SECTION I

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[Illustration: IN FRONT IS GENERAL PETAIN ABOUT TO BE MADE A MARSHAL.

BEHIND HIM, FROM LEFT TO RIGHT, ARE MARSHAL JOFFRE AND MARSHAL FOCH

(FRENCH), FIELD MARSHAL HAIG (BRITISH), GENERAL PERSHING (AMERICAN),

GENERAL GILLAIN (BELGIAN), GENERAL ALBRICCI (ITALIAN), GENERAL HALLER

(POLISH)]

WORLD'S WAR

EVENTS

RECORDED BY STATESMEN -- COMMANDERS

HISTORIANS AND BY MEN WHO FOUGHT OR SAW

THE GREAT CAMPAIGNS

COMPILED AND EDITED BY

FRANCIS J. REYNOLDS

FORMER REFERENCE LIBRARIAN -- LIBRARY OF CONGRESS

AND

ALLEN L. CHURCHILL

ASSOCIATE EDITOR "THE STORY OF THE GREAT WAR"

ASSOCIATE EDITOR "THE NEW INTERNATIONAL

ENCYCLOPEDIA"

VOLUME III

[Illustration]

PF COLLIER & SON COMPANY

NEW YORK

Copyright 1919

BY P.F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY

WORLD'S WAR EVENTS

VOLUME III

BEGINNING WITH THE DEPARTURE OF THE FIRST

AMERICAN DESTROYERS FOR SERVICE ABROAD

IN APRIL, 1917, AND CLOSING

WITH THE TREATIES

OF PEACE IN

1919

CONTENTS

ARTICLE PAGE

I. A DESTROYER IN ACTIVE SERVICE 7

_An American Officer_

II. EAST AFRICA 32

_Jan Christiaan Smuts_

III. GREECE'S ATONEMENT 54

_Lewis R. Freeman_

IV. THE ITALIANS AT BAY 69

_G. Ward Price_

V. BOTTLING UP ZEEBRUGGE AND OSTEND 101

_Official Narrative_

VI. WITH THE AMERICAN SUBMARINES 119

_Henry B. Beston_

VII. WOUNDED HEROES OF FRANCE 138

_Abbé Felix Klein_

VIII. THE BATTLE OF PICARDY 153

_J.B.W. Gardiner_

IX. BULGARIA QUITS 170

_Lothrop Stoddard_

X. THE FIGHTING CZECHO-SLOVAKS 183

_Maynard Owen Williams_

XI. SIX DAYS ON THE AMERICAN FIRING LINE 200

_Corporal H.J. Burbach_

XII. AN AMERICAN BATTLEFIELD 210

_Raoul Blanchard_

XIII. NIGHT RAIDS FROM THE AIR 229

_Mary Helen Fee_

XIV. THE AMERICAN ARMY IN EUROPE 242

_General John J. Pershing_

XV. THE AMERICAN NAVY IN EUROPE 271

_Admiral H.T. Mayo_

XVI. ARMISTICE TERMS SIGNED BY GERMANY 297

XVII. COVENANT OF THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS 306

XVIII. TREATY OF PEACE WITH GERMANY 318

XIX. TREATY OF PEACE WITH AUSTRIA 365

INDEX 375

A DESTROYER IN ACTIVE SERVICE

BY AN AMERICAN OFFICER

APRIL 7.

[Sidenote: War accepted with equanimity.]

[Sidenote: Life on a destroyer is simple.]

Well, I must confess that, even after war has been declared, the skies

haven't fallen and oysters taste just the same. I never would have

dreamed that so big a step would be accepted with so much equanimity. It

is due to two causes, I think. First, because we have trembled on the

verge so long and sort of dabbled our toes in the water, that our minds

have grown gradually accustomed to what under other circumstances would

be a violent shock. Second, because the individual units of the Navy are

so well prepared that there is little to do. We made a few minor changes

in the routine and slipped the war-heads on to the torpedoes, and

presto, we were ready for war. One beauty of a destroyer is that, life

on board being reduced to its simplest terms anyhow, there is little to

change. We may be ordered to "strip," that is, go to our Navy yard and

land all combustibles, paints, oils, surplus woodwork, etc.; but we have

not done so yet.

We were holding drill yesterday when the signal was made from the

flagship, "War is declared." I translated it to my crew, who received

the news with much gayety but hardly a trace of excitement.

APRIL 13.

[Sidenote: Anxiety to get into the big game.]

There is absolutely no news. We are standing by for what may betide,

with not the faintest idea of what it may be. Of course, we are

drilling all the time, and perfecting our readiness for action in every

way, but there is a total absence of that excitement and sense of

something impending that one usually associates with the beginning of

war. Indeed, I think that the only real anxiety is lest we may not get

into the big game at all. I do not think any of us are bloodthirsty or

desirous of either glory or advancement, but we have the wish to justify

our existence. With me it takes this form--by being in the service I

have sacrificed my chance to make good as husband, father, citizen, son,

in fact, in every human relationship, in order to be, as I trust, one of

the Nation's high-grade fighting instruments. Now, if fate never uses me

for the purpose to which I have been fashioned, then much time, labor,

and material have been wasted, and I had better have been made into a

good clerk, farmer, or business man.

[Sidenote: The desire to be put to the test.]

I do so want to be put to the test and not found wanting. Of course, I

know that the higher courage is to do your duty from day to day no

matter in how small a line, but all of us conceal a sneaking desire to

attempt the higher hurdles and sail over grandly.

You need not be proud of me, for there is no intrinsic virtue in being

in the Navy when war is declared; but I hope fate will give me the

chance to make you proud.

APRIL 21.

[Sidenote: A chance to command.]

[Sidenote: Bringing a ship to dock.]

I have been having lots of fun in command myself, and good experience. I

have taken her out on patrol up to Norfolk twice, where the channel is

as thin and crooked as a corkscrew, then into dry dock. Later, escorted

a submarine down, then docked the ship alongside of a collier, and have

established, to my own satisfaction at least, that I know how to handle

a ship. All this may not convey much, but you remember how you felt

when you first handled your father's car. Well, the car weighs about two

tons and the W---- a thousand, and she goes nearly as fast. You have to

bring your own mass up against another dock or oilship as gently as

dropping an egg in an egg-cup, and you can imagine what the battleship

skipper is up against, with 30,000 tons to handle. Only he generally has

tugs to help him, whereas we do it all by ourselves.

[Sidenote: Justifying one's existence as an officer.]

This war is far harder on you than on me. The drill, the work of

preparing for grim reality, all of it is what I am trained for. The very

thought of getting into the game gives me a sense of calmness and

contentment I have never before known. I suppose it is because

subconsciously I feel that I am justifying my existence now more than

ever before. And that feeling brings anybody peace.

MAY 1.

Back in harness again and thankful for the press of work that keeps me

from thinking about you all at home.

[Sidenote: Orders to sail.]

Well, we are going across all right, exactly where and for how long I do

not know. Our present orders are to sail to-morrow night, but there

seems to be wild uncertainty about whether we will go out then. In the

meantime, we are frantically taking on mountains of stores, ammunition,

provisions, etc., trying to fill our vacancies with new men from the

Reserve Ship, and hurrying everything up at high pressure.

Well, I am glad it has come. It is what I wanted and what I think you

wanted for me. It is useless to discuss all the possibilities of where

we are going and what we are going to do. From the look of things, I

think we are going to help the British. I hope so. Of course, we are a

mere drop in the bucket.

MAY 5.

[Sidenote: Happier always for having taken the chance.]

As I start off now, my only real big regret is that through

circumstances so much of my responsibility has been taken by

others--you, my brother, and your father. I don't know that I am really

to blame. At least, I am very sure that never in all my life did I

intentionally try to shift any load of mine onto another. But in any

case, it makes me all the more glad that I am where I am, going where I

am to go--to have my chance, in other words. I once said in jest that

all naval officers ought really to get killed, to justify their

existence. I don't exactly advocate that extreme. But I shall all my

life be happier for having at least taken my chance. It will increase my

self-respect, which in turn increases my usefulness in life. So can you

get my point of view, and be glad with me?

[Sidenote: The best things of life.]

Now I am to a great extent a fatalist, though I hope it really is

something higher than that. Call it what you will, I have always

believed that if we go ahead and do our duty, counting not the cost,

then the outcome will be in the hands of a power way beyond our own. But

if it be fated that I don't come back, let no one ever say, "Poor

_R----_." I have had all the best things of life given me in full

measure--the happiest childhood and boyhood, health, the love of family

and friends, the profession I love, marriage to the girl I wanted, and

my son. If I go now, it will be as one who quits the game while the blue

chips are all in his own pile.

GENERAL POST OFFICE, LONDON

MAY 19.

[Sidenote: Rescuing a sailor.]

On the trip over, we were steaming behind the _R----_, when all at once

she steered out and backed, amid much running around on board. At first

we thought she saw a submarine and stood by our guns. Then we saw she

had a man overboard. We immediately dropped our lifeboat, and I went in

charge for the fun of it. Beat the _R----'s_ boat to him. He had no

life-preserver, but the wool-lined jacket he wore kept him high out of

water, and he was floating around as comfortably as you please, barring

the fact that his fall had knocked him unconscious. So we not only took

him back to his ship, but picked up the _R----'s_ boat-hook, which the

clumsy lubbers had dropped--and kept it as a reward for our trouble.

[Sidenote: Very little known about the U-boat situation.]

We are being somewhat overhauled, refitted, etc., in the British

dock-yard here. Navy yards are much the same the world over, I guess. I

will say, however, that they have dealt with us quickly and efficiently,

with the minimum of red tape and correspondence. We have become in fact

an integral part of the British Navy. Admiral Sims is in general

supervision of us, but we are directly in command of the British Admiral

commanding the station. Of the U-boat situation, I may say little. There

is nothing about which so much is imagined, rumored and reported, and so

little known for certain. Five times, when coming through the danger

zone, we manned all guns, thinking we saw something. Once in my watch I

put the helm hard over to dodge a torpedo--which proved to be a

porpoise! And I'll do the same thing again, too. We are in this war up

to the neck, there is no doubt about that--and thank Heaven for it!

Kiss our son for me and make up your mind that you would rather have his

father over here on the job than sitting in a swivel-chair at home doing

nothing.

MAY 26.

I never seem to get time to write a real letter. All hands, including

your husband, are so dead tired when off watch that there is nothing to

do but flop down on your bunk--or on the deck sometimes--and sleep. The

captain and I take watch on the bridge day and night, and outside of

this I do my own navigating and other duties, so time does not go

a-begging with me. However, we are still unsunk, for which we should be

properly grateful.

[Sidenote: War has become matter-of-fact.]

I have seen a little of Ireland and like New York State better than

ever. It is difficult to realize how matter-of-fact the war has become

with every one over here. You meet some mild mannered gentleman and talk

about the weather, and then find later that he is a survivor from some

desperate episode that makes your blood tingle. I would that we were

over on the North Sea side, where Providence might lay us alongside a

German destroyer some gray dawn. This submarine-chasing business is much

like the proverbial skinning of a skunk--useful, but not especially

pleasant or glorious.

JUNE 1.

[Sidenote: Glad to be in the big game.]

When I said good-bye to you at home, I don't think that either of us

realized that I was coming over here to stay. Perhaps it was just as

well. Human nature is such that we subconsciously refuse to accept an

idea, even when we know it to be a true one, because it is totally

new--beyond our experience. Pursuant to which, I could not believe that

my fondest hopes were to be realized, and that not only I, but the whole

of America, would really get into the big game. Oh, it is big all right,

and it grows on you the more you get into it.

Now, I realize that it is asking too much of you or of any woman to view

with perfect complacency having a husband suddenly injected into war.

But just consider--suppose I was a prosperous dentist or produce

merchant on shore, instead of in the Navy. By now you and I would be

undergoing all the agonies of indecision as to whether I should enlist

or no; it would darken our lives for weeks or months, and in the end I

should go anyhow, letting my means of livelihood and yours go hang, and

be away just as long and stand as good a chance of being blown up as I

do now. So I am very thankful that things have worked out as they have

for us.

[Sidenote: Little one is permitted to tell.]

There is very little to tell that I am allowed to tell you. The

technique of submarine-chasing and dodging would be dry reading to a

landsman. It is a very curious duty in that it would be positively

monotonous, were it not for the possibility of being hurled into

eternity the next minute. I am in very good health and wholly free from

nervous tension.

P.S. When despondent, pull some Nathan Hale "stuff," and regret that you

have but one husband to give to your country.

JUNE 8.

[Sidenote: Sleep, warmth and fresh food become ideals.]

Once more I get the chance to write. We are in port for three days, and

that three days looks as big as a month's leave would have a month ago.

Everything in life is comparative, I guess. When we live a comfortable,

civilized, highly complex life, our longings and desires are many and

far-reaching. Now and here such things as sleep, warmth, and fresh food

become almost the limit of one's imagination. Just like the sailor of

the old Navy, whose idea of perfect contentment was "Two watches below

and beans for dinner."

[Sidenote: Nothing causes excitement.]

You get awfully blasé on this duty--things which should excite you don't

at all. For instance, out of the air come messages like the following:

"Am being chased and delayed by submarine." "Torpedoed and sinking

fast." And you merely look at the chart and decide whether to go to the

rescue full speed, or let some boat nearer to the scene look after it.

Or, if the alarm is given on your own ship, you grab mechanically for

life-jacket, binoculars, pistol, and wool coat, and jump to your

station, not knowing whether it is really a periscope or a stick

floating along out of water.

JUNE 20.

Well, we got mail when we came into port this time, your letter of May

28 being the last one. I don't mind the frequent pot-shots the U-boats

take at us, but doggone their hides if they sink any of our mail! We

won't forgive them that.

[Sidenote: No joy-of-battle to be found.]

My health is excellent, better than my temper, in fact. I am beginning

to think that we are not getting our money's worth in this war. I want

to have my blood stirred and do something heroic--_à la_

moving-pictures. Instead of which it much resembles a campaign against

cholera-germs or anything else which is deadly but difficult to get any

joy-of-battle out of.

Do tell me everything you are doing, for it is up to you to make

conversation, since there is so little of affairs at this end that I can

talk about. It is a shame, for you always claimed that I never spoke

unless you said something first; and now I am doing the same thing under

cover of the letter.

JULY 2.

[Sidenote: Life so gray that shock of danger is beneficial.]

The other day, half-way out on the Atlantic, we sighted a periscope, and

some one at the gun sent a shell skimming over the _C----_, who was in

the way, and then the periscope turned out to be a ventilator sticking

up over some wreckage. However, the incident was welcome. You have no

conception of how gray life can get to be on this job, and the shock of

danger, real or imaginary, is really beneficial, I think. All hands seem

to be more cheerful under its influence.

JULY 4.

I was so glad to get your letters. A man who has a brave woman behind

him will do his duty far better and, incidentally, stand more chance of

coming back, than one who feels a drag instead of a push.

I am glad son had his first fight. You were perfectly right to make him

go on. Mother used to tell how, when brother was a wee boy, he came home

almost weeping, and said, "Mother, a boy hit me." Instead of comforting

him, she said, "Did you hit him back?" It almost killed her, he was so

utterly dumbfounded and hurt; but next time he hit back and licked.

[Sidenote: The life wears nerves and temper.]

I am well but get rather jumpy at times. Strangely enough, it is always

over more or less trivial matters. Every time we have a submarine scare,

I feel markedly better for a while--it seems to reëstablish my sense of

proportion.

It is a mighty nerve- and temper-wearing life--at sea nearly all the time

and with the boat rolling and bucking like a broncho, you can't

exercise. You can hardly do any work, but only hold on tight and wipe

the salt spray from your eyes. Sometimes I have started to shave and

found the salt so thick on my face that soap would not lather.

JULY 16.

[Sidenote: Time is passed navigating, standing watch, sleeping.]

Things are the same as before with us. Time passes quickly, with

navigating, standing watch and sleeping when you get a chance. One day

or two passes all too quickly. I wish there were more to do in the shape

of relaxation when we do get ashore. The people here are cordial enough,

according to their lights, but those that we meet are practically all

Army and Navy people, who have no abode here themselves and are almost

as much strangers as we are; and there is no resident population of

that caste that would ordinarily open its doors to foreign naval

officers.

[Sidenote: Little for diversion in Ireland.]

Ireland is a poor country comparatively. A town of 50,000 here shows

less in the way of facilities for diversion than the average town of

10,000 in the States.

[Sidenote: Mental privations hurt more than physical ones.]

Don't worry about my privations--"which mostly there ain't none." Such

as they are, they are necessary and unavoidable; and, above all, we are

fitted for them. You can't well sympathize with a man who is doing the

thing he has longed for and trained for all his life. Besides, physical

privations are nothing; it is the mental ones that hurt. A soldier in

the trenches, with little to eat and nothing but a hole to sleep in, can

feel happy all the same--particularly if life has something in prospect

for him if he lives. But a man out of work at home, sleeping in the park

and panhandling for food, is much more to be pitied, though his

immediate hardships may be no greater.

The weather over here is very passable at present, but they say it is

simply hell off the coast in winter. However, somebody said the war will

be over in November. I hope the Kaiser and Hindenburg know it, too!

JULY 26.

[Sidenote: Anxious to be in action.]

I haven't done anything heroic, which irks me. We would like to get in

on the ground floor, while all hands are in a receptive mood, and before

the Plattsburgers and other such death-defying supermen make it too

common.

JULY 22.

[Sidenote: A cheerful letter from home.]

Your two letters of July 7 and 8 came this afternoon, but I got the

latter first and expected from what you said in contrition that there

was hot stuff--gas-attack followed by bayonet-work--in the former;

therefore I was all the more ashamed to find you had dealt so leniently

and squarely with me. Why didn't you come back with a long invoice of

troubles of your own, as 99 per cent of women would? Evidently you are

the one-per-cent woman. I bitterly regretted my whines after having

written them, for their very untruth. Alas, how many people think the

world is drab-colored and life a failure, and so have done or said

something they regret all their lives, when a vegetable pill or a brisk

walk would have changed their vision completely! Why is it that people

sometimes deliberately hurt those they have loved most in the world? I

suppose it is because we are all really children at heart and want some

one else to cry too. The other day Smith shamefacedly abstracted from

the mail-box a letter to his wife, and tore it up, and I know--oh, I

know!

At a husbands' meeting on the ship the other day, we all agreed that the

heavy hand was the only way to deal with women; but it seemed on

investigation that no one had actually tried it the reason being

apparently a well-grounded fear that our wives wouldn't like it.

[Sidenote: Danger, but little action or variety.]

This war hasn't had as much action, variety, and stimulation for us as I

would like. Danger there always is, but being little in evidence, you

have to prod your nerves to realize it rather than soothe them down.

