that dictated that the line should instead run straight north
through the edge of Belgium to the sea. His explanations went further
than this, for he refuted many military arguments to the effect that
cavalry became obsolete with the advent of aeroplanes.
Cavalry formerly was used to screen the infantry advance and also for
shock purposes in the charges. Now that the lines are established, it
is mostly used with the infantry in the trenches; but in the great race
after the Marne to turn the western flanks it was the cavalry's ability
to outstrip the infantry that kept the Germans from practically all of
Northern France. In other words, the French chausseurs, more brilliant
than the Uhlans, kept that northern line straight until the infantry
corps had time to take up position.
My introduction to the real French Army was made at the point of
junction with the English troops, so I was thus able to make some
comparison between the types of the Allies. I did not see the Germans
except as prisoners, although on this trip I was sometimes within a few
yards of their lines. With all consideration for the statement that they
are the greatest fighting machine the world has ever seen, all I can say
is that the greatest fighting machine I have even seen is the French
Army.
To me they seem invincible from the standpoints of power, intelligence,
and humanity. This latter quality specially impressed me. I do not
believe any army with such high ideals can easily be beaten, and I judge
not only from Generals in command, but the men in the trenches. One
morning I was going through the trenches near the most important point
where the line was continually under fire.
Passing from the second line to a point less than a hundred yards from
the German rifles I came face to face with a General of division. He was
sauntering along for the morning's stroll he chose to take in the
trenches with his men rather than on the safer roads at the rear. He
smoked a cigarette and seemed careless of danger. He continually patted
his soldiers on the back as he passed and called them "his little
braves."
I could not help wondering whether the German General opposite was
setting his men the same splendid example. I inquired the French
General's name; he was General Fayolle, conceded by all the armies to be
the greatest artillery expert in the world. Comradeship between officers
and men always is well known in the French Army, but I never before
realized how the officers were so willing to accept quite the same fate.
In Paris the popular appellation for a German is "boche." Not once at
the front did I hear this word used by officers or men. They deplore it,
just as they deplore many things that happen in Paris. Every officer I
talked to declared the Germans were a brave, strong enemy; they waste no
time calling them names.
"They are wonderful, but we will beat them," was the way one officer
summed up the general feeling.
Another illustration of the French officer at the front: The City of
Vermelles of 10,000 inhabitants was captured from the Germans after
fifty-four days' fighting. It was taken literally from house to house,
the French engineers sapping and mining the Germans out of every
stronghold, destroying every single house, incidentally forever
upsetting my own one-time idea that the French are a frivolous people.
So determined were they to retake this town that they fought in the
streets with artillery at a distance of twenty-one feet, probably the
shortest range artillery duel in the history of the world.
The Germans before the final evacuation buried hundreds of their own
dead. Every yard in the city was filled with little crosses--the ground
was so trampled that the mounds of graves were crushed down level with
the ground--and on the crosses are printed the names with the number of
the German regiments. At the base of every cross there rests either a
crucifix or a statue of the Virgin or a wreath of artificial flowers,
all looted from the French graveyard.
With the German graves are French graves made afterward. I walked
through this ruined city where, aside from the soldiery, the only sign
of life I saw was a gaunt, prowling cat. With me past these hundreds of
graves walked half a dozen French officers. They did not pause to read
inscriptions; they did not comment on the loot and pillage of the
graveyard; they scarcely looked even at the graves, but they kept
constantly raising their hands to their caps in salute regardless of
whether the cross numbered a French or a German life destroyed.
We were driving along back of the advance lines. On the road before us
was a company of territorial infantry who had been eight days in the
trenches and were now to have two days of repose at the rear. Plodding
along the same road was a refugee mother and several little children in
a donkey cart; behind the cart, attached by a rope, trundled a baby
buggy with the youngest child inside. The buggy suddenly struck a rut in
the road and overturned, spilling the baby into the mud. Terrible wails
arose, and the soldiers stiffened to attention. Then, seeing the
accident, the entire company broke ranks and rescued the infant. They
wiped the dirt from its face and restored it to its mother in the cart.
So engrossing was the spectacle our motor halted, and our Captain from
Great General Headquarters in his gorgeous blue uniform climbed from the
car, discussing with the mother the safety of a baby buggy riding behind
a donkey cart, at the same time congratulating the soldier who rescued
the child.
Our trip throughout moved with that clockwork precision usually
associated only with the Germans. The schedule throughout the week never
varied from the arrangements made before we left Paris. When we arrived
at certain towns we were handed slips of paper bearing our names and the
hotel number of our room.
Amazing meals appeared at most amazing places, all the menus carefully
thought out days before. Imagine fresh trout served you with other
famous French delicacies in a little house in the battle zone, where
only a few hundred yards of barbed wire and a few feet more of air
separated you from the German trenches. During the German advance, also
after the battle of the Marne, there were many towns in the districts
where it was impossible to obtain tobacco, spirits, or food staples.
This condition has entirely abated, and the commissariat is now so well
supplied that soldiers have sufficient tobacco even in the trenches.
It was my privilege to take a brief ride at the front in an antebellum
motor bus of glorious memory--there being nothing left in Paris but the
subway. Buses are now used to carry fresh meat, although they have been
used in transporting troops and also ammunition. We trundled quite
merrily along a little country road in Northern France, the snow-white
fields on either side in strange contrast to the scenery when last I
rode in that bus. I am sure I rode in the same bus before the war in my
daily trips to the Paris office of THE NEW YORK TIMES. Its sides are
bullet riddled now, but the soldier conductor still jingles the bell to
the motorman, although he carries a revolver where he used to wear the
register for fares.
