THE ATTACK AT LOOS
9th May, 1915
On April the 29th, ten days before the attack, we were taking our last
great rest at Noyelette in a setting which resembled a scene from a comic
opera. The apple trees were in full bloom and the blossom fell like
snow. In the radiant peace of early spring we lay on the scented grass,
listening to the ripples on the little stream. For many of us it was
destined to be a last pleasure and a last caress which Nature was pleased
to lavish on those of her children who were about to die.
_6th May: In the first line._—We relieved the 256th in the
first-line trenches near Mazingarbe, on the road to Lens.
That relief by a reserve regiment confirmed the rumour of an
offensive. As we passed through Nœux-les-Mines and Mazingarbe
even the civilians said to us, “Sure enough you are going to
attack, aren’t you? See to it that you push them back once and
for all!”
_7th May._—The great moment, so long expected, has come.
To-morrow the 10th Army is going to attack on the Lille-Arras
front. My battalion is to advance straight forward with Hill
70 for objective on this side of Loos. I made a reconnaissance
of the sector. To-night I am going to inspect the German
barbed-wire entanglements with Stivalet. I am quite calm and
very well prepared; my only fear is that I may do badly and
commit some fault. That the men will go forward, I am sure. My
battalion forms the first line, the 2nd and the 3rd come next,
then the 125th and the 68th line regiments, while the 256th and
the 281st are on the right and left and are to converge to a
point.
_Two o’clock p.m._—The French guns are beginning to shell the
enemy. The batteries are landing shell just in front of our
trench and so near that I am beginning to think that there must
be an error in the range. The mere fact of having to wait is
a torture, to know nothing and to say, “Is it to be in five
minutes, this evening or to-morrow?” My heart beats hard and my
throat is dry. I would give anything for the order to attack,
for I know that then I should at once recover my calm.
The four sections have orders to advance to their front towards
the Lens road, to take the German trenches and then make
for Hill 70 by way of Loos. I distributed some asphyxiating
bombs, hand grenades to my section, and little bags containing
cotton previously soaked in a bisulphite and which must be
dipped again into lime water at the last moment and introduced
into the mouth and nostrils to neutralise the effects of
asphyxiating gas.
_Four o’clock._—The shelling is still going on, but it has lost
the unheard-of violence with which it started. The remainder
of the guns are to arrive to-night and consequently the attack
cannot take place before to-morrow.
Everyone is at work; the Engineers are making steps and
finishing saps; Artillerymen walk about in the communication
trenches with range-finders with which they accomplish
mysterious rites, asking me politely to move as I am in the
way. Officers of all battalions are reconnoitring the sector,
and the men are sewing bits of white canvas on their packs so
that they may be recognized at a distance by our artillery. One
would say that a costume play was in course of being mounted
and that the last preparations were being made for the opening
performance.
At ten minutes to nine I returned to my command post. I
examined my revolver carefully, took off my tunic and put my
money and my papers in my trousers pocket. I slipped my cloak
on over my shirt, put my revolver in the inside pocket and I
got out of the trench. I gave a last warning to my men not to
fire, even if they heard firing.
Stivalet was there; we got over the parapet at nine o’clock
exactly, and we had chosen a bit of known ground between two
_chevaux de frise_. It was very dark; scarcely had we started
than a star shell lit up the sky. We threw ourselves flat on
the ground on our faces. I felt the wet grass and moist soil
on my cheeks and on the palms of my hands. I listened to my
breathing and I could not feel the beatings of my heart. I was
perfectly calm.
For two or three minutes we groped our way across the wire of
the _chevaux de frise_. When we had passed it we came on an
old network of rusted barbed wire all broken up by shell fire,
and our feet and cloaks got entangled in it. We crawled on our
hands and knees and each time that a star shell burst we threw
ourselves flat, as before.
The critical moment had arrived. Stivalet hailed me in a low
voice, “This is a rotten trip we are making.” He whispered in
my ear, “It is too dark, we shall see nothing.” I said to him,
“All right, you stay here, I am going farther on.”
I crawled on alone. I felt perturbed at being alone in the
black night with all these rifle muzzles pointed at me. I was
at the mercy of a flare. I went on as well as I could, without
a sound, trying to blend with the ground. I went on for I don’t
know how long or how far. Then I looked up and I saw the German
entanglements close beside me. I distinctly heard talking going
on; unfortunately I did not understand a word of it. There was
no object in delaying further, my mission was over. I had seen
their defences; they were only _chevaux de frise_, united by
barbed wire. As I turned, two rockets went off and crossed. I
thought that I was lost and I stayed still with my head on my
arms and my face to the ground, biting the grass; but nothing
happened; not a shot was fired.