Lately, however, things have changed in a manner which, though involving

no more danger, furnishes a somewhat greater mental stimulation, and

thence is better for everybody. I regret to say that I am gaining in

weight. It was my hope to come back thin and gaunt and

interesting-looking. Instead of which, you will likely be mad as a

hornet to find me so sleek, while you at home have done all the thinning

down. Truth to tell, if you compare our relative peace and war status,

you are much more at war than I am.

[Sidenote: The highest form of courage.]

If you find son timid in some things, just remember that I was, too.

Lots of things he will change about automatically. At his age I had

small love for fire-crackers or explosives of any kind, but in two or

three years, and without any prompting, I became really expert in guns

and gunpowder. Try to get him to realize that the very highest form of

courage is to be afraid to do a thing--and do it!

AUGUST 3.

[Sidenote: U-boat score against destroyers is zero.]

Once in a while some one of us gets a torpedo fired at him, and only

luck or quick seamanship saves him from destruction. Some day the

torpedo will hit, and then the Navy Department will "regret to report."

But the laws of probability and chance cannot lie, and as the total

U-boat score against our destroyers so far is zero, you can figure for

yourself that they will have to improve somewhat before the Kaiser can

hand out many iron crosses at our expense.

[Sidenote: Picking up survivors.]

We had a new experience the other day when we picked up two boatloads of

survivors from the ----, torpedoed without warning. I will say they were

pretty glad to see us when we bore down on them. As we neared, they

began to paddle frantically, as though fearful we should be snatched

away from them at the last moment. The crew were mostly Arabs and

Lascars, and the first mate, a typical comic-magazine Irishman,

delivered himself of the following: "Sure, toward the last, some o' thim

haythen gits down on their knees and starts calling on Allah; but I sez,

sez I, 'Git up afore I swat ye wid the axe-handle, ye benighted haythen;

sure if this boat gits saved 't will be the Holy Virgin does it or none

at all, at all! Git up,' sez I."

[Sidenote: The deep sea breeds a certain fineness of character.]

The officers were taken care of in the ward-room--rough unlettered old

sailormen, who possessed a certain fineness of character which I

believe the deep sea tends to breed in those who follow it long enough.

I have known some old Tartars greatly hated by those under them, but to

whom a woman or child would take naturally.

What you say about my possibly being taken prisoner both amuses and

touches me. The former because it seems so highly unlikely a

contingency. Submarines do not take prisoners if they can help it, and

least of all from a man-of-war. But I have often thought of just what I

should do in such a case, and I have decided that it would be far better

to die than to submit to certain things. In which case, I should use my

utmost ingenuity to take along one or two adversaries with me.

AUGUST 11.

[Sidenote: The case for universal conscription.]

So the boys at home don't all take kindly to being conscripted, eh?

Well, I wish for a lot of reasons that the conscription might be as

complete and far-reaching as it is in, for instance, France. I think for

one thing that universal conscription is the final test of democracy.

Again, I think it would do every individual in the nation good to find

out that there was something a little bit bigger than he--something that

neither money, nor politics, nor obscurity, nor the Labor Union, nor any

one else could help him to wriggle out of. It would go far towards

disillusioning those many who seem to feel that they do not have to take

too seriously a government because they have helped to create it.

[Sidenote: Not a question of courage but of mental process.]

While I have precious little sympathy for slackers of any variety, one

must not judge them too harshly because their minds do not happen to

work the same as ours. In nine cases out of ten it is not a question of

courage, but one of mental process. Some people come of a caste to whom

war or the idea of fighting for their country is second nature. They

take it for granted, like death and taxes. If they ever permitted

themselves seriously to question the rightness of it; to submit

patriotism and courage to an acid analysis, they might suddenly turn

arrant cowards. How much harder is it, then, for people who have never

even faced the idea of it before to be suddenly placed up against the

actual fact!

AUGUST 18.

I have been having a little extra fun on my own hook recently. The poor

captain has had to have an operation, and will be on his back for some

weeks.

[Sidenote: Double duty on the bridge.]

Do I like going to war all on my own? Oh no, just like a cat hates

cream. It is a wee bit strenuous, as I have to do double duty; and one

night I was on the bridge steadily from 9 p.m. to 7 a.m. But the funny

part is that I didn't feel especially all in afterward, and one good

sleep fixed me up completely.

[Sidenote: A submarine escapes.]

I had a big disappointment on my first run out. I nearly bagged a

submarine for you. We got her on the surface as nice as anything, but it

was very rough, and she was far away, and before I could plunk her, she

got under. If she had only--but, as the saying goes, if the dog hadn't

stopped to scratch himself, he would have got the rabbit (not, however,

that we stopped to scratch ourselves).

AUGUST 27.

[Sidenote: Responsibility for lives and ship.]

I am still in command of the ship and love it, but there is a difference

between being second in command and being It. It makes you introspective

to realize that a hundred lives and a $700,000 ship are absolutely

dependent upon you, without anybody but the Almighty to ask for advice

if you get into difficulty.

It is not so much the submarines, which are largely a matter of luck,

but the navigating. Say I am heading back for port after several days

out, the weather is thick as pea-soup, and I have not seen land or had

an observation for days. I know where I am--at least I think I do--but

what if I have miscalculated, or am carried off my course by the strong

and treacherous tides on this coast, and am heading right into the

breakers somewhere, or perchance a mine-field! Then the fog lifts a

little, and I see the cliffs or mountains that I recognize, and bring

her in with a slam-bang, much bravado, and a sigh of relief.

Don't you remember the days when you thought son was dying if he

cried--or if he didn't? Well, that's it!

[Sidenote: Recreations ashore.]

Don't get the idea that I have no recreations. We walk and play golf, go

to the movies on occasion, and there is always a jolly gang of mixed

services to play with.

SEPTEMBER 9.

Life here doesn't vary much. The captain is up and taking a few days'

leave, though I doubt if he will take command for two or three weeks

yet. But I am having a lovely time running her.

[Sidenote: A veteran New Zealander for dinner.]

The other night we had a very interesting chap for dinner--a New

Zealander he was, who has served in Egypt, Gallipoli, the trenches in

France, and is now in the Royal Naval Reserve. The tales he told were of

wonderful interest. He was modest and seemed to have been a decent sort,

but you could sense the brutalizing effect of war on him. Some of the

things he told were such jokes on the Germans that we laughed right

heartily.

[Sidenote: The beast in man is near the surface.]

The beast in man lies so close to the surface. We think we are human and

law-abiding of our own volition, whereas, as a matter of fact,

nine-tenths of it is from pure habit. It doesn't occur to us to be

anything else. But let all standards and customs be scrapped, let us see

the things done freely that never even entered our minds before, and a

lot of us are liable to develop ape and tiger proclivities. We nearly

all put unconscious limits to our humanity. The most chivalrous and

kindly Westerner or Southerner would admit that massacring Chinamen,

Mexicans, or Negroes is not such a great crime; and the most devoted

mother or father is prone to regard as unspanked brats children who to a

third party appear quite as well as the critic's own.

SEPTEMBER 20.

I am still in command and loving every minute of it. With any other

captain than ours it would be a come-down to resume my place as a

subordinate. But in his case I think that all mourn a little when he is

away.

SEPTEMBER 29.

[Sidenote: New knowledge of navigation and ship handling.]

Oh, it's great stuff, this being in command and handling the ship alone.

Particularly I enjoy swooping down on some giant freighter, like a hawk

on a turkey, running close alongside, where a wrong touch to helm or

engine may spell destruction, and then demanding through a megaphone why

she does or does not do so and so. I have learned more navigation and

ship-handling since being over here than in all my previous seagoing

experience. In the old ante-bellum days one hesitated to get too close

to another ship, even in daytime, far more so at night, even with the

required navigation lights on. Now, without so much light as a glowworm

could give, we run around, never quite certain when the darkness ahead

may turn into a ship close enough to throw a brick at.

However, I am back in the ranks again now, as the captain has come back

and resumed command.

OCTOBER 9.

[Sidenote: Job of an executive officer is thankless.]

You must not be resentful because of things you have gone through,

unappreciated by those perhaps for whom you have undergone them. It is

one of the laws of life, and a hard law too, but it comes to everybody,

either in a few big things or a multitude of little ones. Do the people

who keep the world turning around ever get due recognition? I was

thinking in much the same resentful vein myself to-day, in my own small

way, how thankless the job of an executive officer is; how you never

reach any big end, or even feel that you have made progress, but just

keep on the job, watching and inspecting and fussing to keep the whole

personnel-matériel machine running smoothly, and knowing that your

recognition is purely negative, in that, if all goes well, you don't get

called down. And then I calm down and realize that it is all in the

game, and that it is the best tribute so to handle your job in life that

nothing has to be said. If your car runs perfectly, you neither feel nor

hear it, and give it little credit on that account. But let it strip a

gear or something go!!

[Sidenote: Roller-skating for amusement ashore.]

I hate to tell you what I was doing this afternoon. You will think I am

not at war at all when I tell you that I have been roller-skating. I was

a bit rusty at first, but warmed up to it. It is about the only exercise

we can get on shore, for it rains all the time. Each shower puts an

added crimp in my temper, as I have been trying to get a new coat of

camouflage paint on the ship. I think, if some of the old

paint-and-polish captains and admirals could see her now, they would die

of apoplexy.

[Sidenote: No chance for wives to come over.]

I fear there is no chance for you to come over. Admiral Sims

disapproves--not of you personally--one cannot find a place to live

here, and there would be too many hardships. How would it be for you

when we had said good-bye, and you saw the ship start out into a howling

gale or go out right after several ships had been sunk outside? With you

at home among friends, I can keep my mind on my job, which I couldn't if

you were alone over here.

Let me say right now that the destroyer torpedoed was not ours. It was

hard on you all to have the news published that one had been and a man

killed, and not say what boat, as that leaves every one in suspense. I

suppose the relatives of the man were notified, but that doesn't help

other people who were anxious.

[Sidenote: A destroyer is torpedoed but does not sink.]

I don't suppose I can tell you which boat either, if the authorities

won't. You do not know any one on board of her, however. They saw it

coming, jammed on full speed, and nearly cleared it. It took them just

at the stern and blew off about 30 feet as neatly as son would bite the

end off a banana. The submarine heard the explosion, of course, from

below, and came to the surface to see the "damned Yankee" sink, only to

find the rudderless, sternless boat steaming full speed in a circle with

her one remaining propeller, and to be greeted by a salvo of four-inch

shells that made her duck promptly. The man killed saw the torpedo

coming and ran aft to throw overboard some high explosives stowed

there--but he didn't quite make it.

[Sidenote: Damaged destroyers somehow get back to port.]

Our destroyers are really wonderful boats--you can shoot off one end of

them, ram them, cut them in two, and still they float and get to port

somehow.

Some time ago, on a pitch-dark night, one of them was rammed by a

British boat and nearly cut in two. Was there a panic? Not at all. As

she settled in the water, they got out their boats and life-rafts, the

officers and a few selected men stayed on board, and the rest pulled off

in the darkness singing, "Are we downhearted? No!" and "Hail, hail, the

gang's all here." She floated, though with her deck awash; the boats

were recalled, and they brought her in. She is fixed up and back in the

game again now.

OCTOBER 25.

[Sidenote: British destroyers fight raiders.]

[Sidenote: The Admiral strict as a Prussian.]

Where did you hear that about two destroyers being sunk off the coast of

Ireland on September 3? False alarm. Of course, you have read in the

papers about the convoy destroyed in the North Sea by German raiders.

The two British destroyers with the convoy stood up to them and fought

as a bulldog would fight a tiger--and with the same result. Somebody was

arguing with the Admiral, our boss, to the effect that it would have

been better for them to have saved themselves, trailed the raiders, and

sent radio, so that the British cruisers could have intercepted and

destroyed them. Said the Admiral, "Yes, it would have been better, but I

would court-martial and shoot the man that did it." He's a wonder to

serve under, as grim and strict as a Prussian, but very just, and runs

things in a way that secures all our admiration--though we may fuss a

bit when, expecting two or three comfortable days in port, we get chased

out on short notice into a raving gale outside.

A BRITISH DOCK YARD, NOVEMBER 4.

[Sidenote: A friend on hospital duty.]

There are lots of our army people here. Some of them are just passing

through, while others are stationed at near-by training camps or

hospitals. I was wandering around the big hotel here, when I saw a

familiar face in army uniform, and who should it be but M----. Much joy!

He is near here, on temporary duty at a British hospital. I had him over

to the ship for lunch, and hope to see him again. I certainly respect

that boy. He has no military ambitions, and wishes the war were over, so

he could get back to his wife and children; but _he_ answered the call

while others were hiding behind volleys of language, and he is here to

see it through. I am afraid he is homesick and lonely, for it is harder

for a boy who does not know the English than for us hardened

mercenaries, who are accustomed to hobnob with everybody from Cubans to

Cossacks.

[Sidenote: The American uniform and the British.]

I will be glad when American Army and Navy uniforms are designed by a

tailor who really knows something about it. Alas, our people are

distinctly inferior to the British in the cut of their jib. I think it

is the high standing collar that queers us. It is only at its best when

one stands at Attention--head up, chest out, arms at side--being

distinctly a parade uniform. The British, with their rolling collar, and

coat tight where it may be, and loose where it needs to be, are, you

might say, less military and better dressed.

Tell the Enfant that I am very proud when he gets gold honor-marks on

his school-papers, and I think that it probably means about the same as

a star on a midshipman's collar. (That ought to get him.)

I must close and get a bit of sleep. It seems as if, when it is all

over, all the heaven I will want, is to be with you and son again,

perfectly quiet.

AT SEA, NOVEMBER 16.

[Sidenote: True democracy is in a way inefficient.]

I think a true democracy is necessarily inefficient in a way. The only

really efficient government in the world is the one which we intend to

pull down, or else go down ourselves, trying to!

Can't you imagine, in the dim Valhalla beyond, how the archer of

Pharaoh, the swordsman from the plains before Troy, and the Roman

legionary will greet the hurrying souls of the aviator, the

bomb-thrower, and the bayonet-man with, "Brother, what were you?"

I'd hate to have to explain to their uncomprehending ears what a

conscientious objector is!

DECEMBER 2.

[Sidenote: Assuming command.]

Well, to-day is one of the big days of my life, for I assumed command of

this little packet. I put on my sword and fixings and reported to

Captain Paine, who was most benevolent. Several of us went on shore to

celebrate with a little dinner. Some of the boys just over joined in,

and we became involved with some Highland officers of a fighting

regiment famous throughout Europe for the last three hundred years.

One's first ship, like the first baby is an event that cannot be

duplicated.

DECEMBER 21.

[Sidenote: A jammed rudder leaves the destroyer unmanageable.]

I needed your letter, being about twenty years older than I was a week

ago. No, no harm done. Just had my first experience of what it means

under certain circumstances to be in command. Went out with certain

others on a certain job. All went well, though we had a poor grade of

oil in our bunkers and were burning more than we should ordinarily.

Then, through certain chances, we had to go farther than expected.

Still, I figured to get back with a moderate margin, when the gale

struck us. You may have read of Biscay storms; well, believe me, they

are not over-rated. I have seen just as bad, perhaps, but not from the

deck of a destroyer. And while I am frantically calculating whether I

shall have enough fuel to make port or not, there is a wild yell from

the bridge that the rudder is jammed at hard-a-starboard and can't be

moved. She, of course, at once fell off into the trough of the sea, and

the big green combers swept clear over her at every roll, raising merry

hob. All the boats were smashed to kindling-wood; chests, and everything

on deck not riveted down, went over the side. In that sea you could no

more manoeuvre by your engines alone than you could dam Niagara with a

handful of sand. A man alongside of me aft, where we were working on the

steering-gear, was swept overboard, but, having a line around his waist,

was hauled back like a hooked fish.

All I could do was to steam in a big circle, and at one point would be

running before it, and could work for an instant or two with the seas

running up to our waists. When they get over your head, you probably

won't be there any longer. At that time I didn't really expect to stay

afloat, but was too busy with the matters in hand to care. Well, we

finally got it fixed, though we could only use about 15 degrees of

rudder instead of full.

[Sidenote: Lack of fuel causes worry.]

All this time we were drifting merrily to leeward at a rate that I hated

even to guess at, with the certainty, unless matters mended, of

eventually piling up on the Spanish coast, then not far away, though I

hadn't had sight of sun or stars in days, and didn't know within fifty

miles where I was. Well, when I finally headed up into it, I could just

about hold her, without making any headway to speak of. You cannot drive

a destroyer dead into a heavy sea at full speed without bursting her in

two. Still, the situation would have been nothing to worry about much if

I had had sufficient fuel. Now, you on shore may fancy that a ship just

keeps on steaming till she gets there, whether it takes a month or more;

but such is far from the case. Every mile you go consumes just so much

fuel, and, if your margin of safety is too small, you are liable to be

out of luck. And my calculations showed me that while I was using up oil

enough to be making ---- knots, in the teeth of the gale we were only

making ---- knots, and that at that rate I never would make port.

[Sidenote: Three courses are possible.]

[Sidenote: The destroyer makes France.]

[Sidenote: Steel the aristocrat among metals.]

There were three courses open to me: to let her drift, consuming my oil,

in the hope that it would blow over; to run into a Spanish port; or to

run for France, my destination, and, if I fell short of it, to yell for

help by radio, and trust to luck that they could send out and pick me

up. The first course was too risky. I would be making untold miles to

leeward all the time, would probably roll the masts and funnels out of

her, and maybe burst down anyhow, too far off for help. The second

choice was the safest. I could reach Ferrol or Vigo all right, but they

would probably try to intern me; and while I had heard that King Alfonso

was a regular guy and a good scout to run around with, the ensuing

diplomatic complications would make me about as popular in Allied

circles as the proverbial skunk at a bridge-party. So I took the final

alternative, and jammed her into the teeth of it for all I thought she

could stand without imitating an opera hat or an accordion. And, glory

be, she made it, the blessed little old cross between a porpoise and a

safety-razor blade! Whether the gale really moderated, or I got more

nerve, I don't know; but anyhow I gave her more and more, half a knot at

a time, until we were actually making appreciable headway against it. I

never thought any ship could stand the bludgeoning she got. It seemed as

if every rivet must shear, every frame and stanchion crush, under the

impact of the Juggernaut seas that hurtled into her. As a thoroughbred

horse starts and trembles under the touch of the whip, so she reared and

trembled, only to bury herself again in the roaring Niagara of water.

Oh, you thoroughbred high-tensile steel! blue-blooded aristocrat among

metals; Bethlehem or Midvale may claim you--you are none the less

worthy of the Milan casque, the Damascus blade, your forefathers!

Verily, I believe you hold on by sheer nerve, when by all physical laws

should buckle or bend to the shock!

[Sidenote: Torpedo detonators spilt on deck.]