Trench life was one of the most interesting surprises of the trip. Every
night since the war began I have heard pitying remarks about "the boys
in the trenches," especially if the nights were cold. I was, therefore,
prepared to find the men standing in water to the knees, shivering,
wretched, sick, and unhappy. I found just the contrary--the trenches
were clean, large, and sanitary, although, of course, mud is mud. I
found the bottoms of the trenches in every instance corduroy-lined with
modern drains, which allowed the feet to keep perfectly dry, and also
the large dugouts where the men, except those doing sentry duty, sleep
comfortably on dry straw. There are special dugouts for officers and
artillery observers.
I also visited a large, perfectly equipped Red Cross First Aid camp, all
built underground, extending from one line of trenches to another. All
trenches, communication traverses, and observatory dugouts have received
names which are printed on shingles affixed to the trenches on little
upright posts. For instance, we entered one section of the trenches
through Boyau d'Espagne, we traversed Avenue de Bois, Avenues Wagram and
Friedland, and others commemorating Napoleonic victories. The dugouts of
officers and observers were all called villas--Villa Chambéry, Villa
Montmorency being examples. It all seemed like cozy camp life
underground except that three times the morning of our visit it was
necessary to flatten ourselves against the mud sidewalls while dead men
on crossed rifles were carried out, every head in that particular bit of
trench being bared as the sad procession disappeared.
Although the maps show the lines of fighting to be rather wavy, one must
go to the front really to appreciate the irregular zigzag, snakelike
line that it really is. The particular bit of trenches we visited cover
a front of twelve miles, but so irregular is the line, so intricate and
vast the system of intrenchments, that they measure 200 miles on that
particular twelve-mile fighting front.
When one leaves the trenches at the rear of the communication boyaux, it
is astonishing how little of the war can be seen. Ten feet after we left
our trenches we could not see even the entrance. We stood in a beautiful
open field having our pictures taken, and a few hundred yards away our
motor waited behind some trees. Suddenly we heard a "zip zip" over our
heads. German snipers were taking shots at us.
In addition to the enormous force of men constantly in the trenches
along the entire line there is an equal size reserve line directly
behind them in case of sudden attack. The artillery is posted
considerably further to the rear along with revictualing stations,
aeroplane hangars, and headquarters of the Generals, but through all
this enormous mass of men which we passed daily going to and from our
front observation posts never once did we get the impression of parade.
Three were just troops, troops, troops everywhere, every hamlet, every
village filled with them, every crossroads with their sentries. All of
them, hardened by Winter and turns in the trenches, are in splendid
condition, and as opposed to the Germans, at least to the German
prisoners I have seen, each French soldier has a clear and definite
knowledge of what the war is all about. The greatest event of his day is
when the Paris newspapers arrive.
[Illustration]
What impressed me greatly was that in all the officers' quarters were
copies of the French "Yellow Book," the English "White Paper" and German
documents attempting to prove their innocence in causing the conflict.
It is not sufficient for French Generals or officers just to go to war;
they must know why they go to war, down to the last papers in the case.
In six months the French privates have acquired one habit from the
British Tommies--that is drinking tea. Back of every section of trenches
I found huge tea canteens, where thousands of cups are served daily to
the soldiers who have decided for the first time in their life they
really like such stuff. There one sees more soldiers at the same time
than at any other place in the fighting zone; there they sit and discuss
the future calmly and confidently, there being a distinct feeling that
the war is likely to be over next Summer.
No one knows what the Spring tactics of General Joffre will be. Along
the section of the front I visited the officers are all satisfied that
the Commander in Chief's "nibbling tactics" have forced the Germans to
retire on the average of two to three miles all along the line. The very
name of that great man is spoken with reverence, almost with awe, by his
"children at the front."
I, therefore, from the facilities given me, can only make one assertion
in summing up my opinion of the French grand army of 1915, that it is
strong, courageous, scientifically intelligent, and well trained as a
champion pugilist after months of preparation for the greatest struggle
of his career. The French Army waits eager and ready for the gong.
[Illustration]
Dodging Shells
[From The London Morning Post, Feb. 1, 1915.]
The Echo de Paris has published today a letter that throws a
considerable amount of light upon the psychology of the French soldier,
and that shows how he behaves himself when subjected to very trying fire
and compelled to act on his own initiative. It is written by the man to
his wife, and is as follows:
I am acting as guard to a convoy, and am comfortably installed, with no
work to do, in the house of an old woman who has lent me a candle and
writing materials. I shan't be suffering from the cold in the way I have
done on previous nights, as I have a roof over me and a fire. What
luxury! It's been freezing for several nights, and you feel the frost
when you are sleeping in the open. But that is nothing to the three days
we passed in the village of ----. We were stationed in the mairie. In
front of us in the clock tower an artillery Captain was taking
observations. On the road between the church and the mairie a Sergeant
and four artillerymen were sending orders to the battery behind us.
Suddenly a shell struck. We saw the artillerymen on the ground and the
Sergeant alone left standing.
The fire was so thick that no one could think of going out. But suddenly
one of the men moved, so I got up to find out about it, taking care to
put on my knapsack. When I was among them I found that one had been hit
right in the heart; two others were dying, one with his head in a pulp
and the other with his thigh broken and the calf of his leg torn to a
jelly. I helped the Sergeant to mend the telephone wire that had been
broken by the shell, and all the time we were having shells and bits of
brick breaking around us.