I started off then to crawl with a speed which astonished
myself, using my feet, shoulders and elbows to help me along.
I arrived at the spot where I had left Stivalet, and in no
time we had jumped back into our trench. My clothes were so
caked with mud that they stuck to me like a jersey. I made a
report to Maugenot, whom I found asleep. On the table of the
dug-out was a note from the Major. The attack was to take
place to-morrow. The day would be given over to a minute
reconnaissance of the sector, and everything would be ready
for the attack, to take place probably during the night of the
8th-9th.
_8th May, 1915._—Unless counter-ordered the attack is to take
place to-morrow at six in the morning, after four consecutive
hours of shell fire. There are a thousand guns behind us, one
for every fifty mètres of terrain to be battered.
Nothing happened during the morning. New bombs were given
out, and each man was to have at least one. From two in the
afternoon the artillery corrected its shooting, which is
equivalent in ordinary times to a very violent bombardment.
From my parapet I followed the phases of this correction. The
redan on the Lens road blew up at two o’clock; the defences
before my trench were knocked to bits. At this moment, 6.40,
the artillery fired a little short. The men in the trench
could not get on with their dinners; they were covered with
earth and little bits of steel, and the water fatigue had some
splinters sent among them—two men of the 5th were wounded.
I have got for my section 7 asphyxiating bombs, 9 Beszzi bombs,
48 hand grenades and 5 terrible chedite bombs, which I have
primed myself, and of which I intend to carry two.
What a carnage is being prepared for to-morrow! I remembered
the prophecy of Father Johannes, “Only the great princes and
the great captains will be buried; there will be so many dead
and wounded that the bodies will be burnt on pyres whose flames
will mount to the skies.”
_9th May, 1915, 4.30 a.m._—I am ordered to line up my men.
A company of Engineers has joined us in order to excavate a
communicating trench as soon as we have cleared out. Far away
on the left—probably from the English lines—the guns are firing
without interruption. It sounds like a hoarse roar.
5.15 and no order to attack has been received; it seems long in
coming.
The guns were still thundering on the left, but ours were
silent. I would give a lot to know!
_Seven o’clock._—Orders have come; we are to attack at 10
o’clock precisely. There is to be no signal; all our watches
have been synchronised. We are all to start together from our
trenches at the same time. We shelled the enemy violently for
an hour, but, as that was too little, we are going to shell
them again from 9 to 10. The big winged bombs made a thunderous
din; we could see them rise in the air like shuttlecocks and
fall lightly to earth again. They looked as though they were
going to rebound, but they burst at once, each like a miniature
volcano in eruption.
For the second time I was astonished to find myself so calm. I
could not realise that in so short a time (what are two hours?)
there was going to be a wild rush, a hand-to-hand fight,
hideous and disfigured corpses everywhere, and perhaps death
for me. I had only the fixed idea that everything was going
well. I was acutely conscious that I was responsible for the
lives of fifty men.
* * * * *
Though wounded at the beginning of the attack, and sole survivor of all
the officers of the company and of a neighbouring company of the 114th
regiment of the line, I was, nevertheless, still able to carry on till 8
o’clock at night.
At 9 o’clock A.M. I precipitated the ammoniacal solution and all the men
soaked their pads in it. Everyone had his bomb. While I was finishing
these last preparations shells and bombs seemed to crush the enemy’s
lines. The noise was deafening and the smoke suffocating and blinding. I
should like to shut my eyes and pass in review each scene which followed,
forgetting none. In a few moments I consider that I lived the sum total
of a lifetime.
At a quarter to ten all were lined up, pack on back. The section of
Engineers stuck to the communicating trench so as not to hinder our
movements. I placed myself in the centre and took out my watch; still ten
minutes to go! I called in a loud voice, “Five minutes,” “Two minutes.”
I had a stealthy look at the men and I saw on their faces so tense an
expression, something so fixed, that they seemed to be in a trance.