And so we kept on. Don't you know, how in the stories it is always in a

terrific gale that the caged lion or gorilla or python breaks loose and

terrorizes the ship? We don't sport a menagerie on the ----, but I did

pick up the contents of the dry gun-cotton case, which had broken and

spilt the torpedo detonators around on deck contiguous to the hot

radiator! And, of course, the decks below were knee-deep in books,

clothes, dishes, etc., complicated in some compartments by a foot or two

of oil and water.

[Sidenote: Soundings and landmarks.]

Well, the next day we made a little more, and the seas were only

gigantic, not titanic. The oil was holding out better, too, as we struck

a better grade in some of our tanks, and I saw that we had a fighting

chance of making it. By night I felt almost confident we could, and I

really slept some. Next day I expected to make land, but, of course, had

little idea how far I might really be from my reckoning. Nevertheless,

we sighted ---- Light about where I expected to, and laid a course from

there into the harbor. It was a rather thick, foggy day, and pretty soon

I noted a cunning little rock or two, dead ahead, where they didn't by

any means belong. So I rather hurriedly arrested further progress, took

soundings, and bearings of different landmarks, and found that we were

some twenty-five miles from our reckoning--so far, in fact, as to have

picked up the next light-house instead of the one we thought.

After this 'twas plain sailing, though I had never been into that port

before. Made it about noon, took possession of a convenient mooring-buoy

inside the breakwater--which buoy I found out later was sacred to the

French flag-ship or somebody like that--called on our Admiral there, and

was among friends. Yes, by heck, I let 'em buy me a drink at the club--I

needed it! Had oil enough left for just about an hour more!

Copyright, Atlantic Monthly, April, 1918.

* * * * *

While the great campaigns were being waged on the western fronts, there

was being carried on in a more remote part of the world a series of

operations which involved as hard fighting and as many difficulties as

were encountered in any other field of action. The campaigns in East

Africa which resulted in driving the Germans from their former colonies

are described in the following narrative.

EAST AFRICA

JAN CHRISTIAAN SMUTS

[Sidenote: Learned South Africa in The Boer War.]

In the strenuous days of the Boer War I learned to know my South Africa

from the Indian to the Atlantic Ocean as one learns a country only under

the searching test of war. I came to know the unfrequented paths, the

trackless parts of the bush, the wastes where people do not often go. I

believe it is generally admitted that I covered more country than any

other commander in the field on either side--and my movement was not

always in the direction of the enemy!

[Sidenote: Obtaining water on the Kalahari Desert.]

When the present war broke out, I proceeded once more on my extensive

travels, and I became something of an expert in the waterless, sandy

wastes of the southern half of German Southwest Africa. As for the

Kalahari Desert, over which the movement of men and transport was

supposed to be quite impossible, we did not rest until we had sunk

bore-holes for water for hundreds of miles, and until we had moved a

large force of thousands of mounted men across an area in which it was

thought no human being could ever move. One of the reasons of our

success in that campaign was that, moving through the Kalahari Desert,

we struck the enemy country at its very heart. The travels of

Livingstone, of Selous, who was a comrade of mine in this war, and of

other illustrious men in those vast solitudes of southern Africa were as

joy-rides to what we had to undergo in conducting a big campaign against

the enemy, and still more against nature.

[Sidenote: A campaign in East Africa.]

[Sidenote: Careful study of topography necessary.]

[Sidenote: Books of travelers all wrong.]

When that campaign was over, and I thought my traveling days were past,

the call came to East Africa, and 1916 was spent in traveling over the

vast tropical expanses of that fascinating country. I need scarcely say

that a military commander has often very special opportunities of

learning geography. He has to study the country with the eyes not of the

scientist or the traveler or the hunter, but of the soldier responsible

for the lives and the movements and supplies of large masses of men. It

is one thing to follow the track of the elephant or to stalk the lion or

antelope or to collect butterflies or other gorgeous things; it is quite

a different and, from the point of view of learning geography, certainly

a far more enlightening, task to lead a large army over those virgin

solitudes, where your problem involves the careful study not only of

topographical features, but of all the numerous natural conditions which

affect your progress. To provide for the needs of a small _safari_ may

be a light or delightful task; but the difficulties and requirements of

a large force, moving forward against an alert, ubiquitous foe, compel

you to probe into everything: the nature of the country, with its

mountains and rivers, forests and deserts, for scores of miles around;

its animal and human diseases; its capacity for supplies and transport;

its climate and soil and rainfall. And one of your first discoveries is

that the books of the travelers are mostly wrong. What to them was

perhaps a paradise of plant or animal life is to you, moving with your

vast impedimenta, a veritable purgatory. You soon come to agree with

Scripture that all men are liars, and from this rule you do not even

except the missionaries who write with their heads in the clouds; nor do

you except the writers of intelligence books compiled in Whitehall from

the hunting tales of the travelers or the fairy-tales of the

missionaries, and marked "very secret." But these secrets are like most

secrets of the African continent, very disconcerting to the simple,

trustful soul.

[Sidenote: The silence of the forest is broken by the tramp of armed

men.]

[Sidenote: Horses virtually unknown.]

These campaigning experiences were unique. Probably never before in the

history of the world had such things been seen: the stillness, the

brooding silence of the vast primeval forest where no, or few, white men

have ever been before, and the only path is the track of the elephant;

the silence of the forest, stretching for hundreds of miles in all

directions, broken by the tramp of tens of thousands of armed men,

followed by the guns and heavy transport of a modern army, with its

hundreds of motor-lorries, its miles of wagons, its vast concourse of

black porters; while overhead the aëroplane, or, as the natives call it,

the "bird," more dreaded and more feared than even the crocodile in the

river, passes on swiftly with its bombs for the foe retreating ahead.

And what an effect this movement, continued for many months over many

thousands of miles, produced on the minds of the native population,

looking on in speechless awe and amazement at the mystery of the white

man's doings! I have often stopped to wonder at the natives' state of

mind. It must have been not unlike what is told of one of my simple

countrymen, on whose farm an aviator descended with an aëroplane, never

seen or heard of before, and who calmly walked forward to shake hands

with the heavenly visitant, whom he believed none other than the Lord!

And since horses, because of the fly, are virtually unknown in most

parts of the country, the natives were dumfounded by our mounted men,

strange centaur-like animals that they called "Kabure," after my mounted

Boer forces, of whom at first they were mortally afraid. Even bodies of

well-trained armed native soldiers have been seen to throw away their

rifles and run for dear life into the bush at the first sight of mounted

men.

[Sidenote: Parallel mountain ranges rise in tiers.]

[Sidenote: The second belt or veldt.]

[Sidenote: Changes in rainfall.]

The whole east of the African continent from the cape in the south up to

Abyssinia in the north, and, I believe, farther, is marked by one

persistent feature, the existence of several more or less parallel

mountain-ranges rising in tiers from the coast. At the top of the last

and highest mountain-range lies the great elevated inland plateau,

stretching like a broad back along the continent. The first line of

hills or low mountains runs at a distance of from ten to fifty miles

from the coast of the Indian Ocean, and all the country between it and

the sea forms a low coastal belt, which seldom rises more than a few

hundred feet above sea-level, with a distinct coastal climate and

vegetation. Between these coastal hills and the next range lies the

second belt, called in South Africa the low veldt, again with a climate

and rainfall and vegetation of its own. Next and last, at a distance of

from a hundred to one hundred and fifty miles from the Indian Ocean,

runs a mountain system, often rising to great altitudes, on which rests

the great elevated inland plateau from four thousand to six thousand

feet above the level of the sea. This plateau continues for hundreds of

miles westward, and then begins to slope toward the Atlantic Ocean in

the far distance. Sometimes, as in Central Africa, the slope to the west

is very sudden, and another range of mountains forms the western

buttress of the great central plateau. All the great rivers of Africa,

with the exception of the Niger, rise on this plateau or on its

mountain-flanks, which have a very high rainfall. The bush, or great

forest, which is almost impenetrable in the coastal belt, becomes

somewhat more open in patches in the middle belt, while on the plateau

open, park-like country alternates with treeless, grassy plains, and

the forest is confined to the deep valleys or the mountain-slopes. The

rainfall, which is fair on the coast, becomes very light in the middle

belt, which in consequence tends to have an arid character; on the

plateau it is high or very high. Because of these marked differences the

economic character of the three regions varies considerably.

Semi-tropical products, such as maize, coffee, cotton, and millet, can

be raised on an almost unlimited scale on the plateau; while rice,

rubber, sisal, and copra are raised in the two lower belts.

[Sidenote: The chain of large lakes.]

[Sidenote: Extinct and active volcanoes.]

All along the mountains which mark the western edge of the high plateau

one will notice a chain of lakes, from Nyasa in the south through

Tanganyika and Kivu to Lake Albert in the north. In prehistoric time

some convulsion of nature broke the African continent all along its

spine, and formed this system of lakes. Another break occurs on the high

plateau, from Portuguese East Africa in the south to British East Africa

in the north, along the Great Rift Valley, with its magnificent

escarpments and weird scenery, prolonged through Lake Rudolf to the Red

Sea and on to the Dead Sea and Jordan Valley. Great volcanoes, now

mostly extinct, though some to the north of Kivu are still active, are a

still later feature of the country.

[Sidenote: Lakes and mountains a frontier for defense.]

I have referred to these lakes and to the great mountain-chain along the

lakes because they formed the western boundary of German East Africa,

and from the point of view of defense made a magnificent frontier so

strong that the Belgian forces moving from the Congo found it impossible

to invade the enemy territory from the west, and had to be moved in

large part northeast before they could strike south. Once there, with

their usual dash they did their work remarkably well.

[Sidenote: Seaplanes attack German vessels in the lakes.]

As soon as this northern column had reached Kigali, the capital of the

lofty Ruanda Province, the German forces fell back from the neighborhood

of Lake Kivu, and the remainder of the Belgian army was able to advance

from the west across the mountain barrier. Simultaneously, and in

coördination with their advance, strong British columns were moving

southward to the west of Victoria Nyanza. As soon as we had reached the

southern shores of the lake, a new concerted forward movement by the

British and Belgian columns was begun both from Victoria Nyanza and from

Tanganyika, where in the meantime the German armed vessels on the lake

had been bombed and destroyed by seaplanes, and Ujiji on the eastern

shore had been occupied. This movement did not stop until Tabora, with

the central railway, was occupied early in September, 1916.

[Sidenote: General Northey's advance across the mountain.]

At the same time a great movement was made in the south by General

Northey, who advanced from the line between Lakes Tanganyika and Nyasa

across the mountains flanking the great plateau on the west. This is a

very mountainous region; but he got over the mountains, and moving

north, took Bismarckburg, Neu Langenburg, and afterward Iringa, where

our main forces joined hands with his. These advances, all carried out

with great skill and energy against very great physical difficulties,

were subsidiary to the principal attack, which was being executed from

the north-east, in the neighborhood of Kilimanjaro.

[Sidenote: The River Rovuma a strategic line.]

[Sidenote: Pursuit of enemy across Rovuma is difficult.]

The southern boundary between German East Africa and Portuguese East

Africa was formed by the River Rovuma, which, coming from the high

plateau and the mountains to the east of Nyasa, is one of the large

African rivers. Except in its highest reaches near Lake Nyasa it is not

fordable, and makes an admirable strategic line. However, as Portugal

came into the war after most of the German colony had already been

occupied by us, this river acquired strategic importance only toward the

end of the campaign, and then in a sense adverse to us, as General Van

Deventer has found to his cost. After the remnants of the German native

forces had been driven across the Rovuma at the beginning of December,

1917, our forces found the swift pursuit across the river a difficult

task. We are, however, now operating against the roving bands into which

the enemy force has split, and if ever they try to break back to their

occupied colony, they will find the line of the Rovuma a very serious

barrier.

[Sidenote: The search for the German raider _Königsberg_.]

[Sidenote: The _Königsberg's_ guns accompany the enemy on land.]

The eastern boundary of the colony is the coast-line of the Indian Ocean

for almost five hundred miles, with some very beautiful harbors, and it

was dominated by our navy from the day that war was declared. The Royal

Navy has played a very active part in our African campaigns, and one of

the most fascinating episodes of the war was the search for the

_Königsberg_, lost after she had destroyed the _Pegasus_ and done much

damage in the Indian Ocean. She was discovered in a most secluded branch

of the Rufiji River, and ultimately destroyed by seaplanes and monitors

in her impenetrable lair. Yet, though destroyed, she made her voice

heard over all that vast country, for her ten big naval guns, each

pulled by teams of four hundred stalwart natives, accompanied the enemy

armies in all directions, and, with other naval guns and howitzers

smuggled into the country, made the enemy in many a fight stronger in

heavy artillery than we were.

[Sidenote: Extensive enemy fortifications at the mountain gap.]

[Sidenote: The rainy season worse than imagined.]

From a strategic point of view, the northern frontier was the most

difficult of all. It passed north of Kilimanjaro, to the west of which

is a desert belt. East of this desert belt and Kilimanjaro the enemy

colony was protected by an almost impassable mountain system, with a

very narrow, swampy, dangerous gap between the Usambara and Pare

Mountains, and another gap of about four or five miles between the Pare

Mountains and Kilimanjaro. It was impossible to move an army through the

first gap; the second gap at the foot of Kilimanjaro was the place where

the enemy had located himself early in the war on British territory, and

with patience and skill had dug himself in, with very extensive

fortifications, surrounded by dense forests and impassable swamps. Here

he lay waiting for eighteen months, threatening British East Africa.

From here he was driven in March, 1916, and by the end of that month our

forces had conquered the whole Kilimanjaro-Meru areas. It was at this

stage, and after our initial success, that the rainy season set in; and

that is another great feature of German East Africa. I had read much

about it, and I had heard more; but the reality far surpassed the worst

I had read or heard. For weeks the rain came down ceaselessly,

pitilessly, sometimes three inches in twenty-four hours, until all the

hollows became rivers, all the low-lying valleys became lakes, the

bridges disappeared, and all roads dissolved in mud. All communications

came to an end, and even Moses himself in the desert had not such a

commissariat situation as faced me.

[Sidenote: The enemy's line of retreat.]

When in the latter part of May the rains subsided, the advance against

the enemy was once more resumed. In order to create the maximum

difficulties for our advance, the enemy chose as his line of retreat the

great block of mountains which I have referred to as forming the eastern

buttress of the great central plateau. For the next three and a half

months our forward movement continued with only one short pause until

by the middle of September we had reached the great valleys of the

Rufiji and the Great Rwaha in the far south, and across the Rwaha we

could link up with General Northey at Iringa in the southwest.

[Sidenote: Difficulties of transport and supply in advance.]

[Sidenote: Poisonous insects and tropical diseases.]

[Sidenote: The campaign a story of human endurance.]

It is impossible for those unacquainted with German East Africa to

realize the physical, transport, and supply difficulties of an advance

over this magnificent, but mountainous, country, with a great rainfall

and wide, unbridged rivers in the regions of the mountains, and

insufficient surface water on the plains for the needs of an army; with

magnificent primeval forest everywhere, pathless, trackless, except for

the spoor of the elephant or the narrow footpaths of the natives. The

malaria mosquito is everywhere except on the higher plateaus; everywhere

the belts are infested with the deadly tsetse fly, which makes an end of

all animal transport; and almost everywhere the ground is rich black or

red cotton soil, which any transport converts into mud in the rain or

dust in the drought. Everywhere the fierce heat of equatorial Africa,

accompanied by a wild luxuriance of parasitic life, breed tropical

diseases in the unacclimatized whites. These conditions make life for

the white man in that country sufficiently trying. If in addition he has

to perform hard work and make long marches on short rations, the trial

becomes very severe; if, above all, huge masses of men and material have

to be moved over hundreds of miles in a great military expedition

against a mobile and alert foe, then the strain becomes almost

unendurable. And the chapter of accidents in this region of the unknown!

Unseasonable rains cut off expeditions for weeks from their supply

bases. Animals died by the thousand--after passing through an unknown

fly-belt. Mechanical transport got bogged in the marshes, held up by

bridges washed away, or mountain passes obstructed by sudden floods. And

the gallant boys, marching far ahead under the pitiless African sun,

with the fever raging in their blood, pressed ever on after the

retreating enemy, often on reduced rations, and without any of the small

comforts which in this climate are real necessities. In the story of

human endurance this campaign deserves a very special place, and the

heroes who went through it uncomplainingly, doggedly, are entitled to

all recognition and reverence. Their commander-in-chief will remain

eternally proud of them.

When in January, 1917, I relinquished the command to my successor,

General Hoskins, we were across the Rufiji River in the southeast, and

in the great valley formed by the principal tributaries, the Ulanga and

Ruhuje rivers in the west; but the rainy season which set in shortly

afterward stopped all advance until the following June.

[Sidenote: Enemy's forces evacuate German East Africa.]

Five months later our advance was resumed, and by the beginning of

December, 1917, the last remnants of the enemy's forces had evacuated

German East Africa across the Rovuma, while our forces were operating

against the enemy bands far south in Portuguese territory, as I have

already stated.

[Sidenote: Development of tropical Africa retarded by diseases.]

In economic value this region ranks very high among the tropical

countries of the African continent, and probably no part of all Africa

has a climate or soil more suitable for the production on an immense

scale of copra, cocoanuts, coffee, sugar, sisal, rubber, cotton, and

other tropical products, or of such semi-tropical products as maize and

millet. In common with the rest of tropical Africa, its full development

is still retarded by the undefeated animal and human diseases,

especially malaria. But the time is not far distant when science will

have overcome these drawbacks, and when Central and East Africa will

have become one of the most productive and valuable parts of the

tropics. But until science solves the problems of tropical disease, East

and Central Africa must not be looked upon as an area for white

colonization. Perhaps they will never be a white man's country in any

real sense. In those huge territories the white man's task will probably

be largely confined to that of administrator, teacher, expert, manager,

or overseer of the large negro populations, whose progressive

civilization will be more suitably promoted in connection with the

industrial development of the land.

[Sidenote: The Germans discouraged white settlement.]

[Sidenote: Natives compelled to work for planters.]

[Sidenote: German system more profitable one.]

It is clear from their practice in East Africa that the Germans had

decided to develop the country not as an ordinary colony, but as a

tropical possession for the cultivation of tropical raw materials. They

systematically discouraged white settlement; the white colonists, with

their small farms, gradually building up a European system on a small

scale, who are a marked feature of British colonies, were conspicuously

absent. Instead, tracts of country were granted to companies,

syndicates, or men with large capital, on conditions that plantations of

tropical products would be cultivated. The planters were supplied with

native labor under a government system which compelled the natives to

work for the planters for a certain very small wage during part of every

year; and as labor was very plentiful, with seven and a half millions of

natives, the future for the capitalist syndicates seemed rosy enough. No

wonder that under this _corvée_ system East Africa and the Kamerun were

rapidly developing into very valuable tropical assets, from which in

time the German Empire would have derived much of the tropical raw

material for its industries. The Germans realized better than most

people that the value of tropical Africa lay not in any openings for

white colonization, such as are being developed next door to their

colonies in British East Africa, but in the plantation system, where

white capital and black labor collaborate to establish an entirely

different order of things. Harsh as the German system undoubtedly is, I

am not prepared to deny that it is perhaps the more scientific one, and

that in the long run it is the more profitable form of exploiting the

tremendous natural resources of the tropics.

With regard to tropical Africa, so vast in area, so great in resources,

the first desideratum for its development is the opening up of

communication. The lakes, the Nile, and the Congo form the principal

natural links in any chains of communication with the seaboard; and the

question is, how far railways have come in or will come in to complete

these chains.

[Sidenote: Railways built in the Congo territory and connective.]

Two railways built during the war in the Congo territory have largely

extended the communications from east to west, and from the center to

the south. These two railways have opened up many routes in Central and

East Africa, and it is now possible to travel from the Indian Ocean at

Dar-es-Salaam by the German Central Railway to Ujiji on Lake Tanganyika;

by steamer across the lake to Albertville; thence by train to Kabalo; by

steamer on to Kongolo; train to Kindu, and on by steamer and rail down

the Congo to the Atlantic Ocean.

[Sidenote: Railways in South Africa.]

Now, as to the communications in the south, one can travel from Cape

Town by rail to Bukama, and thence by steamer and rail either to Boma on

the Atlantic coast, or by rail and steamer to Dar-es-Salaam on the

Indian Ocean. Besides these through lines, there is the Uganda Railway

from Mombasa on the Indian Ocean to the Victoria Nyanza, and there are

in contemplation two other railways from the east coast to Nyasa, one

from Kilwa, and one from Porto Amelia, in Portuguese East Africa. A

railway is also under construction from Lobito Bay on the Atlantic to

the Katanga copper areas, already reached from the south and east by the

railways from Cape Town and Beira.

[Sidenote: Communications to the northward.]

The question remains as to communications northward to the

Mediterranean. One can travel to-day from Alexandria by rail and river

to Khartoum, and thence by steamer up the Nile to Rejaf, near the Uganda

border. From Rejaf to Nimule, a distance of one hundred and fifty miles,

the Nile is impracticable for river transport, and therefore over that

distance a railway will have to be built. But from Nimule the river is

again navigable up to Lake Albert. The problem is to connect Lake Albert

with the Central and South African systems.

[Sidenote: Possible Belgian and British routes.]

[Sidenote: Tropical Africa a great problem in world politics.]

Three routes are possible, one wholly Belgian, one partly British and

partly Belgian, and one wholly British. That is on the assumption that

German East Africa remains British after this war. The Belgian project

is to construct the railway from the Congo bend at Stanleyville over the

gold-fields at Kilo to Mahagi on Lake Albert. The British project would

be to construct a line from the south of Elizabethville to Bismarckburg,

at the south of Lake Tanganyika, to proceed thence by steamer to Ujiji,

thence by the existing railway to Tabora, to construct a line from

Tabora to Mwanza on Lake Victoria Nyanza, and a line from Entebbe on

that lake to Butiabwa, on Lake Albert. The third or mixed

Belgian-British line would proceed by way of Butiabwa, Entebbe, Mwanza,

Tabora, and Ujiji, on Lake Tanganyika, but from there would make use of

the existing line to Kabalo on the Congo. It is probable that by one or

other of these three routes through communication from South Africa to

the Mediterranean may be established within the next ten years. With

this vital industrial aspect of tropical Africa there is wrapped up the

equally important political aspect, and these two problems are certain

to make of tropical Africa one of the great problems of future world

politics.

[Sidenote: Germans have no colonists to spare.]

Now, the Germans are not in search of colonies after the English model,

and those that they have in East and West Africa had no white population

to speak of before the war. Quite apart from the fact that tropical

Africa would be no suitable territory for white settlement, they have no

colonists to spare, since for the sake of their industrial and military

future in Germany they desire the largest concentration of population

possible in the fatherland. As Baron von Rechenberg, formerly governor

of German East Africa, has expressed it:

"Just as we lack suitable land for settling, so we lack suitable German

settlers.... For a number of years immigration into Germany has been

much greater than emigration from Germany.... Even in times of peace

German agriculture had not a surplus, but a shortage, of labor, and it

cannot possibly accord with our interests to increase the shortage by

encouraging emigration.... Regrettable though it is, there can be no

question at the conclusion of peace of acquiring territory for

settlement. There is no appropriate country, and there are no farmers to

settle on it."

[Sidenote: Germany desires not colonies but strategic positions.]

[Sidenote: Central Africa needed to supply raw materials.]

[Sidenote: Germany could use natives in war.]

German colonial aims are really not colonial, but are entirely dominated

by far-reaching conceptions of world politics. Not colonies, but

military power and strategic positions for exercising world power in

future, are her real aims. Her ultimate objective in Africa is the

establishment of a great Central African Empire, comprising not only her

colonies before the war, but also all the English, French, Belgian, and

Portuguese possessions south of the Sahara and Lake Chad and north of

the Zambezi River in South Africa. Toward this objective she was

steadily marching even before the war broke out, and she claims the

return of her lost African colonies at the end of the war as a

starting-point from which to resume the interrupted march. Or, rather,

as appears from Count Hertling's recent pronouncement, she claims a

reallocation of the world's colonies, so that she may have a share

commensurate with her world position. This Central African block, the

maps of which are now in course of preparation and printing at the

Colonial Office in Berlin, is intended in the first place to supply the

economic requirements and raw materials of German industry; in the

second and far more important place, to become the recruiting-ground for

vast native armies, the great value of which has been demonstrated in

the tropical campaigns of this war, and especially in East Africa; while

the natural harbors on the Atlantic and Indian oceans will supply the

naval and submarine bases from which both ocean routes will be

dominated, and British and American sea-power will be brought to naught.

The native armies will be useful in the next great war, to which the

German General Staff is already devoting serious attention, as appears

from the book of General von Freytag, the deputy chief of the German

General Staff, recently published here under the title "Deductions of

the World War."

[Sidenote: A great army on the flank of Asia.]

The untrained levies of the Union of South Africa would go down before

these German-trained hordes of Africans, who would also be able to deal

with North Africa and Egypt without the deflection of any white troops

from Germany; and they would in addition mean a great army planted on

the flank of Asia whose force could be felt throughout the middle East

as far as Persia, and who knows how much farther?

[Sidenote: African natives a part of Germany's plan of conquest.]

This is the grandiose scheme. It is no mere fanciful picture, but based

on the writings of great German publicists, professors, and high

colonial authorities, and chapter and verse could be quoted in full

detail for every feature of the scheme. The civilization of the African

natives and the economic development of the dark continent must be

subordinate to the most far-reaching schemes of German world power and

world conquest; the world must be brought into subjection to German

militarism. As in former centuries again the African native must play

his part in the new slavery. Dr. Solf, the present German Colonial

Secretary, in the "Colonial Calendar" for 1917, made the following

pronouncement as to the organic connection of German colonial aims with

her other aims of world power:

[Sidenote: Directions of German aims.]

"The history of our colonies in this world war has shown what was

hitherto wanting in the German colonial empire. It has shown that it was

not a proper 'empire' at all, but merely a number of possessions without

geographical and political connection, and without established

communications.... How greatly would the power of resistance of our

colonies have been increased if they had not been isolated!... These

experiences show what direction our aims must take. We shall achieve the

fulfillment of our desires if we remain conscious that the

colonial-political aim is not something which stands alone by itself,

but must be regarded in organic connection with all other aims which we

are determined to attain by the world war."

Prof. Delbrück, in a recent number of the "Preussische Jahrbücher," thus

sketches the new African Empire:

[Sidenote: Plan for a new African Empire.]

"If our victory is great enough, we can hope to unite under our hand the

whole of Central Africa with our old colony South-west Africa;

Senegambia, Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast, Dahomey, well-populated

Nigeria with the port of Lagos, Kamerun, the rich islands of San Thomé

and Principe with their splendid ports, the Katanga ore district,

Northern Rhodesia, Nyasaland, Mozambique, and Delagoa Bay, Madagascar,

German East Africa, Zanzibar, and Uganda; and in addition the great port

of Ponta Delgado in the Azores--one of the most important and most

frequented coaling stations--and Horta, one of the most important

centers of the transatlantic cable system. At present the Azores belong

to Portugal, which is at war with Germany. Portugal also owns the Cape

Verde Islands, with the port of Porto Grande, one of the most frequented

coaling stations in the Eastern Atlantic.

[Sidenote: The riches of the African territories.]

"All these territories together have over 100,000,000 inhabitants.

United in a single ownership, and with their various characteristics

supplementing one another, they offer simply immeasurable prospects.

They are rich in natural treasures, rich in possibilities of settlement

and trade, and rich in men who can work and also be used in war. To

demand them is not unjust, and does not offend against the principle of

equilibrium, since Germany would thus only be obtaining a colonial

empire such as England and Russia, France and America, have long

possessed."

Franz Kolbe, in the "Deutsche Politik," a year ago thus described the

future rôle for raiders in the South Atlantic:

[Sidenote: Importance of German-West African Coast in combating Great

Britain.]

"The whole coast of West Africa from the mouth of the Cross River to the

mouth of the Orange River would be in German possession. When one only

remembers what immense achievements were performed by the _Emden_ in

the Indian Ocean and by the _Karlsruhe_ in the Atlantic, without any

naval base, without any possibility of replenishing in port their

supplies of munitions, food, etc., it will be realized what the

fortification of half the West Coast of Africa would signify for Germany

and for England! As soon as, in the new war, the Suez Canal is closed

against England by the Turks, all traffic between England and India,

Australia, and South Africa must go round the Cape of Good Hope. But

then all the shipping must pass the coast of German Central Africa. It

would be impossible for England any longer to concentrate her whole

fleet in the North Sea and to menace Germany. She would be compelled to

station a considerable fleet in South Africa for the protection of her

trade, and that would mean a not inconsiderable weakening of her forces

in European waters."

In the same review Emil Zimmermann explains the rôle of German East

Africa in the future scheme of world power:

[Sidenote: German Africa would have balance of power in the East.]

"German Africa, which will find allies at once in Abyssinia and in

Mohammedan freedom movements, will make the employment of black troops

against our European frontiers impossible. German Africa alone will give

us a balance of power in the East and in Africa. It will remove the

Egyptian pressure on Asia Minor. German Africa will make us a world

power by enabling us to exert decisive influence upon the world

political decisions of our enemies and of other powers, and to exercise

pressure on all shaping of policy in Africa, Asia Minor, and southern

Europe."

And in another article in the "Preussische Jahrbücher," he says: "Nearer

Asia cannot continue to exist without this covering of its flank. That

is the meaning of the German colonial question." In other words,

Berlin-Bagdad is not safe without a great German Central or East

African Empire.

[Sidenote: British ambitions are different.]

[Sidenote: German policies dangerous.]

The point of view of the British Empire is very different indeed. In the

first place, it has never had any military ambitions apart from the

measure of sea-power essential to its continued existence; in Africa it

has never militarized the natives, has always opposed any such policy

and has tended to study the natives' interests and regard their point of

view with special favor, often to the no small disappointment of

individual white settlers. Indeed, no impartial person can deny that, so

far from exploiting the natives either for military or industrial

purposes, British policy has on the whole, over a very long stretch of

years, had a tender regard for native interests, and on the whole its

results have been beneficial to the natives in their gradual

civilization. In shaping this wise policy British statesmen have had a

very long and wide African experience to guide them, and in consequence

they have avoided the very dangerous and dubious policies which the

German new-comers have set in motion. Among these not the least

dangerous is to regard the native primarily as raw material to be

manufactured into military power and world power.

[Sidenote: The British Empire asks peace and security.]

In the second place, the objects pursued by British policy on the

African continent are inherently pacific and defensive. It desires no

man's territory; it desires only to live in peace and develop the great

African territories and populations intrusted to its care. And looking

at the future from the broadest points of view, looking at the magnitude

of its material African interests and the future welfare of the vast

native populations, and its difficult task of civilizing the dark

continent; looking further upon Africa as the half-way house to India

and Australasia, the British Empire asks only for peace and

security--international peace and security of its external

communications. It cannot allow the return of conditions which mean the

militarization of the natives and their employment for schemes of world

power; it cannot allow naval and submarine bases to be organized on both

sides of the African coast, to the endangerment of the sea

communications of the empire and the peace of the world. And it must

insist on the maintenance of conditions which will guarantee through

land communications for its territories from one end of the continent to

the other.

[Sidenote: Dependence on communications by sea and land.]

The British Empire is not like Germany, Russia, or the United States, a

compact territorial entity; it is scattered over the globe, and entirely

dependent on the maintenance of communications for its continued

existence. In future these lines of communication should proceed not

only by sea, but also by land. One of the most impressive lessons of

this vast war is the vulnerability of sea-power and sea communications

through the development of underwater transport, and the immense

importance of railway communication. In fact, to be really effective the

two should go hand in hand. Nor are we at the end of the chapter in

discovering new means of transportation. It is not only conceivable, but

probable, that aërial navigation may revolutionize the present transport

situation.

[Sidenote: Prussian militarism cannot be tolerated.]

[Sidenote: The dominions desire a Monroe Doctrine for the South.]

As long as there is no real change of heart in Germany and no final and

irrevocable break with militarism, the law of self-preservation should

be considered paramount; no fresh extension of Prussian militarism to

other continents and seas should be tolerated; and the conquered German

colonies can be regarded only as guaranties for the security of the

future peace of the world. This opinion will be shared, I feel sure, by

the vast bulk of the young nations who form the Dominions of the

British Empire. They have no military aims or ambitions; their tasks are

solely the tasks of peace; their greatest interest and aim is peace.

Voluntarily they joined in this war, and to their efforts is largely due

the destruction of the German Colonial Empire, and the consequent

prevention of the German military system being spread to the ends of the

earth. They should not be asked to consent to the restoration to a

militant Germany of fresh footholds for militarism in the Southern

Hemisphere, and thus to endanger the future of their young and rising

communities who are developing the waste places of the earth. They want

a new Monroe Doctrine for the South as there has been a Monroe Doctrine

for the West, to protect it against European militarism. Behind the

sheltering wall of such a doctrine they promise to build up a great,

new, peaceful world not only for themselves, but for the many millions

of black folk intrusted to their care.

[Sidenote: Germany's stubborn defense of her African colonies.]

The enemy's stubborn defence of his last colony has not only been a

great feat in itself, but is also a proof of the supreme importance

attached by the German Government to this African colony both as an

economic asset and as a strategic point of departure for the

establishment of the future Central African Empire to which I have

referred. At the conclusion of peace our statesmen will be bound to bear

in mind these wider and obscurer issues, fraught with such consequences

to the world and to the British Empire in particular. Perhaps I may be

allowed to express the fervent hope that a land where so many of our

heroes lost their lives or their health; where, under the most terrible

and exacting conditions, human loyalty and human service were poured out

lavishly in a great cause, may never be allowed to become a menace to

the future peaceful development of the world. I am sure my gallant boys,

dead or living, would wish for no other or greater reward.

* * * * *

Greece, as a result of the intrigues of the pro-German king and queen,

was a thorn in the flesh to the Allies for the first years of the war.

The deposition of King Constantine, and the resumption of power of

Premier Venizelos, brought Greece back to the place where her people

wished to be.

GREECE'S ATONEMENT

LEWIS R. FREEMAN

[Sidenote: A meeting with Venizelos.]

The Venizelists had been having a bad time of it from the first, but the

blackest hours of all were those toward the end of last April, when

Constantine was still strong in Athens, and before the Saloniki Allies

had found it practicable or expedient to welcome them to a full

brotherhood of arms. It was during this "dark before the dawn" period

that I had my first meeting with M. Venizelos, a conventional half

hour's interview in the suburban villa, midway along the curve of

Saloniki Bay where the Provisional Government had established its

headquarters.

[Sidenote: The attitude of Constantine.]

I had just come up from Athens, where I had found the Allied diplomats

still smarting under the memories of their ignominious experiences

following Constantine's spectacular coup of the previous December, and

it was by no means the least of these who had told me point-blank that

he could not conceive how it would be possible that Saloniki should be

returned to Greece after the war. Of course it was the Royalist

Government that my distinguished friend had had in mind when he spoke,

but there was not much to indicate at this time that the Greece of

Constantine and his minions was not also going to be the Greece of after

the war.

It was with this state of things in mind, and recalling his well known

ambitions to found a Greater Greece--by extending Epirus north along

the Adriatic, and bringing the millions of Greeks of Asia Minor at least

under the protection of the Government at Athens--that I mustered up my

courage and asked M. Venizelos offhand if he felt confident of being

able even to maintain the integrity of his country as it existed before

the war.

[Sidenote: What Greece must do for the Allies.]

"Not unless those of us Greeks who have remained faithful to the cause

of humanity and our honor are ultimately able to lend the Allies

material help in a measure sufficient to counterbalance the harm the

action of the Royalists has caused them," was the prompt reply; "and by

material help I mean military aid. We must fight, and fight, and keep on

fighting, for it is only with blood--with Greek blood--that the stain

upon Greek honor can be washed away. It is only our army that can save

us, and that is why we have been so impatient of the delay there has

been in equipping it and getting it to the front. The one division we

have in the trenches now, and the two others that are ready to go, are

not enough, but they are about all we have been able to raise so far.

Thessaly is for us (as you may have seen in traveling across it), and

would give us two more divisions at least; but our Allies have not yet

seen fit to allow us to go there after them."

[Sidenote: Venizelos determines to aid the Allies.]

M. Venizelos spoke of a number of other things before I left him

(notably of the extent to which the Russian revolution and the entry of

America had helped him in his fight to save Greece), but it was plain

that the problem uppermost in his mind was that of wiping out the score

of the Allies against his country by giving them a substantial measure

of assistance in the field.

"Do not fail to visit our force on the ---- sector before you leave the

Balkans," was his parting injunction. "There may be a chance of seeing

it in action before very long, and if you do, you will need no further

assurance of the way in which we shall make our honor white before our

Allies and all the world."

[Sidenote: Unenviable position of the Venizelists.]

[Sidenote: Elaborate precautions against treachery.]

The Serbian and two or three other Armies have been worse off in a

physical way, but no national force since the outbreak of the war has

been in so thoroughly an unenviable position on every other score as was

that of the Venizelists at this time. The Serbs and the Belgians had at

least the knowledge that the confidence and the sympathy of the Allies

were theirs. Also, they had chances to fight to their hearts' content.

The Venizelists had scant measure of sympathy, and still less of

confidence; and when their first chance to fight was at last given them,

they were allowed to face the foe only after elaborate precautions had

been taken against everything, from incompetence and cowardice on their

part to open treachery. That this was the fault neither of themselves

nor of their Allies, and had only come about through the perfidy of a

King to whom they no longer swore fealty, did not make the shame of it

much easier to bear for an army of spirited volunteers who had risked

their all for a chance to wipe out the dishonor of their country.