As I cried, “Only half a minute more!” I saw the left of the company
starting off; they had some mètres start of me. At all costs we must keep
touch, so I shouted, “Forward,” and ran straight at the German line,
without seeing or hearing anything. I had a vague consciousness that the
“75” guns had not yet increased their range, but we were no longer our
own masters. Thousands of men, their minds fixed on the same purpose,
rushed forward blindly.
As I arrived at the first German entanglement I turned round. Everyone
had followed; the men were at my heels. A second later we were leaping
over the parapet of the enemy’s first line. I yelled, “Don’t get into the
communicating trench; the trench is empty, except for a few stragglers;
get on and seize the second line.”
The blue cloaks bounded forward together and the bayonets shone under a
burning sun, for there was not a cloud in the sky.
Now, with our heads down, we entered the zone of Hell.
There is no word, sound or colour that can give an idea of it. To prevent
our advance the Germans had made a barrier of fire, and we had to go
through a sort of suffocating vapour. We went through sheaves of fire,
from which burst forth percussion and time shells at such short intervals
that the soil opened every moment under our feet. I saw, as in a dream,
tiny silhouettes, drunk with battle, charging through the smoke.
The terrified Germans, caught between their own artillery fire and our
bayonets, sprang up from everywhere; some cried for mercy; others turned
round like madmen, whilst others again threw themselves upon us to drive
us back.
Shells had made ravages in the ranks. I saw groups of five or six
crushed and mown down. I caught a momentary glimpse of Petit, the
corporal, at the head of a group of men, and I forgot everything else and
shouted to him, “Go it: bravo, Petit!” His Herculean figure, moulded in
a woollen jersey, was standing on a hillock, wielding his rifle like a
windmill. Careless of shot and shell, his terrible bayonet running with
blood, he seemed the very incarnation of the war. All my life I shall see
him, bareheaded, covered with blood and sweat, leading the others on to
carnage; and the blue sky behind.
My section and I kept pressing on, and we were now within a few mètres of
the last of the German lines. At every step grey uniforms now surged. I
discharged my revolver to right and left. Cries and moans rose and fell
in the infernal din of that struggle.
In a second we should be occupying the enemy’s last positions. What
remained of my section followed me blindly. I put my foot on the parapet
and cried, “Forward, lads, here we are!” then I felt as though someone
had suddenly given me a brutal blow in the back with the butt-end of a
rifle. I let go my revolver and the chedite bomb, which I had in my left
hand, and I rolled to the bottom of a shell hole.
I was hit!
In a flash I remembered a phrase of my orderly’s, overheard by chance
yesterday, “If anything happens to the little lieutenant he won’t be
left behind,” and a moment later this brave fellow, himself wounded in
the arm, was at my side, and with two or three others, carried me to
the trench. In front of us nothing was left, not a defence, not a wire
entanglement. We had carried the German lines to their uttermost limits.
We at once set to work to dig ourselves in, whilst the men who were not
digging kept a look-out. We asked ourselves from what direction the
Germans would try to outflank us, for we knew nothing about the trenches
that had been carried. All at once I saw two of them coming out of a
little communicating trench with their bayonets at the charge. I blew out
the brains of the first; the second, a veritable lad of about sixteen,
had a terrified expression which I shall never forget. He yelled, and his
strident cries made me shudder; but my pistol went off, and he fell on
the ground on his face.
During the whole of the attack I had not for an instant seen my company
commander, and I wondered where he was. My colour-sergeant told me
that the Major and he had been killed, that Lieutenant Desessart was
badly wounded and that Lieutenant Règues and I were the only officers
left in the company. Règues took command, and, seated on the parapet,
superintended the preparations for defence. The guns were silent....
Alone the whistle of bullets was heard, and warning cries were raised:
“Look out on the left; look out on the right; they are coming from such
and such a trench.”
Then a bullet struck Règues fair on the head. He rolled over at my feet,
and the sole command devolved on me. I myself was wounded; the blood was
running from my back, and my movements were paralysed. My men wanted me
to go back, but I stiffened myself up with the energy of despair. Someone
passed me a flask of ether and I propped myself against the parapet. I
was alone in command; I had all my faculties about me, and I determined
to stay there whatever happened.
Up till two o’clock nothing did happen. We feverishly dug shelters to
fire from, and made traverses to protect the trench which was in part
open to enfilade. As far as the road everything had gone well, but, from
that point on, connection was broken. The rest of the 90th were behind
and parallel with me, some mètres off; the Germans there had retained
their positions. Though we could not see them, they were there quite
near, concealed, gone to earth but ready to spring on us.