[Sidenote: Spies sent in the guise of deserters.]

The thing that for a while made it so difficult for the Allies to know

what to do with the Venizelist army was the almost ridiculous ease with

which, under the peculiar circumstances of its recruitment, it lent

itself to spying purposes. All the Royalists, or their German

paymasters, had to do to establish a spy in the Saloniki area was to

send over one of their Intelligence Officers in the guise of a deserter

from the Greek army to that of Venizelos, and there he was! To send back

information, or even to return in person, across the but partially

patrolled "Neutral Zone" was scarcely more difficult, and it was the

wholesale way in which this sort of thing went on that made it so hard

for the Allies to decide just who the bona fide Venizelists were, and

just how far it would be safe to trust a force to which the enemy still

had such ready means of access.

[Sidenote: Tact and common sense used.]

There was nothing else for the Allies to do but "go slow" and "play

safe" in dealing with the Venizelist army, and, under the circumstances,

there is no doubt that a difficult situation was handled with a good

deal of tact and common sense. Just how trying the situation of the

Venizelists was, however, I had a chance to see one day when I happened

to be at their Headquarters arranging for my visit to the Greek sector

of the Front. Their troops had acquitted themselves with great credit in

some gallantly carried out raiding operations, which must have made it

doubly hard for them to put up with a new restrictive order just

promulgated by the Supreme Command as a further precaution against the

leakage of information to the enemy.

Just as I was about to take my departure, a copy of the new order was

delivered to the Staff Officer with whom I had been conferring about my

visit to the Front. He read it through slowly, his swarthy face flushing

red with anger as he proceeded.

[Sidenote: A series of humiliations.]

"Have you heard of this?" he said, handing me the paper, and controlling

his voice with an effort, "No man or officer of our army is to cross the

---- bridge without a special permit from General Headquarters. It is

only the latest in the long series of humiliations we have had to put up

with. Just look at the way we stand. In Athens our names are posted as

traitors who can be shot on sight. Here it isn't quite like that,

but--well (he raised his hand above his head and let it fall limply in

a gesture of despair), all I can say is that the only officers of the

Venizelist army to be envied are those whose names are recorded here

(indicating a file at his elbow). It's the death-list from

day-before-yesterday's fighting."

[Sidenote: Venizelist troops succeed in big attacks.]

Owing to the delay in issuing my pass in Saloniki, I did not arrive at

Greek Headquarters until the evening of the day on which the big attack

had taken place, and it was day-break of the morning following before I

was able to make my way up to the advanced lines. The Venizelist troops

had taken all their objectives, and held them with great courage against

such counterattacks as the surprised Bulgars--who, not expecting an

attack from the Greeks, had made the mistake of massing too much of

their strength against the British and French attacks to east and

west--were able to organize against them. They had been busy all night

"reversing" the captured trenches in anticipation of a determined

attempt on the part of the reinforced enemy to retake them in the

morning.

[Sidenote: Movement carried out without confusion.]

The hilly but well-metaled cartroad, along which by the light of the

waning moon I cantered with an officer of the Greek staff, had been

thronged all night with the surging current of the battle traffic--an

up-flow of munition convoys and reinforcements, and back-flow of wounded

and prisoners--but I could not help remarking the comparative quiet and

absence of confusion with which the complex movement was carried on.

[Sidenote: The Greeks seem to understand the game of war.]

"Somehow this doesn't seem quite like the transport of a new army just

undergoing its baptism of fire," I said to my companion. "I've seen

things on the roads behind the western front in far worse messes than

any of these little jams we've passed to-night. These chaps are as

businesslike as though they'd been at the game for years."

[Sidenote: Veterans of the Balkan wars.]

"So they have," was the quiet reply. "Our army, as recruited so far, is

a new one only in name. The men who attacked yesterday were of the

famous S---- Division, which fought all through the last two Balkan wars

and gained no end of praise from all the foreign military attachés for

its great mountain work. It was this Division which scaled the steep

range beyond Doiran and drove the Bulgars out of Rupel Pass."

[Sidenote: The Battle of "Rupel Pass."]

"The S---- Division," "Rupel Pass." Instantly I recalled how a British

General, over on the Struma a few days previously, had pointed out to me

a steep range of serried snow-capped mountains towering against the

skyline to the northwest, and told me that the feat of the Greeks in

taking a division over it at a point where even the wary Bulgar had

deemed it impossible was one of the finest exploits in the annals of

mountain warfare.

"The Italians have fought the Austrians at a greater altitude in a

number of places in the Alps, and in our wars with the Himalayan

tribesmen we have sent our Gurkhas twice as high. But all of that was

after more or less preparation. Here, the Greeks simply started off and

went over that range with only their rifles and the packs on their

backs. I know of nothing to compare with it save the taking of

Kaymakchalan by the Serbs last November in the operations which freed

Monastir. Not many in Saloniki have had much good to say of the Greek as

a soldier of late, but you may be sure that we can do with more men of

the kind that crossed that mountain range, and there is no reason why

Venizelos should not be able to bring them to us."

[Sidenote: A favorable position for observation.]

The hill from which we were to follow the action jutted out of the

mountains into the plain like the bow of a battleship. So favorable was

its position for observation--from its brow a wide expanse of mountain

and valley was spread from twenty to sixty miles in three

directions--that the British and French as well as the Greeks maintained

posts there. We found the officers in both of the Allied "O. Pips"

[signal corps talk for O.P., meaning observation post] highly

enthusiastic over the work of the Greeks in their attack of the

preceding day.

[Sidenote: The evening bulletin.]

We found two officers in the British Observation Post chuckling over the

evening bulletin, which had just been delivered to them. "You have to

read between the lines of Sarrail's 'Evening Hope' if you want to get at

the real facts," said one of them. "It's what it fails to tell you, that

you really want to know. Now, you might be able to gather from this that

all the Balkan Allies have been doing quite a bit of attacking during

the last day or two at various parts of the Front from Doiran west to

Albania, but you have to go between the lines to find that our shifty

Bulgar friend over there gave most of them as good or better than they

gave him all the way. It's sad but true that in this, our 'Great Spring

Offensive,' as the papers at home have talked of it, the whole lot of

us--French, British, Russian, Italian, and even the Serb--have been

fought to a standstill by the Bulgar. Far as I can see, the only gain we

have to show for it is in the casualty lists."

I failed to see just what there was to chuckle about in such an

interpretation of the glowing lines of the evening bulletin, and said as

much.

[Sidenote: Successes of the little Venizelist army.]

"It isn't funny in the least," was the reply, "and it would seem still

less so if we could see at close range some of the things that are lying

out on a hundred miles of these accursed mountain sides as a

consequence of what has happened. But what _did_ strike us as a bit rich

was the fact that, of all the Allies, this little piece of the

Venizelist army, which we have held in leash all winter while we made up

our minds as to whether it would be safe to slip or not, is the only one

of the whole lot of us that has taken all the objectives set for it."

A sporting instinct and a grim sense of humor--the readiness to admire a

brave foe and the ability to extract amusement from discomfiture--are

the two things that have conspired to make the British soldier so

uniformly successful in treating those "twin impostors," Triumph and

Disaster, "just the same."

[Sidenote: The view across the Vardar.]

The sky was lightening and throwing into ghostly silhouette the line of

the mountain ridge across the Vardar by the time we had pushed on out

along the communication trench to the Greek Observation Post on the

extreme brow of the hill. Since midnight the enemy "heavies" had been

coughing gruffly under the mist-blanket that overlaid the plain,

dappling it with alternately flashing and fading blotches of light till

it glowed fantastically like a lamp-shade of Carrara marble;

star-shells, fired with a low trajectory, popped up and dove out of

sight again, throwing a fluttering green radiance over the white pall

which swathed the battlefield.

[Sidenote: The Bulgar preparing to go over the top.]

The mist-mask must have fended the day-break from the plain long after

it was light upon the hill from where we watched, for it was not until

the range of serrated peaks to the east of Doiran was all aglow with the

red and gold of sunrise that the higher-keyed crack of the enemy's

field-guns came welling up to tell us that the Bulgar was getting ready

to go over the top. The flame-spurts--paling from a hot red to faded

lemon as the light grew stronger--splashed up against the mist-pall as

the jet of an illuminated fountain rises and falls, and down where the

battered first-line trenches faced each other the dust-geysers of the

exploding shells rolled up in clouds to the surface of the thinning

vapors as the mud of the bottom boils up through the waters of an

agitated pool.

[Sidenote: The Allied artillery opens.]

For a minute or two the ragged line of the barrage wallowed forward

through the outraged mist alone. Then, as a sudden flight of rockets

spat forth from the Greek first line to warn that the enemy infantry was

on the way, all the Allied artillery that could be brought to bear

opened up and began dropping shells just behind where the murky

mist-clouds marked the swath of the Bulgar barrage.

For the space of perhaps two or three minutes the fog-bank swirled and

curled in swaying eddies as the shells came hurtling into it;

then--whether it was from a sudden awakening of the wind or through the

licking up of its vapors by the first rays of the now risen sun, I never

knew--almost in the wave of a hand, it was gone, revealing a broad

expanse of trench-creased plain with a long belt of gray figures moving

across it in a cloud of dust and smoke.

[Sidenote: Lively hand-to-hand fighting.]

"It isn't much of a barrage as barrages go on the western front," said

Captain X---- half apologetically. "Their artillery won't do much harm

to us, and, I'm afraid, ours not much to them. And we'll hardly be

having enough machine guns emplaced to sting them as they ought to be

stung for swarming up in masses like that. But if it's only a

second-class artillery show, I still think I can promise you--if only

the Bulgar has the stomach for it--a livelier bit of hand-to-hand

fighting than you might find in a whole summer of looking for it in

France. Do you see those little winking flashes all along where the

infantry are moving? Some of them are from bayonets, but most are from

knives. A great man with the knife is the Bulgar. Did you ever hear that

song about him they sang at a revue the British 'Tommies' had at

Saloniki? It was a parody on some other song that was being sung in the

halls in London, and went something like this:

[Sidenote: A Bulgar song.]

I'm Boris the Bulgar,

The Man With the Knife;

The Pride of Sofia,

The Taker of Life.

Good gracious, how spacious

And deep are the cuts,

Of Boris the Bulgar,

The Knifer--

"Now for it! Look at that!"

[Sidenote: The barrages lift and the Greeks advance to meet the

Bulgars.]

I never did hear just what it was that Boris was a knifer of, for at

that juncture the two barrages--having respectively protected and

harried to the best of their abilities the advancing wave of infantry

down to within a hundred yards or so of the Greek trenches--"lifted"

almost simultaneously on to "communications," and that lifting was the

signal for the opening of the climacteric stage of the action. Without

an instant's delay, a solid wave of Greeks in brown--lightly fringed in

front with the figures of a few of the more active or impetuous who had

outdistanced their comrades in the scramble over the top--rose up out of

the earth and swept forward to meet the line of gray. The gust of their

first great cheer rolled up to us above the thunder of the artillery.

"Now for it!" repeated X----, focussing down his telescope and steadying

himself with his elbows. "I think you'll find the show from now on worth

all the trouble of coming up to see."

[Sidenote: the Bulgars break and retreat.]

I do not attempt to account for what happened now; I only record it. It

may have been that the Allied artillery had wrought more havoc in that

advancing wave of men than had been apparent from a distance, or it may

have been that the enemy artillery had done less to the entrenched

defenders than it was expected to do; at any rate, the line of gray

began to break at almost the first impact of the line of brown, and the

great hand-to-hand fight that X---- had promised me was transformed into

a Marathon.

[Sidenote: Greeks have always beaten the Bulgars.]

"As I expected," muttered my companion. "'Boris' has no stomach for a

fight to-day with the man who licked him yesterday, and will lick him

to-morrow and go right on licking him to the end if they'll only give

him a show. The Bulgar never has stood up to the Greek, and he never

will."

[Sidenote: The Greek Staff is in a mountain valley.]

[Sidenote: Scarcity of nurses.]

The Greek Staff shared a round bowl of a mountain valley, a few miles

back from the front lines, with a clearing station. The equipment of the

little hospital had mostly been provided by the British Red Cross, but

the Venizelists had made a brave effort to furnish the staff themselves.

There were two French-trained Greek surgeons, a Greek matron, Greek

orderlies, and two Greek nurses. Since the attack began there had been

work for a dozen of the latter, but--as it had been impossible for the

women of most of the Venizelist families to get away from Old Greece--no

others were available. An English nurse, who had marched in the retreat

of the Serbians, and a French nurse from a Saloniki hospital had

volunteered to step into the breach, and these five women were

courageously trying to make up in zeal what they lacked in numbers.

[Sidenote: Working double hours.]

"We are not enough for a double shift since the fighting began," Madame

A----, the matron, had said to me the night of my arrival; "so we are

accomplishing the same end by working double hours. We are working to

atone for the dishonor our King has brought upon our country, just as

our men are fighting to atone for it; and the harder we all work and

fight the sooner it will come about."

The last thing to catch my eye as I looked back from the rim of the

valley when I rode away at midnight had been the flash of a bar of light

on a white uniform, as a tired figure had drooped against the flap of a

hospital tent for a breath of air.

[Sidenote: Women nurses go without sleep.]

"If any one of those women has had a wink of sleep in the last three

days," Captain X---- had said as we reined in to let a string of

ambulances go by, "it must have been taken standing. I have been up most

of the time myself, and never once have I looked across to the clearing

station but I saw some sign of a nurse on the move."

[Sidenote: Venizelos at the nurses' mess.]

Madame A---- had asked me to drop in at the nurses' mess for luncheon in

case I got back from the trenches in time, and this, by dint of hard

riding, I was just able to do. Three or four powerful military cars

drawn up at the hospital gate indicated new arrivals, but as to who they

were I had no hint until I had pushed in through the flap of the mess

tent and found M. Venizelos seated on a soap-box, _vis-à-vis_ Madame

A---- at a table improvised from a couple of condensed milk cases. At

the regular mess table, sitting on reversed water-buckets, were three

French flying officers and a civilian whom I recognized as the private

secretary of M. Venizelos. Two nurses were just rising from unfinished

plates of soup in response to word that a crucial abdominal operation

awaited their attendance at the theatre.

"Most of the Provisional Government has come out to pay us a visit this

morning," said Madame A----, showing me to a blanket-roll seat at one

end of the mess table, "and we are lunching early so that it can get

back to Saloniki to take up the reins of State again. The General has

carried off the Admiral and the Foreign Minister, but I have managed to

keep the President for _our_ banquet. He has made the round of the

hospital and spoken to every man here--that is," she added with a catch

in her voice, "to all that could hear him. We've--we've lost three men

this morning just because there wasn't staff to operate quickly enough."

[Sidenote: A strange banquet at which the guests contribute.]

That was, I think, one of the strangest little "banquets" I ever sat

down to. Every one travels more or less "self-contained" in the Saloniki

area, and whenever a party is thrown together the joint supplies are

commandeered for the common good. The mess menu was a simple one of

soup, tinned salmon, rice, and cheese, but by the time M. Venizelos's

hamper had yielded a box of fresh figs, a can of the honey of Hymettus,

and a couple of bottles of Cretan wine, and the French officers had

"anted up" cognac, some tins of _flageolet_ for salad, and a tumbler of

_confiture_, and the English nurse had brought out the last of her

Christmas plum-cake, and I had thrown in a loaf of Italian _pan-forte_

and a can of chocolates, the little crazy-legged camp-table had assumed

a passing festal air.

[Sidenote: No one speaks of war at the feast.]

A number of toasts were proposed and drunk, but no one spoke of the

nearer or remoter progress of the war. M. Venizelos adverted several

times to the wonder of the spring flowers as he had seen them from the

road, especially the great fields of blood-red poppies, and I overheard

him telling Madame A---- some apparently amusing incidents of his early

life in Crete. But it was not until, the banquet over, he had settled

himself in his car for the ride to Saloniki that he alluded to any of

the things with which his mind must have been so engrossed all the time.

"So you thought that our troops had all the best of the enemy this

morning?" he said with a grave smile as he shook my hand.

"Incomparably the best of it," I answered.

[Sidenote: Why Venizelos is confident in the power of Greece.]

"Then perhaps you will understand why I felt so confident that the

Bulgars would not have come into the war if they had known that Greece

would stand by Serbia. And you will also understand why I feel so

confident that our military help to the Allies will be a very real one,

perhaps enough of a one even to save Greece from herself."

This was, I believe, the latest occasion on which M. Venizelos visited

his troops at the front. Before another fortnight had gone by the forces

of the "Protecting Powers" were moving into Old Greece, and in a month

Constantine had abdicated and opened the way for the return of his

former Prime Minister to Athens.

[Sidenote: The maker and Savior of Modern Greece.]

From the time of the Balkan wars of 1912-13 to the outbreak of the

present one Venizelos was often referred to as "The Maker of Modern

Greece." After this war he may well be known as "The Savior of Modern

Greece"; and of the two achievements there can be no doubt that history

must record that the one of "saving" was incomparably greater than the

one of "making."

[Sidenote: What the influence of Venizelos may do.]

It is still too early to make it worth while to endeavor to forecast

what is on the knees of the capricious war-gods of the Balkans, and

there is no use in trying to deny that the Bulgar--just as long as

Germany has the power and will to back him up--will take a deal of

beating. But that Venizelos will be able to make the army of reunited

Greece a potently contributive factor in bringing about that

devoutly-to-be-wished consummation may now be taken as assured.

Copyright, World's Work, January, 1918.

* * * * *

We have seen in a previous narrative the difficulties which the Italians

encountered in conducting their campaign against Austria. As a result of

German falsehood and propaganda, the Italian line was weakened and

penetrated by a great German army, and the Italian lines were swept

back. They finally held, however, and the strength of their resistance

is indicated in the following pages.

THE ITALIANS AT BAY

G. WARD PRICE

[Sidenote: Udine as it seemed before the war.]

Udine was a typically quaint and sleepy little Italian town galvanized

into unnatural life and prosperity. Every one who has spent a week in

Italy can put the picture of the place before his imagination in a

moment: streets of dark, restful, Gothic cloisters; a broad piazza

flanked by a graceful loggia; remains of medieval fortification of which

the towering gate-houses still narrowed each entrance to the town; a

general air of pleasant tranquillity and of a well-being that was a

legacy from the more spacious days of centuries gone by. The nature of

the place was that of mellow old wine, very gracious, rich with

associations that brought a glow to the palate of memory, but for all

that something of which one wanted only little at a time. A glimpse of

Udine as she had been for centuries was delightful, to dwell there would

seem like being buried alive.

[Sidenote: Bustle and congestion when Udine becomes Army Headquarters.]