Lying almost helpless at the foot of the trench I gave my orders, which
the men, one and all, carried out with remarkable presence of mind.
Enervating hours slowly slipped by. The sun scorched the trench; some of
the bodies took on a deep yellow colour, and their wounds were horrible.
To stop our reinforcements the Germans pitched shells behind the first
lines. In the communicating trenches, where the Engineers, the 125th and
the 68th, were massed, they must, I felt, be having a hot time. Even in
the trench shells fell both before and behind. I had three men killed.
Grossain had his head carried away.
With midday came some relaxation. Work eased off a little; the men
rummaged in their haversacks; Pillard brought me some cigars, Henry
Clays, and some Egyptian cigarettes. Mayet dressed my wound in a summary
fashion, passing his hand through the rent in my cloak. The opening was
as big as my fist. I suffered horrible pain.
The sergeant and I, nevertheless, explored the captured sector. The
trenches have been knocked in by shell. In certain places it was open
ground for 25 mètres; in other parts corpses obstructed the way. As we
went by, some Germans, lying on their backs right in the sun, opened
their eyes and said, “Ich durste.” We had no time to stop, the guns might
open fire again at any moment, and it was essential to find some means of
communicating with the Colonel.
When I got back to my men I found nothing changed. Mayet, fine fellow
that he is, was keeping a good look-out. The trench which barred the road
was consolidated, and we placed a machine-gun in it. I took under my
command a company on my left, as it had no officer left.
At half-past one a kind of agitation, a tremor, ran from man to man, as
if the whole company had received an electric shock; yet there was no
cry, no shot fired. Yet everyone realised that the counter-attack was
about to be launched.
I was amazed at the gaiety and good humour which prevailed. I wanted
to say a few words regarding their conduct, but there was little need
to sustain their morale. They shut me up by shouting, “Long live the
Lieutenant.” I was too overcome with emotion to reply.
All of a sudden there came a burst of musketry. It was sharp and brutal,
and there was no hesitation about it. One felt that it was not the sort
of musketry fire that one might expect from dispirited men, firing
without taking the trouble to aim; on the contrary, each shot had its
target. I looked through my field-glasses in its direction; it was on my
left, about three hundred mètres off.
The Germans, who were masters of a communication trench in front of us,
debouched from it and tried to rush us in column of fours. They did not
gain an inch of ground. Each section of fours was shot down.
One cannot but render homage to such soldiers. A whole company was wiped
out, not a man rose again after he fell, not a man retreated. The second
counter-attack took shape on the right under the same conditions. The
Germans were massed in a communication trench parallel to the road. A
little later, again on the left, the enemy profited by a small wood to
concentrate his men and to attempt a sortie, and this again was stopped
short.
They seemed to have resigned themselves to doing what we were doing. By
the aid of a periscope we could see them as far as their waist-belts.
They were smoking and waiting. To put one’s head up was to court death.
Maugenot was lying just beyond the parapet on the grass with his face to
the ground. Already he was the colour of wax. I determined to have him
picked up at night.
The Colonel, at three o’clock, sent me the 7th company, under Captain
Dupont, as a reinforcement. I told him that I wanted to stay where I was.
That it was I and my men who had taken this ground, and therefore that it
was ours by right; so the Captain settled down on the right, and at least
I was no longer alone.
I could gain no clue as to the real state of affairs from the complete
silence of the German artillery. There was a noise of waggons coming and
going on the higher ground, and this seemed to me to mean a fresh supply
of munitions. It was unfortunately impossible to communicate with our own
artillery.
Seated at the bottom of the trench, I began to feel my senses deserting
me. When I was asked for orders I racked my brains in vain. I could not
find the right thing to say. I tried to joke with the men, but profound
melancholy possessed me, for I began to realise that I was no longer good
for anything.
At 7 o’clock at night came the order for the attack which was preparing.
“The 3rd battalion will carry out the attack on the village of Loos,
taking the steeple as directing point, and joining up on the left with
the 114th. The first line units—the 3rd, 7th, 4th and 8th companies—will
be pushed forward by the attacking battalion. Preparations for this
movement must be made as soon as possible, but no move forward is to be
made till further orders.—_Signed_ Alquier.”