To this forgotten township of the old Venetian province had come

suddenly in the spring of 1913 all the bustle and congestion of the

headquarters of the whole Italian Army. For the next two and a half

years you could hardly find a room in Udine to sleep in; the people of

the place opened large modern restaurants and cafés for the officers and

soldiers who crowded its streets; big shops filled the gloom of the old

arcades with an incongruous expanse of plate-glass windows; the good

burgesses of Udine made money and waxed fat.

[Sidenote: A tactical dead-lock on the western front.]

It seemed, indeed, as if the steady shower of war prosperity that had

fallen upon them for two years might last until that indefinite, but to

most minds far-off, day when peace should come. For it was the general

opinion that in the West, at least, the war had reached a condition of

tactical dead-lock. Trench warfare had petrified movement, except in

laborious shifting of a few hundred yards at a time, hardly perceptible

on a small-scale map. The day of sweeping advances, of sudden

retirements, was over. At a reasonable distance behind that unbudging

wall of trenches you were as secure from personal displacement by the

war as if you were at the other end of Italy; indeed, no earlier than

the beginning of this month of October some people had arrived with

their families at Udine from other parts of the country to carry on

trades connected with the life of the army.

[Sidenote: General Cadorna praises the British batteries.]

I myself set foot in Udine for the first time on October 20. I was going

back to the Macedonian front, where for two years I had been the

official correspondent of the British Army, and I had asked the War

Office to authorize me to visit on the way the British batteries which

since April had been cooperating with the Italian Army on the Isonzo.

General Cadorna had given them high praise in a message to the British

Government after the fighting in which they had taken part in May, and I

thought it would be interesting to see British and Italian troops side

by side in the field for the first time.

[Sidenote: Visits to the Italian front yield important information.]

Visitors to the Italian front used to find most convenient arrangements

made to give them a rapid idea of conditions there. Lying almost

entirely among mountains, the line presented unusual opportunities for

survey from dominating heights, and there were many places where, at

leisure and in virtual safety, one could watch the Austrian

intrenchments from close range. Fast cars took you up to these

vantage-points, and a number of staff-officers, speaking perfect English

and knowing every detail of the front and its history, raised these

visits from the level of sight-seeing excursions to opportunities for

learning a great deal that was important and technical.

[Sidenote: The Austro-German offensive begins.]

The very last of these journeys, which had been made by visitors of

every country, took place on October 24, the day that the great

Austro-German offensive began, and I remember how, as we drove along in

the rain, all our talk was of the bad news of that morning--that the

enemy, reinforced by a huge number of divisions brought secretly from

the Russian front, and profiting by a night of rain and fog, had thrust

down into the valley of the Isonzo between Plezzo and Tolmino, carried,

apparently by surprise, two Italian lines across the ravine after a

short and very violent bombardment, and then, pushing on, had captured

Caporetto, thus cutting off the Italian troops on Monte Nero and the

other mountains beyond the Isonzo, and opening a most serious gap in the

very center of the Italian line.

[Sidenote: Gorizia has suffered from the war.]

[Sidenote: A shell interrupts the sight-seers.]

The day was one of evil omen. We went to Gorizia, that pretty Austrian

spa that was taken by the Italians last year, and has suffered from the

war as much as Udine, its neighbor across the old frontier, has

prospered. In the heart of the town its old castle towers up from an

isolated crag, and from the battlements you can look across the valley

to the Italian and Austrian lines on the slopes of San Marco opposite.

Scores of parties like our own had made this visit to Gorizia Castle,

and to-day the driving rain and valley mists made observation so bad

that it seemed more than usually safe to show oneself above the ramparts

on the side toward the enemy. Yet we had not been there three

minutes--a group of two well-known American correspondents and one

Italian, with an Italian officer, and myself--when an Austrian six-inch

shell burst with a crash hardly ten feet from the right-hand man of our

line. A black wall of flying mud towered up and blotted out the sky;

three of us were thrown headlong by the force of the explosion. Only the

fact that the shell had fallen deeply into the rain-softened bank of

earth on top of the battlements saved the names of the last four

visitors to the Italian front from being recorded on graves in Gorizia

cemetery.

"I've brought people here seventy or eighty times," said the officer who

was with us, "and nothing like that has ever happened before."

"We've evidently brought bad luck," said some one, and so, little though

we guessed it, we had.

[Sidenote: The Italians expect an Austrian push.]

During the first fortnight of October it had been a remark frequently

made throughout Italy that an Austrian push was probable before the real

winter set in. I had heard this likelihood discussed by people at the

Chamber of Deputies on my way through Rome, but without serious

significance being given to it. The Austro-Swiss frontier had been

closed for five weeks, always a sign that important movements of troops

were going on in the enemy's country; something more unusual was that

even the postal mails from Austria to Holland and Scandinavia had been

suspended.

[Sidenote: Cadorna believes the enemy will use large reserves.]

According to the talk one heard in Italy, Cadorna had already had in

mind the chance of a strong autumn attack on his army when he arrested

his own offensive in September after capturing by a brilliant stroke the

greater part of the Bainsizza plateau beyond the Isonzo, taking thirty

thousand prisoners and one hundred and fifty guns. The French and

British general staffs, it was said, had asked Cadorna whether he meant

to go on with his offensive, for which they had contributed contingents

of guns. Cadorna's reply had been that he had strong Austrian forces

against him, of which he knew the total, but that he also believed large

reserves of unknown quantity were available for use against him, owing

to the collapse of the Russian Army. In these circumstances he preferred

to consolidate and prepare rather than to continue to challenge forces

that could not be exactly estimated.

Both the increase of enemy strength on the Italian front and the

paralyzing uncertainty under which the Allies labored, were directly due

to the debacle of the Russian Army during the summer. The means by which

commanders-in-chief arrive at the indispensable knowledge of what forces

they have against them is through a highly organized intelligence

department, working in close cooperation with the similar departments of

the other Allied armies.

[Sidenote: How the enemy's strength is ascertained.]

Each of these departments, by interrogating prisoners and reading papers

found on enemy dead, by collating the reports of the air service, by

minutely sifting the enemy press, arrives at a fairly accurate knowledge

of the enemy's order of battle on the front of its own army. So

essential is this system to the successful carrying-on of operations

that raids are often specially organized on the enemy trenches with the

sole object of capturing prisoners who may be able to give information

that will clear up some point about which there is uncertainty. All the

knowledge of the enemy's dispositions thus collected by each of the

Allied armies is open to all of them; it is exchanged and compared and

collated, so that they finally arrive at a fairly complete knowledge of

the distribution of the enemy's forces in each one of the theaters of

war.

[Sidenote: The Russian intelligence department collapses.]

Now, when the Russian Army went to pieces in the summer, its

intelligence department collapsed with the rest. The Russian Army has

taken virtually no prisoners for a long time, and consequently the facts

about what troops the Austrians and Germans have on that front have not

been ascertainable. It was known that the enemy used to have about one

hundred and thirty divisions there, but no one could tell whether they

still remained or whether they had been brought away to be held in

reserve for some sudden operation on another front.

[Sidenote: The attack by the Austro-Germans a surprise.]

In this way it came about that the sudden attack by an unexpectedly

large Austro-German force upon the Isonzo line took the Italians by

surprise, with the result that they lost in three days not only all they

had won in two and a half years of hard fighting, by sacrifices and

sufferings and labors beyond human estimation, but also the larger part

of that rich north-eastern department of their country which was for

centuries the metropolitan province of the great Venetian republic.

[Sidenote: Enemy has a great number of fresh guns.]

On October 22 we learned at Italian headquarters that ten German

divisions, about one hundred and twenty thousand men, had arrived behind

the enemy front on the Isonzo and were concentrated in reserve round

Laibach. This was the first time in the whole war that German troops had

met the Italians on this front. The number of new Austrian divisions was

reported to be even greater. Many new batteries of heavy caliber had

also arrived and were registering their ranges; indeed, when the attack

actually came, it was found that the number of fresh guns was even

greater than had been thought, for some of them did not reveal their

position by registering, but, taking their ranges from guns earlier in

position, fired not a round until they joined in that terrific first

bombardment with which the attack opened on the morning of October 24.

[Sidenote: Italians expect to hold west side of Isonzo.]

Most serious was the situation, but even yet no one grasped how bad the

reality was going to be. It was generally accepted that all ground

beyond the Isonzo would have to be abandoned, but it seemed beyond all

doubt that the Italians would be able to make good their defense along

the steep ridge that forms the western side of the Isonzo valley. As you

looked from those heights across the river, it was like looking from the

wall of a medieval castle; you dominated everything, and behind you were

great Italian guns ready to fill the gorge of the Isonzo and the slopes

beyond with a barrier of bursting steel.

But one of those combinations that have often helped the Germans in this

war helped them to the success that seemed impossible. It was made up of

the secrecy with which they had been able to complete their

preparations, of the luck of surprise and bad weather, and above all of

the fatal failure in their duty of certain detachments of the Italian

forces.

[Sidenote: German propaganda has created disaffection in every Allied

country.]

[Sidenote: Soldiers everywhere are weary of war.]

One of the successes of this year's German offensive was the creation in

the heart of an efficient and gallant army of this canker of

disaffection by propaganda that has been as energetic and as dangerous

to our cause as any of the enemy's operations in the field. In every

Allied country it has been active; among the English it is at work

corrupting labor, preying on the nerves of the overstrained worker, and

whispering any subtle lie that will sap his will and undermine his

spirit. In France one fractional part of the widespread organization

that carries on this treacherous work is being exposed by the

revelations in the Bolo case. In Italy the Germans cunningly twisted

fanatics, both socialist and clerical, into agents for forwarding their

work, and they had flooded the country with money to corrupt the army

which they had not been able to beat in the field. The individual

soldiers of every country, including above all the Central empires

themselves, are dead-weary of the war, but the enemy alone has had the

cunning and the baseness deliberately to exploit this feeling to his

profit, working through the agency of bought traitors and hired spies.

And so the Austro-Germans had managed to imbue a limited part of the

Italian Army with the distorted idea that the quickest way to regain the

longed-for comforts of peace was to refuse to fight and thus open the

way for a rapid Austrian victory.

When this ferment of disloyalty had done its work, the Germans were

ready to attack the particular sector of the line held by the troops

that it had most affected. These were on the left wing of the Italian

Second Army, which held the front of the Isonzo from Plezzo down to

Tolmino, and it was on that point that the enemy directed his first

thrust.

[Sidenote: The news of the taking of Caporetto.]

The news of the taking of Caporetto on the morning of October 24 had

about as startling an effect at Italian headquarters as would be

produced on the British front if it were suddenly announced that the

Germans were in Ypres. Not only was Caporetto a town on the Upper Isonzo

which the Italians had seized by dashing forward across the frontier the

very morning that war was declared, but it also stood at the head of a

most important strategical valley leading back into the mountains on

which the Italian main line lay, and from the town lead several easy

roads that follow various routes into the plain beyond. Already the

enemy was pressing in force along those roads. The Italians had, indeed,

fallen back to reserve positions, but were the enemy to win through--as

he did within two days--he would be on the flank and almost in the rear

of the whole Italian Army of a million men.

[Sidenote: Rapid progress of the Germans is difficult to explain.]

[Sidenote: Italian outposts are surrounded.]

Just how the Germans progressed so fast that by noon on October 24 they

had a machine-gun posted on the square in Caporetto still remains, eight

days later, incompletely explained. All that is really known is this: at

2 a.m. they started a very violent bombardment. When the shelling

suddenly stopped after only two hours, the Italians regarded the

interruption merely as a lull, for the artillery preparation for an

infantry attack in force usually lasts much longer. With the valley

hidden by darkness, mist, and rain, and seeing more dimly than usual

through the mica of their gas-masks, the Italians knew nothing of the

German infantry's advance up the valley from the Santa Lucia bridgehead,

south of Tolmino, until the enemy had actually reached their wire. In

this way the Plec line of defense across that reach of the Isonzo known

as the Conca di Plezzo, a line specially designed to check an offensive

from Santa Lucia, was captured by surprise, and then German troops

poured down into the river gorge from Mrzli on its eastern side, until

the valley was full of the enemy, and Monte Nero and the other Italian

outpost positions on the heights beyond the Isonzo were completely

surrounded.

[Sidenote: Violent fighting on the Bainsizza plateau.]

The valley being in their possession, the Germans wasted no time.

Pushing northward along the river, one detachment occupied Idersko and

Caporetto; another proceeded to assault the height of Starijok, just

above Caporetto; yet another strong force made a frontal attack on the

ridge of Zagradan, which runs like a wall along the Italian side of the

river, and after fierce fighting took Luico, one of the pivots of the

defenses upon it. Elsewhere he had attacked at the same time with less

definite result. Mount Globocak was seized by surprise. It was an

Italian big-gun position, and orders were given for it to be retaken at

any cost. So a distinguished brigade of bersaglieri was sent up to

counter-attack, and drove the Germans from the captured guns down the

slopes of Globocak again. North of Caporetto, too, the angle of the

Italian line at Zaga had been assailed, but had resisted, and across the

river on the Bainsizza plateau the most violent fighting of all took

place, as a result of which the Italian line was withdrawn from Kal, and

the heavy guns and equipment were sent back across the Isonzo, though

the Italian counter-attacks on the Bainsizza were carried out with such

dash that they captured several hundred Austrian prisoners.

[Sidenote: Danger that the Italian Army may be trapped.]

Now the enemy's plan stood out in all its formidable strength and

strategy. He had opened a gap in the Italian front; through this gap he

was pouring overwhelming forces. Already the rest of the Italian Second

Army and the Third Army on the Carso to the south of it were outflanked.

If the whole of that great force was not to have its line of

communications cut and be surrounded, it must be immediately and rapidly

withdrawn for a great distance. An immense sacrifice of Italian

territory was imperative if the Italian Army was to be saved from a trap

by the side of which the fall of Metz was the capture of an outpost.

During the afternoon of October 25 the general order of retreat was

given.

[Sidenote: Austrians use seventeen-inch howitzers.]

I went up again to visit the British batteries which were with the Third

Army on the afternoon of the twenty-fifth, and from one of their

observatories watched the heavy shelling. The Austrians were using huge

seventeen-inch howitzers, and the explosions of their gigantic shells,

each weighing a ton, was like a small eruption. A solid block of piebald

smoke as big as a cathedral sprang into the air and it was a minute or

more before the last of it had drifted away.

[Sidenote: Monfalcone the most romantic point in the fighting line.]

And as the sun was setting I went down to Monfalcone, to a place which

could not be mentioned then, but which was at the same time probably the

oddest and the most romantic point of the world's fighting-line.

Monfalcone was for the Austrians a sort of combination of Birkenhead and

Bournemouth. There were important ship-building yards there, and it had

besides popularity as a seaside place. In the shipyard the Austrians had

left an eighteen-thousand-ton liner, of which the hull was complete and

the decks built in.

[Sidenote: Tools of constructive labor are dropped.]

To reach the ship you passed through a yard that was a rusty monument to

the futility of war. There were all the tools of constructive labor just

as they had been dropped when this nightmare of destructive passion

burst upon the world; weather-reddened traveling cranes rusted to the

tracks on which they will never move again; trucks overturned, a lathe

smashed by a shell that had torn a wide gap in the roof above. Here,

where the air used to tremble all day long with the clang of giant

hammers, there was now silence and desertion, and the offices from which

great ships were controlled on their voyages to far-off seas had become

the barracks of Italian artillery-men.

[Sidenote: The partly built Austrian liner.]

There was a big wooden staircase that the Italians had built leading up

to the various decks of the great liner, and, once on board, you could

walk out to the forward bridge of the ship where from a sort of

conning-tower you looked out at the Austrian trenches less than a mile

away without the possibility of being seen. An odd observation post,

neither asea nor ashore, and to make the confusion of elements more

complete, the gunners whose guns barked continually from just behind it

were sailors of the Italian Navy, dressed not in blue, but in military

gray-green.

[Sidenote: A view of coveted Triest.]

Triest, the coveted city, lay ten miles away in full view, and each

night the Italians saw its windows answer with flashes of dull gold the

last rays of the sun setting behind Italy. As you looked from Monfalcone

across the dreamy blue of the empty gulf between, the town lay like a

stone image, lifeless except for the white smoke curling gently from a

single tall chimney into the quiet evening air. Much nearer along the

coast was the Castle of Duina standing on an abrupt cliff. It belongs to

the Grand Duchess of Thurn and Taxis, who used to gather parties of

poets, painters, and writers there to stay in what was like a legendary

palace looking down from its high headland upon the sunlit, sail-flecked

Adriatic, stretching away into the shining distance.

[Sidenote: The Italians are evacuating the Bainsizza plateau.]

It was from that last fair glimpse of Triest that you turned back to the

grave realities of situation. On the next morning, the twenty-sixth, the

Italian supreme command announced that the Bainsizza plateau was being

evacuated. It had been won with great losses and gallantry in August,

and the Italians had laboriously equipped it with roads and military

establishments to create a firm taking-off place for the next attack

upon the crest of Mount Gabriele, which was expected to drive the

Austrians back for five miles up the Vippaco valley, on the way to

Laibach, one of the back-doors to Triest.

The same day came the news of the fall of the Italian Government, which

had been attacked during the fortnight by a strange combination of the

advanced wing of the pro-war party who considered that the ministry was

not displaying enough firmness in its conduct of the campaign, with the

pacifist socialist party who denounced the Government for infringing

the constitutional rights of the people in the interests of militarism.

A feeling of _malaise_ was in the air. All the elements of success were

present in the Italian Army except the most important of all, the

psychological element.

[Sidenote: Evacuation of Udine.]

By this time motor-lorries had already begun to pour back through Udine,

and in the streets the Signal Corps were taking down the

telegraph-wires. You saw little parties of father, mother, and children

suddenly emerge from house or shop, each with hand-luggage. If you

looked closely you generally saw that the woman was crying.

[Sidenote: Air fights between Germans and Italians.]

On the twenty-sixth there were frequent attempts to reach Udine by

German flyers who were new to the ground. It was the first time that the

Italian Air Corps had had to deal with a German attempt to contest their

supremacy and they came well out of the trial. Ten enemy machines were

brought down during the day, two individual Italian airmen accounting

for three each. When the enemy machines were sighted heading for Udine

the jarring scream of a siren gave the alarm, and the police cleared the

streets.

Saturday, October 27, was the day of general exodus.

[Sidenote: Batteries hold rearward positions.]

I left Udine early on Saturday morning, in the car of the British

general commanding our artillery contingent on the Italian front, to go

up to the batteries and see how they got on in the retreat. We crawled

out toward the front along roads blocked with rearward-moving traffic

for which there was no organization, and after lunching at the general's

headquarters at Gradisca, I went on to Rubbia, just across the Isonzo,

to the south of Gorizia, where was the group headquarters of the

batteries. Already the supply service of the Third Army were pouring in

a black mass along the road, screened at the side and overhead by

rushmats from the observation of the enemy. Voices and hammering under

the long wooden bridge across the Isonzo at Rubbia were signs that the

Italian engineers were putting in position charges of explosive to blow

it up when as much material as possible had been brought over. Some of

our batteries had already been withdrawn to rearward positions not far

from group headquarters and were firing as fast as the guns could be

reloaded. The others were still in their old emplacements a mile or so

farther forward, being shelled terrifically by the Austrian twelve-inch

batteries, but having extraordinary luck. They were using up as much of

their ammunition as they could, because it was becoming clearer every

moment that the Italian transport service was not going to be able to

supply the lorries to move the shells, which were big enough for fifty

of them to make a full lorry-load.

[Sidenote: Lack of motor lorries to move ammunition.]

A major from one of the batteries came into group headquarters while I

was in the mess. He was dark under the eyes after a couple of sleepless

nights, for his men had been working hard all round the clock to get the

ammunition back from the forward dumps, labor that afterward proved

wasted, as there were no lorries forthcoming to carry it farther on.

Sixty twelve-inch shells and one aeroplane bomb a yard away from one of

his four guns was the afternoon's experience of his battery, and only

one man wounded made up the casualty-list for the same period.

"And I'm going to have a damn good dinner to-night whatever happens," he

announced. "Goodness knows when we shall eat or sleep again. So the

fowls and the rabbits we had in the battery are being killed this

afternoon."

[Sidenote: English and French artillery dependent on Italian transport.]

There were Austrian shells falling on the hill by group headquarters,

but none fell on that dense-packed road along which military traffic of

every kind and shape crawled and stuck and crawled on again. The tension

grew greater at our headquarters. The guns needed tractors to move them,

and motor-lorries were required to carry the battery stores. For the

English artillery contingent had no transport of its own, the

arrangement having been that this should be supplied by the Italians.

The French artillery contingent with the Italian Army, on the other

hand, was independent in this respect.

The organization with regard to the transport of guns is different in

the Italian and the British armies. The British system is that every gun

shall have its motor or horse-haulage permanently assigned to it, so

that it is always mobile at a moment's notice. In the Italian army the

mechanical transport service provides haulage for all units when

required, and as it is only in extraordinarily exceptional circumstances

that every single thing in the army needs moving at once, they are able

to effect considerable economies over the British method, which

constantly keeps large numbers of lorries and tractors and cars,

together with their drivers and mechanics, idle, since the units to

which they are attached are not at the moment in need of transport.

[Sidenote: Doubtful if all the British guns can be moved.]

By the time it was dark on Saturday evening the likelihood of all the

British guns getting away seemed doubtful, and the Italian artillery

colonel who supervised their employment as corps artillery came to our

group headquarters to say that preparations must be made for blowing the

last of them up, and that in any case each tractor must tow more than

one gun and come back for others directly it had got its first tows

behind the Isonzo.

[Sidenote: Enormous conflagration of military stores.]

And now the darkening landscape suddenly began to spring out into

brilliant points of light, as everywhere behind the Italian front,

supply-depots, military stores, and vast collections of wooden sheds

were set in a blaze. Gorizia was the site of a special conflagration,

and the enemy gun-fire was steadily increasing, till sometimes the

barrage rose to a single prolonged roar, and you could not have got a

knife edge between the bursts.

By 7.30 p.m. six of our guns were across the river and the rest were now

firing like field artillery, with no other batteries between them and

the enemy. They kept up this protection of the retreat of the infantry

so long, in fact, that the last round of all, at about 10 p.m., was

fired just before the gun was hitched to the tractor, and there was yet

another gun that had its breech mechanism smashed for fear it might have

to be left behind.

[Sidenote: Abandoned ammunition is exploded.]

[Sidenote: Like a volcanic eruption.]

The bright moon hung in a pale-green sky, looking down on a dozen roads

each crawling like a black snake with the close press of retreating

troops. As I was making my way back to Gradisca the whole firmament

leaped into sudden brilliance and every feature in every face among the

throngs around me on the road stood out for several seconds under a

ghastly light. Then followed from behind Monte Michele, a deep, rolling

roar. It was the first of the explosions of the great abandoned stores

of gun-ammunition behind the front. From then till dawn the night sky

was continually breaking into a glare like that of gigantic sunset, and

the crash of destroyed artillery ammunition shook the ground. The less

brilliant, but steadier, glow of burning stores and sheds and houses was

constantly multiplied, and the flash of every new explosion revealed

fresh masses of black smoke rising in sharp outline against the lurid

horizon. It was an apocalyptic spectacle; nothing short of a volcanic

eruption could produce those tremendous effects of infernal

illumination. Millions of pounds' worth of material, all the fruits of

two and a half years of labor, were burned and blasted out of existence

in a few hours.

[Sidenote: The necessity for speed.]

[Sidenote: Valuable stores abandoned for lack of lorries.]

The difficulty that complicated the Italian evacuation of their war-zone

was the fact that every hour the need for speed became more urgent, if

utter disaster was to be averted. A unit would be given twelve hours to

get to the point on the railway where it was to entrain and then an hour

later its time-limit would be reduced to two hours. A headquarters might

be told that a sufficient supply of motor-lorries would be available to

evacuate all its material and that it had better begin getting rid of

chairs and tables and its superfluous stuff at once, but no sooner had

these less important stores gone than word would come that no more

transport was available and that all the immensely valuable stores and

reserves of ammunition that still remained, must be abandoned, as no

lorries could be found for them.

[Sidenote: Difficulties in a sudden retreat.]

[Sidenote: Every officer tries to save his supplies.]

Moving a great army is an affair of time-tables. There is room for only

a certain amount of men and material on the roads and railways at one

time, and every man and every wagon above that maximum becomes a factor

of confusion and retards the movement of the whole mass to a dangerous

degree. The sudden retreat of an army is often reduced to chaos, first,

because a thoroughly worked-out plan of general retirement exists but

rarely in the strong-boxes of any general staff, and secondly, because

in the absence of a time-table drawn up in detail and strictly enforced,

the elementary principle of self-preservation leads every unit of the

army to put itself on the road as quickly as it can get transportation.

This is not to say that confusion is an invariable indication of

personal panic; but it is very natural, and even very proper, that every

battery commander, the director of every military store and depot, and

the leader of every body of troops which is not definitely ordered to

remain, should have the individual determination that his particular

command shall not fall into the hands of the enemy. The artillery

officer firmly resolves that he will save his guns at all costs; the

heads of supply departments are in charge of valuable stores which their

army needs for its very existence and which would be of great aid to the

enemy if captured, and the troop-leader naturally argues that it would

be futile to allow his men to be cut off when a general retreat has

already been ordered. So if the organization of withdrawal is left to

the discretion of the people involved in it, as it has to be when the

whole thing has not been deliberately arranged beforehand, confusion is

almost inevitable.

[Sidenote: Fear of being cut off by the enemy.]

[Sidenote: Only severest means can stop civilian traffic.]

[Sidenote: Modern war is a wild fury of destruction.]

Moreover, the enemy always seems to be advancing much faster than he

really is. Under the discouragement that every army feels in falling

back, it is easy to credit the pursuer with exaggerated powers of rapid

motion; the defeated soldier forgets that the miles are just as long and

weary for his adversary trudging painfully after him as they are for

himself. Rumor, too, spreads wildly among tired and disheartened men.

Enemy cavalry, enemy armored motor-cars, hurrying ahead to cut him

off--that idea haunts the mind of each man in an enforced retirement. A

further complication is caused when, as was the case in the Italian

withdrawal, the civilian population is also desperately anxious to be

gone before the arrival of the enemy. The news of the forthcoming

evacuation of territory spreads backward with rapidity, and the roads

along the route of the retreating army fill at once with unregulated,

disorderly swarms of frightened civilians and their household baggage,

hastily stowed on slow-moving dilapidated carts that are likely to break

down at narrow points of the way and block whole miles of military

traffic for hours at a time. The Italian Army had to endure a great deal

of that kind of complication. Theoretically, of course, a general could

throw back cavalry and mounted police along the line of his retreat and

forbid any civilian traffic whatever under pain of military penalties;

but it is very difficult to use such measures against your own

countrymen threatened with invasion, specially when the whole aim and

object of your war is to free men of your own race from foreign

domination. And not only does the sentimental reason of saving

fellow-citizens from the yoke of an invader forbid this course, but also

considerations of common humanity. In the old wars, when the danger-area

of fighting was restricted to the places where opposing troops actually

came into contact, there was no particular danger for the civilian

inhabitants remaining in invaded territory; though their property might

suffer from the enemy's requisitions, their lives were likely to be

safe. But wars of this modern character spread destruction broadcast

over a whole region. A rear-guard action will involve a rain of shells

that may smash to pieces any village on the line of retreat; gas may be

used, creeping into the refuges where the non-combatant population has

taken shelter, and choking them there like vermin in a hole. War is no

longer a civilly organized affair of pitched battles; it is a wild fury

of destruction, raging across the whole country-side like a typhoon.

If the English batteries on the Italian front had brought with them to

Italy their full organization of transport, they could have saved all

their ammunition and stores, their ordnance workshops and supplies. As

it was, they had been incorporated in the Italian Army as corps

artillery on the Italian basis; they had to take their chance of getting

transport along with every one else, and consequently of all their

equipment they could save only the guns themselves, which after all was

what chiefly mattered.

[Sidenote: A marching army does not seem as numerous as the same in

confusion.]

Discipline is a camouflage of numbers. A thousand men marching past in

column of fours does not make upon the mind the same impression of

multitude as the sight of half that number in a disordered rabble.

Regularity and compactness reduce the appearance of mass; and you

receive a profounder suggestion of size from a comparatively small pile

of natural rocks than you do from the geometrical pyramids. In the same

way an army whose formations are suddenly relaxed seems to swell

enormously in numbers. You can drive through a region where a million

men are stationed under regular military organization and get no idea of

congestion, but if those men are suddenly dissolved from a closely knit

body into a crowd of individual persons, the same country-side seems

hardly large enough to hold them all.

[Sidenote: Discomforts of the retreat.]

So, as with that little party of Englishmen I started on the retreat in

the early morning hours of October 28, we seemed to be engulfed in a

constantly broadening flood of human beings. We were in a train, the men

in open trucks, miserable enough under the cold, streaming rain, the

officers crowded into a closed van with the baggage. When we started in

the dark we had the train to ourselves, but as I awoke three hours later

from an uneasy sleep and looked out of the van, the rest of the train

already swarmed with Italian soldiers who had clambered upon it as it

crept along at a snail's pace. And when dawn came we saw ahead of us a

long vista of trains stretching out of sight, while behind stood

another queue of them, whistling impatiently like human beings at a

ticket office; sometimes one of them would back a little and make the

others behind it back too, all screeching furiously with their whistles

exactly as if they were trying to shout, "Where are you coming to?"

[Sidenote: The one idea is to keep on moving.]

Along the railway, and on the roads at both sides of it, and across the

fields beyond the roads, moved at the same time a crawling mass of

people, all going in the same direction, all at about the same pace,

without stopping, without talking to one another, every one of them just

plodding slowly, wearily, persistently rearward. As you watched them you

knew that each man had in his mind just one idea, to keep on moving like

that until he knew that he was safe. There was no panic or fighting

during the retreat except at isolated times and places; the situation

was just this, that for the unique and imposed will that sways an army

there had been substituted a multitude of individual wills all striving

independently for the same end of self-preservation.

[Sidenote: People seem unaware of the others.]

These dark, sluggish streams of men and vehicles and beasts crept

tortuously over the country-side like the channels of a delta trickling

to the sea. Here and there little eddies of stragglers had been thrown

out to each side. It is a curious thing, which I have noticed under

similar conditions before, that each person or little group of persons

in this mass of human beings seemed almost unaware of the presence of

the rest. You would see a family party of peasants gathered round their

ox cart and making a meal of bread and raw red wine without so much as a

glance at the motley thousands streaming by at their elbows; a soldier

would strip off his wet clothes on the road's edge to change them for

some that he had looted from a wayside store with no apparent

perception of the women trudging past; nor did they seem to notice him.

The niceties of convention are quickly dulled by fatigue, and it is only

the easefulness of modern life that makes the coarser little realities

of human nature seem shocking.

[Sidenote: The crowds get clothes from stacked trucks.]

Among the trains that stretched out of sight along the line there were

some trucks stacked with bundles of military mackintoshes, woolen

helmets, shirts, thick socks. Some inquisitive soldier discovered these

and disinterred a complete outfit for himself. A few minutes later he

was a changed figure, with clean clothing in place of his own muddy,

rain-soaked things, and a stiff blue mackintosh and sou'wester hat over

all. The transfiguration attracted envious attention, and he was

besieged with questions. Soon those trucks with their piles of white

packages looked like giant sugar-basins swarming with wasps, and all

around were throngs jostling one another for the next place on the heap.

It was all quite good-humored; they were all laughing, waving their

arms, calling to friends on the trucks to throw them a shirt or a

waterproof, and when these things came flying down to them they turned

away with the satisfied smile of children. Nothing puts human beings in

such thoroughly good temper as to get something for nothing.

[Sidenote: A litter of old clothes on the road.]

[Sidenote: Two Italian ladies follow the track.]

In this way the whole track soon became a litter of old clothes, which

the retiring soldiers trampled into the mud. Amid all this chaos one

kept on meeting utterly incongruous figures, for with all the world

road-worn, shabby, and dirty, to be clean and well-dressed is to be

grotesque. Amid this multitude of haggard, unwashed, unshaven, dead-beat

males, I noticed two Italian ladies treading delicately over the rough

ballast of the railway-track. They had naturally brought with them in

their flight the most valuable of their possessions, which were of a

kind to be most conveniently carried on their persons. Against this gray

background of mud and rubbish and a disbanded army their two figures

glittered with a brilliance that would have been conspicuous in the rue

de la Paix. Heavy sable furs and muffs almost bowed their shoulders;

each finger had two or three rings that flashed in the light; round

their necks were gold chains hung with pendants, and yet, instead of the

air of self-satisfied ostentation that might well have gone with a

display so lavish, there were only two pathetically little, frightened,

perplexed faces, and an uncertain gait that did not promise much further

progress along that ankle-wrenching railway-line.

By this time I had left the train, which had taken thirty hours to cover

fifteen miles, and was walking ahead along the track. There was always

the chance that something might happen to the two bridges farther on

over the Tagliamento, and I wanted to be on the same side of the river

as the telegraph office when that occurred.

[Sidenote: The Tagliamento bridges dominate the retirement.]

These bridges were the feature that dominated the whole movement of

retirement. In military terms, they constituted a defile upon its route.

Everything had to converge upon one of those three narrow passages, and

until they were crossed there was no security for the Italian Army.

Rear-guard actions were, indeed, fought at intermediate places such as

the line of the Torre, west of Udine, where General Petiti di Roreto

made a stand with six brigades, the valley of the Judrio, the heights

above Cormons. But such efforts could do no more than delay the enemy's

advance; the respite that the Italian Army so urgently needed to pull

itself together, to reassemble its units, redistribute its artillery,

and, in short, gather into one hand again the scattered threads of

control, could be found only behind the Tagliamento River, forty miles

back from the old front line.

[Sidenote: Rain fills the Isonzo and holds back the enemy.]

Fortunately from Saturday night through Sunday night, the first period

of the retreat of the fighting troops as distinct from the rearward

services of the army, it poured torrentially with rain, and this, while

increasing the hardships endured by the men, contributed in two ways to

their salvation; for one thing it swelled the swift and now bridgeless

Isonzo, which the enemy had to cross, brimful, and turned the

Tagliamento, usually a trickle of water in an untidy stony bed across

which a man can wade, into a broad deep flood; it, furthermore, kept the

Austrian and German aeroplanes from following up to sweep with bomb and

machine-gun the tightly packed road where they could have massacred

victims by the hundred and might have turned the retreat into a hopeless

rout.

Though the men exposed in open trucks or sludging along the muddy roads

and swampy fields had cursed the rain bitterly, its value to our side

became conspicuously plain when Monday morning broke bright with autumn

sunshine.

[Sidenote: Troops fill the village of Latisana.]

It was about ten o'clock on that morning when I reached the village of

Latisana, where was the southernmost bridge across the Tagliamento. The

streets of the little town were simply chock-a-block with troops which

were pouring into it from converging roads. Two or three Italian

officers, splashed to the eyes with mud and hoarse with shouting, had

organized some control at this point, or otherwise nothing would have

moved at all. Pushing soldiers this way and that, seizing horses' heads,

straining their voices against the din of clattering motors, they held

up each stream of traffic in turn for a few minutes and passed the

other through.

[Sidenote: An English soldier keeps his air of efficiency.]

[Sidenote: Men in great need of food.]

Conspicuous in his khaki among this spate of Italian gray, stood an

English soldier contentedly munching dry brown bread. The motor-bicycle

at his side indicated him as a despatch-rider belonging to one of the

batteries. It would have been hard to say whether machine or man was the

more travel-stained. The cycle's front wheel was badly bent, evidently

by some collision; the soldier's hand was bound with a dirty rag, and

his face clotted with the blood of a congealed scratch, the result of

having been pushed off the road by a motor-lorry in the dark and falling

head-long down a stone embankment. Yet about both mount and man there

was still an air of efficiency and unimpaired fundamental soundness that

was encouraging, and the mud-plastered figure saluted the English

officer at my side with a flick of the wrist that would have passed on

the parade-ground at Wellington Barracks. Two guns of his battery, he

reported, were three or four miles back down the road; the men were

dead-beat, but the worst was that they had had nothing to eat for

thirty-six hours, owing to the tractor that had their rations on board

catching fire and burning them; they had picked up scraps of bread that

other troops had dropped, and some of them had tried and appreciated

cutlets from a dead mule; they needed food to restore their strength for

they had been working hard without sleep for two days and nights. It had

been forty-eight hours of continuous hauling on those heavy guns, which

were constantly getting edged off the road by other traffic, and which

had to be unhitched every time the tractor stopped because it was so

overloaded that it would not start with the full weight of its tow. So

the officer had sent him on ahead to scout for food, and he had just

found a _sosistenza_ where they had given him a sack of bread to take

back.

"You all right yourself?" asked my officer-companion.

"Quite all right, sir, thank you," he answered, and slinging the bulging

sack across his shoulders, the despatch-rider straddled his battered

bicycle and set off on a sinuous path through the wedged traffic, with

his bent front-wheel writhing like a tortured snake.

[Sidenote: Finding the way to reach Padua.]

[Sidenote: Walking single file through the mud.]