Night fell rapidly. I was anxious to speak to the Colonel before the new
attack if I could get to him, and so I handed over command to Mayet. My
wound hurt me horribly. It felt as if my left shoulder were being torn
from my body, as though indeed I were being quartered. I had doubts as to
whether I could get to where I should find him, but I knew what could be
done if the will to do were strong. Alas! I was not to see the company
again, nor was I to succeed in finding the Colonel.
On the way I walked like a drunken man, staggering from one wall of the
trench to the other. Sometimes I had to climb over pyramids of bodies,
sometimes I had to go right outside the trench, amidst the whistling of
bullets and the noise of shells, which burst on all sides. I reflected
sadly on how stupid it would be to be killed there, all alone, after
having so miraculously escaped during the fight. I met some men of the
Engineers, some prisoners and some messengers. Everyone was in a hurry,
and I automatically repeated the same phrase to each, “Look out, I am a
wounded officer, don’t hustle me.” I asked myself if it was possible to
suffer more than I did. A sort of continuous groaning sound escaped me,
my sight became blurred and I walked as if in delirium.
I went round the same sector several times, asking everyone where the
Colonel was.
And they would ask me, “What Colonel?”
I had forgotten, and then everything became vague. I met two men with
fixed bayonets in charge of three prisoners. They gave me some red wine
and took me along with them. We passed a factory whose broken machinery
I saw profiled against the night sky. Then some stretcher-bearers picked
me up and carried me to the neighbouring aid post. From there I was sent
by ambulance to the divisional dressing station at Mazingarbe, where I
passed the night.
The building was plunged into complete darkness for fear of being marked
down. Our big guns—the 120 long—were firing quite near, and at every
round the walls trembled and the window-panes rattled. One could well
picture oneself still in the thick of the fight. The noise of musketry
seemed to come from the garden, and I still remember clearly the sinister
sights that I saw there. Dimly made out in the shadow, the wounded were
lying on straw in rows on the ground. One only saw their silhouettes.
There were infantrymen, artillerymen and Algerian Light Infantry on
whom the white dressings stood out sharply. Amidst the roar of the guns
one would hear a long-drawn moan and some groans, cut short at times by
incoherent phrases. All of them raved. Officers and men lived through the
morning’s battle once again, and brief commands were uttered, infinitely
painful to listen to, “March in open order, by the right; stand by the
machine-gun,” and so on. As I stretched myself on some straw in the least
encumbered corner, I shivered with fever. The next morning we were all
sent on to Nœux-les-Mines, and from there we left by train for we knew
not where.
FOOTNOTES
[1] French cavalry were equipped with the carbine, and not with the
infantry rifle as in the case of English.
[2] Light infantry.
[3] On reading the remarkable and charming book which my colleague,
Lieutenant Dupont, has published under the title _En Compagne_, I noticed
in one chapter such a similarity of phrase that I thought of changing
the beginning of this description, so as to avoid the appearance of a
plagiarism. I decided, however, not to alter its first form, but to leave
intact this page, which was written in the trenches on that very day 24th
January, 1915, long before Lieutenant Dupont’s book appeared.
[4] These were darts and position-indicating rockets.
INDEX
A
Agadir, 17
Alaire, Captain, killed, 52
Allies, rally of, at Verberie, 79
—— meeting of, 133
Alquier, orders received from, 161
Arneke, 141
Arras, 141
Authée, bivouac near, 36
—— departure from, 36
Ave, French dragoons billeted at, 34
—— French squadron ambushed at, 35
—— French departure from, 35
B
Baron, 85, 86
—— Château of, pillaged by Germans, 86
Basteigne, 29, 34
Bavarians, atrocities of, 76, 77
Bazeille, burning of, by Germans, 1870, 17
Beauraing, arrival of French at, 35
—— departure of French from, 35
—— ambush at, 35
Belgium, welcome and hospitality of villages, 27, 28, 29
—— re-entered by French, 96
—— departure from, 140
Biesmérée, bivouac at, 38
Billancourt, infantry action near, 87
Bonneuil-en-Valois, surprise attack by Germans at, 51, 52
Bülow, Count von, 60
C
Calonne-sur-la-Lys, 96
Cary, General Langle de, 44, 71
Cavalry, French, equipment of, 23
Chapin, Major, 106
Charleroi, 39
Chasseurs-à-cheval, charge of, 45
Chatelin, Lieut., 39, 67, 82, 127, 129
Chauvenet, Lieut., killed, 35
Chocques, enemy sighted at, 90
—— artillery action at, 91
Clarques, return of French troops to, 112
Clère, Lieut., 18, 123
Compiègne, forest of, 63
—— ambushed in, 63-5
—— adventures in, 65-9
Coxyde, 112
D
Dangel, Sergeant-Major, death of, 64
Desonney, Lieut., 106
Dinant, siege of, by Germans, 36
—— arrival of French wounded from, 37
Dragoon, funeral of a, 124-5
E
Epehy, arrival at, 41
—— burning of, by Germans, 41
Estaires, evacuation of, 93
—— attack at, 95
—— cemetery of, 94
Estrée-Saint-Denis, 84, 87
d’Estrey, General, 71
F
Florennes, arrival at, 37
Foch, General, 60, 71
—— address by, 141-3
—— army of, 44
Folies, 90
Franchet, General, 71
French, General Lord John, 71
Fuéminville, 35
G
Gembloux, retreat from, 31
—— triumphal entry into, 39
Germans, atrocities of, 32-4, 76-7, 83-4
—— cavalry of, 31, 34, 87
—— flight of, 34
—— retreat of, 43
Gilocourt, 82, 86
Gorgue, La, 95
Grossain killed, 157
H
Hausen, 60
Hill 70, 145
Hougled, entry of, by French, 97
—— infantry and artillery attacks at, 98-101
J
Johannes Father, quotation from, 150
Jouillié, Major, 49, 56, 83
L
Lametz, Captain, 139
Landelies, arrival at, 40
Laperrade, 18
Lens road, French advance towards, 146
—— German lines carried near, 154
—— redan blown up, 149
Liége, arrival of French dragoons at, 31
Lille-Arras, front of, 145
Lombaertzyde, bombardment of, 128
Loos, French attack at, 150-5
—— German counter-attack at, 159
—— preparations for attack at, 144-7
Lubeké, 35
Lys, bridge of, evacuated, 93
M
Magrin, Lieut., 18, 102, 104, 105
Mahot, Captain, 113, 116
Maindreville, M. de, German atrocities at château of, 83
Marne, battle of, 43
Maugenot, 139, 160
—— report to, 149
Maunoury, General, army of, 44, 47, 71
Mazingarbe, relieved trenches at, 144
—— divisional dressing station at, 162
Montcalm killed, 36
Muno, arrival of French cavalry at, 26
N
Nesle, infantry action near, 87
Nieuport-Ville, road to, 113
—— bombardment of, 114-17, 119
—— billeted at, 116-18
—— scenes at, 114-19
Nœux-les-Mines, wounded sent to, 144, 163
Noyelette, resting at, 144
O
Oise River, crossing of, 84
Ostdinkerque, 113
Outersteene, Belgian manifestations to French, 96
P
Paris, retreat of French cavalry towards, 41
Parvillers, 88
Petit, Corporal, 154
Polignac, 18
Poperinghe, 131
Prussians, capture of Staff Officers, 48
R
Règues, Lieut., 156
Rheims Cathedral, 14, 16
—— departure from, 13
—— scenes at, 20, 21, 23, 25
Roberts, Lord, funeral of, 110-12
Robillot, Colonel, 21, 24
S
Saint-Martin, bivouac at, 38
Saint-Omer, 110
Salverte, Captain de, 56, 68, 82, 84
Staden, village of, fighting at, 97, 108
Stivalet, 147-8
T
Tarragon, Captain de, 56, 65, 83, 85, 86, 102, 103, 104
—— death of, 105
Taube drops bombs, 50
Taubes at Gembloux, 39
Teint, 58
Troène, fighting at, 45
U
Uhlans, 35, 56, 57, 62
V
Verberie, rally of French troops, at, 79, 80, 82
—— scenes at, 74-84
Vigoureux, Captain, 112, 117
Villers-Carbonel, artillery combat at, 41
—— in flames, 41
Villers-Cotterets, forest of, 49-51
—— loss of French machine-guns at, 50
—— fighting at, 51-4
—— in hiding in, 54-7
—— retreat from, 57-9
Von Kluck, General, army of, 47
W
Walloon district, the, 26
Y
Ypres, 131
—— Cloth Hall at, 132
—— Cathedral, at, 132
—— scenes at, 132-3
—— in the trenches near, 134-40
Yser, 74, 123
Z
Zonnebeck, 133