This news of the existence of a _sosistenza_ was good hearing. I myself

had not the least idea of how to get to Padua, the nearest place from

which I could hope to send a telegram, except by walking there; and

Padua was sixty miles along the railway-line. Two days' walking, two

brown loaves the gift of the Italian officer in charge of the

bread-depot, and a stick of chocolate; it was a prospect of no

allurement. I stepped into place in the long trail of refugees and

started, however. It needed no more than two hours of stumbling over

sleepers and crunching on the rough stone ballast of the track to make

of me as tired and dull-witted a hobo as the rest. We all walked in

single file, keeping as far as possible to a strip of soft mud at the

side of the line where the going was easier, and one's whole mind had

become before long entirely concentrated on nothing more than the

increasing soreness of two tired feet and the gradual development of a

blister on a big toe. From Portogruaro onward, however, my own personal

luck changed, and by getting one lift after another I reached Padua the

same night.

[Sidenote: British guns wait to cross.]

[Sidenote: An Italian colonel attempts to keep order on the bridge.]

[Sidenote: A panic is started.]

[Sidenote: Austrian aeroplanes are overhead.]

[Sidenote: Italian officers check panic.]

[Sidenote: Airplane opens fire on the road.]

Gradually the throng at the Latisana bridge increased, and eventually no

less than eleven of the British guns attached to the Italian army were

drawn up at the side of the road waiting their turn to cross. The

English colonel who commanded the group to which they belonged had

arrived and was using the funnel of the bridge to collect his scattered

units. The men refreshed with the bread that they had received from the

Italian food-depot, were resting by the side of the road; an Italian

artillery colonel, under whose command the guns had been when on the

Third Army front as corps artillery, was on the bridge trying to hold up

the onpressing, unbroken string of heterogeneous traffic long enough for

the English guns to be edged into the procession. Then suddenly one of

these things happened to which an army in retreat is peculiarly liable.

How it started no one seems to know. One theory is that Austrian

soldiers dressed in Italian uniforms had been hurried on ahead by the

enemy to mingle with the retreat and spread such panics. What actually

happened was that several men galloped up all at once on horseback

shouting, "The Austrians are here." Immediately the crowd, hitherto

patiently waiting its turn to cross the bridge, made one simultaneous

push toward its opening. Beyond the river there was the whole

country-side to scatter over; on this side they could expect no other

fate than to be caught helplessly in a trap. It was like a stampede in a

burning theater; the desperate eagerness of every person in the crowd to

get on the bridge stopped almost any one from getting there. Carts and

people at the edge of the road were shoved down the embankment by the

weight of the dense mass surging along its center. And then to add to

the terror of the moment there was heard above the shouts and oaths of

the struggling mob a low, foreboding hum, the characteristic drone of

Austrian aeroplanes. It is hard to see what could have come of the

situation but complete and bloody disaster if it had not been for the

decided action of some Italian officers. By main force they thrust into

the middle of the entrance to the bridge and checked the panic with

sheer personal determination. The sound of their authoritative voices

brought back the sense of discipline that had momentarily gone. Under

their orders the pushing throng sorted itself into some order. A jibing

mule was summarily shot to clear the road, and so in a few minutes,

despite the constant approach of the low-flying enemy aircraft, a way

was cleared for the English guns to cross the bridge. They were scarcely

over when the first Austrian machine, swooping down, dropped bombs and

opened fire with its machine-gun on the tight-packed road. The attack

did not do much damage, though one British Red Cross car was filled as

full of holes as a pepper-pot; but the experience showed how much worse

the retreat would have been had not the heavy rain of the week-end kept

the Austrian airmen in their hangars.

[Sidenote: The army reaches Tagliamento.]

So the retiring army reached the Tagliamento, and completed the first

stage of its retreat. Once behind that barrier the Italians could be

sure of a certain breathing space, but to secure its protection was the

most difficult part of their rearward movement. To the constant

convergence which the lack of more than three bridges rendered necessary

must be attributed much of the confusion of the retirement and the

abandonment of the military equipment that was still to the east of the

Tagliamento when the pressure of the enemy finally compelled their

destruction.

[Sidenote: Germans try to cross the upper course of Tagliamento.]

[Sidenote: Enemies who cross are killed or captured.]

The Germans fully realized the formidable obstacle to the retreat of the

Italians which this rain-swollen river constituted, and they made a

determined effort to secure for themselves a passage across its upper

course while the Second and Third Armies to the south were not yet

behind the stream. There is a bridge a few miles west of the town of

Gemona which was not being used by the retreating army because of its

comparatively flimsy construction. The Tagliamento, then very high, was,

like many mountain streams, subject to very rapid rises and falls.

Therefore, part of the enemy advance-guard, which was following up the

Italian retirement was pushed on ahead to try to obtain control of this

bridge at Gemona, for use at any rate when the waters had sunk a little.

This German detachment forced its way across the bridge with

considerable courage, some of them being swept away by the swift stream

pouring over it, but on the other bank they were immediately faced with

stout resistance by the Italian rear-guard, and with their backs to the

river virtually all the enemy who had crossed the Tagliamento were

killed or captured.

[Sidenote: Gallant conduct of the rear-guard.]

The gallant and skilful conduct of the rear-guard of the Italian army

is, indeed, the brightest part of the gloomy story of the retreat.

[Sidenote: The Italian armies are on the defensive.]

[Sidenote: The war now a struggle against invaders.]

The cavalry, specially, played a distinguished part in covering the

retirement. Charging machine-guns with the lance, and holding commanding

positions until they were virtually cut off, these regiments had very

heavy losses. A retreat where circumstances make it impossible to get

the whole of the army away imposes upon the rear-guard a call for

special self-sacrifice, since the moment never comes, when, the whole of

the main body being safely past, it can break off the combat and itself

retire, its duty done. In the withdrawal of the armies that were along

the front in the Cadore and Carnic Alps, occasions of this kind occurred

several times during the week throughout which the retreat lasted, when

rear-guard detachments were completely surrounded. At Lorenzago a force

in this position succeeded in cutting its way back to join the main body

again; west of Gemona, however, the remnants of the Thirty-sixth

Division were so thoroughly engulfed by the advancing Austro-German

forces that, having used up all their ammunition, they were obliged to

surrender. And so, gradually, not without moments of discouragement

almost amounting to despair, the Italian armies, which ten days before

had been fighting on Austrian territory with every prospect of carrying

still further a series of victories that had lasted two years and a

half, found themselves on the defensive far back of their own borders,

awaiting the attack of a triumphant and advancing foe. It had been a

terrible trial for them and for the nation at their back. Almost in one

night, dreams of imperial expansion, cherished with an enthusiasm that

gave them an air of virtual reality, faded into a remoteness beyond

reckoning. The war that had been from the first gloriously offensive,

was suddenly transformed into an outnumbered struggle against invaders

who had already seized half of one of the richest provinces of Italy.

Yet, though numbed by the shock and stricken to the heart by the

realization of her disaster, Italy reacted well. There was no talk of

yielding to be heard, only anxious discussion of the best means of

organizing the further resistance that would so soon be necessary.

For though the great majority of the Italian army had succeeded for the

moment in escaping from the grasp of the Austro-Germans, the enemy was

steadfastly pursuing. Encouraged by a victory that must have more than

realized his most ambitious hopes, reinforced by captured guns and

material, he would wait only long enough to get sufficient strength into

position before hurling the whole of his weight once more against the

Italian line.

[Sidenote: Impossible to meet the second shock on the Tagliamento.]

To meet this second shock on the Tagliamento was not possible. The river

itself quickly became, as the rain stopped and the waters fell, too

easily traversable an obstacle to be worth fortifying. The line which it

would have imposed upon the Italian army was, moreover, too long to be

held in the depth desirable for resistance to the attack of superior

numbers. So the Tagliamento was occupied as an intermediate position

only long enough to shield the further retreat of the army and its

transport behind the broader and deeper stream of the Piave.

[Sidenote: The new stand behind the Piave.]

[Sidenote: Winter rains will delay enemy's heavy guns.]

Here at the time of writing the Italian forces are in position and the

enemy's advanced detachments have begun to register ranges and destroy

possible observation posts across the river with such artillery as they

have so far had the time to bring up. Whether the Piave line and the

rest of the Italian front to the westward, which has had to be modified

in conformation with the general movement of retreat, can be held

indefinitely, will probably be a question of heavy guns. If the enemy

can bring up his larger artillery before reinforcements of the same

character arrive from France and England, a further retreat from north

and east to another river line may well be necessary. Fortunately the

winter rains that have set in make for delay in the arrival of such

cumbrous war-engines as the Austrian seventeen-inch mortars, and it may

be that persistent mud and rain will compel the Austrians to be

satisfied with holding the considerable tract of territory that they

have won.

[Sidenote: Danger that Venice must be abandoned.]

[Sidenote: Cathedrals and palaces are protected by sand bags.]

But all preparations are being made to face the conceivable eventuality

of another retirement. The most serious consequence that this would

entail would be the abandonment of Venice and the necessity of bringing

that inestimable city within close range of the destruction of war. Even

at this early stage, therefore, while the danger to Venice is as yet not

urgent, the Italian Government is doing its best to surround her with

the protection of such neutrality as the conventions of war, for what

they are worth, secure to undefended and unoccupied towns. No person in

uniform is allowed to enter the place and the civilian population is

being encouraged to leave by free railway transport and subventions to

support them until they can settle elsewhere. Even in such tragic hours

Venice keeps up her old tradition of light-heartedness. The cafés round

the great piazza are full in the evenings with a cheerful crowd.

Moreover, to go into St. Mark's is to enter a sort of neolithic grotto;

the pillars, set about with sand-bags, have the girth of the arcades of

a Babylonian temple; bulging poultices of sacks protect each fresco; as

a building it reminds one of a German student padded for a duel. The

Doge's Palace, too, is more hidden with scaffolding than it could have

been when it was being built; each of those delicate columns of

different design is set around with a stout palisade of timber balks.

Venice, indeed, looks like a drawing-room with the dust-sheets on the

furniture and the chandeliers in bags, and to complete the parallel, the

family is going away before one's eyes.

Sad days for Italy, days unimaginable a month ago. There must, indeed,

be virtue in the Allies' cause since such ordeals as these still leave

our courage high.

Copyright, Century, March, 1918.

* * * * *

The bottling up of the Harbor of Zeebrugge and the attempted closing of

the Harbor of Ostend formed what was probably the most brilliant single

naval exploit of the war. These daring and successful attempts are

described in the narrative following.

BOTTLING UP ZEEBRUGGE AND OSTEND

THE OFFICIAL NARRATIVE

[Sidenote: The _Vindictive_ as she lies in Ostend Harbor.]

Those who recall High Wood upon the Somme--and they must be many, as it

was after the battles of 1916--may easily figure to themselves the decks

of H.M.S. _Vindictive_ as she lies to-day, a stark, black profile,

against the sea haze of the harbor amid the stripped, trim shapes of the

fighting ships which throng these waters. That wilderness of debris,

that litter of the used and broken tools of war, lavish ruin and that

prodigal evidence of death and battle, are as obvious and plentiful here

as there. The ruined tank nosing at the stout tree which stopped it has

its parallel in the flame-thrower hut at the port wing of _Vindictive's_

bridge, its iron sides freckled with rents from machine-gun bullets and

shell-splinters; the tall white cross which commemorates the martyrdom

of the Londoners is sister to the dingy, pierced White Ensign which

floated over the fight of the Zeebrugge Mole.

[Sidenote: The _Iris_ and the _Daffodil_ which shared the honors.]

Looking aft from the chaos of her wrecked bridge, one sees, snug against

their wharf, the heroic bourgeois shapes of the two Liverpool

ferry-boats (their captains' quarters are still labelled "Ladies Only")

_Iris_ and _Daffodil_, which shared with _Vindictive_ the honors and

ardors of the fight. The epic of their achievement shapes itself in the

light of that view across the scarred and littered decks, in that

environment of gray water and great still ships.

[Sidenote: The three cruisers that were sunk at Zeebrugge.]

Their objectives were the canal of Zeebrugge and the entrance to the

harbor of Ostend--theirs, and those of five other veteran and obsolete

cruisers and a mosquito fleet of destroyers, motor-launches and coastal

motor-boats. Three of the cruisers, _Intrepid_, _Iphigenia_ and

_Thetis_, each duly packed with concrete and with mines attached to her

bottom for the purpose of sinking her, _Merrimac_-fashion, in the neck

of the canal, were aimed at Zeebrugge; two others, similarly prepared,

were directed at Ostend. The function of _Vindictive_, with her

ferry-boats, was to attack the great half-moon Mole which guards the

Zeebrugge Canal, land bluejackets and marines upon it, destroy what

stores, guns, and Germans she could find, and generally create a

diversion while the block-ships ran in and sank themselves in their

appointed place. Vice Admiral Keyes, in the destroyer _Warwick_,

commanded the operation.

[Sidenote: The conditions favorable for the attack.]

There had been two previous attempts at the attack, capable of being

pushed home if weather and other conditions had served. The night of the

22nd offered nearly all the required conditions, and at some fifteen

miles off Zeebrugge the ships took up their formation for the attack.

_Vindictive_, which had been towing _Iris_ and _Daffodil_, cast them off

to follow under their own steam; _Intrepid_, _Iphigenia_, and _Thetis_

slowed down to give the first three time to get alongside the Mole;

_Sirius_ and _Brilliant_ shifted their course for Ostend; and the great

swarm of destroyers and motor craft sowed themselves abroad upon their

multifarious particular duties. The night was overcast and there was a

drift of haze; down the coast a great searchlight swung its beams to and

fro; there was a small wind and a short sea.

[Sidenote: The _Vindictive_ heads for the Mole.]

[Sidenote: The wind helps make a smoke-screen.]

From _Vindictive's_ bridge, as she headed in towards the Mole with her

faithful ferry-boats at her heels, there was scarcely a glimmer of

light to be seen shorewards. Ahead of her, as she drove through the

water, rolled the smoke-screen, her cloak of invisibility, wrapped about

her by the small craft. This was a device of Wing-Commander Brock,

R.N.A.S., "without which," acknowledges the Admiral in Command, "the

operation could not have been conducted." The north-east wind moved the

volume of it shoreward ahead of the ships; beyond it, the distant town

and its defenders were unsuspicious; and it was not till _Vindictive_,

with her bluejackets and marines standing ready for the landing, was

close upon the Mole that the wind lulled and came away again from the

south-west, sweeping back the smoke-screen and laying her bare to the

eyes that looked seaward.

[Sidenote: The star shells discover the ships and battle opens.]

[Sidenote: The _Vindictive_ reaches the Mole.]

There was a moment immediately afterwards when it seemed to those in the

ships as if the dim coast and the hidden harbor exploded into light. A

star shell soared aloft, then a score of star shells; the wavering beams

of the searchlights swung round and settled to a glare; the wildfire of

gun flashes leaped against the sky; strings of luminous green beads shot

aloft, hung and sank; and the darkness of the night was supplanted by

the nightmare daylight of battle fires. Guns and machine-guns along the

Mole and batteries ashore woke to life, and it was in a gale of shelling

that _Vindictive_ laid her nose against the thirty-foot high concrete

side of the Mole, let go an anchor, and signed to _Daffodil_ to shove

her stern in. _Iris_ went ahead and endeavored to get alongside

likewise.

[Sidenote: Captain Carpenter in the flame-thrower hut.]

The fire, from the account of everybody concerned, was intense. While

ships plunged and rolled beside the Mole in an unexpected send of sea,

_Vindictive_ with her greater draught jarring against the foundation of

the Mole with every plunge, they were swept diagonally by machine-gun

fire from both ends of the Mole and by heavy batteries ashore. Commander

A.F.B. Carpenter (now Captain) conned _Vindictive_ from her open bridge

till her stern was laid in, when he took up his position in the

flame-thrower hut on the port side. It is to this hut that reference has

already been made; it is marvellous that any occupant of it should have

survived a minute, so riddled and shattered is it. Officers of _Iris_,

which was in trouble ahead of _Vindictive_, describe Captain Carpenter

as "handling her like a picket-boat."

[Sidenote: The _Vindictive's_ false high deck and gangways.]

_Vindictive_ was fitted along the port side with a high false deck,

whence ran the eighteen brows, or gangways, by which the storming and

demolition parties were to land. The men were gathered in readiness on

the main and lower decks, while Colonel Elliot, who was to lead the

Marines, waited on the false deck just abaft the bridge, and Captain

H.C. Halahan, who commanded the bluejackets, was amidships. The gangways

were lowered, and scraped and rebounded upon the high parapet of the

Mole as _Vindictive_ rolled; and the word for the assault had not yet

been given when both leaders were killed, Colonel Elliot by a shell and

Captain Halahan by the machine-gun fire which swept the decks. The same

shell that killed Colonel Elliot also did fearful execution in the

forward Stokes Mortar Battery.

[Sidenote: Landing on the Mole.]

"The men were magnificent." Every officer bears the same testimony. The

mere landing on the Mole was a perilous business; it involved a passage

across the crashing, splintering gangways, a drop over the parapet into

the field of fire of the German machine-guns which swept its length, and

a further drop of some sixteen feet to the surface of the Mole itself.

Many were killed and more were wounded as they crowded up to the

gangways; but nothing hindered the orderly and speedy landing by every

gangway.

Lieutenant H.T.C. Walker had his arm carried away by a shell on the

upper deck and lay in the darkness while the storming parties trod him

under. He was recognized and dragged aside by the Commander. He raised

his remaining arm in greeting, "Good luck to you," he called, as the

rest of the stormers hastened by; "good luck."

[Sidenote: The wounded and dying cheer.]

The lower deck was a shambles as the Commander made the rounds of his

ship; yet those wounded and dying raised themselves to cheer as he made

his tour. The crew of the howitzer which was mounted forward had all

been killed; a second crew was destroyed likewise; and even then a third

crew was taking over the gun. In the stern cabin a firework expert, who

had never been to sea before--one of Captain Brock's employees--was

steadily firing great illuminating rockets out of a scuttle to show up

the lighthouse on the end of the Mole to the block ships and their

escort.

[Sidenote: The _Daffodil's_ part in the fight.]

The _Daffodil_, after aiding to berth _Vindictive_, should have

proceeded to land her own men, but now Commander Carpenter ordered her

to remain as she was, with her bows against _Vindictive's_ quarter,

pressing the latter ship into the Mole. Normally, _Daffodil's_ boilers

develop eighty pounds' pressure of steam per inch; but now, for this

particular task, Artificer Engineer Button, in charge of them maintained

a hundred and sixty pounds for the whole period that she was holding

_Vindictive_ to the Mole. Her casualties, owing to her position during

the fight, were small--one man killed and eight wounded, among them her

Commander, Lieutenant H. Campbell, who was struck in the right eye by a

shell splinter.

[Sidenote: The _Iris_ finds her work difficult.]

_Iris_ had troubles of her own. Her first attempts to make fast to the

Mole ahead of _Vindictive_ failed, as her grapnels were not large

enough to span the parapet. Two officers. Lieutenant Commander Bradford

and Lieutenant Hawkins, climbed ashore and sat astride the parapet

trying to make the grapnels fast till each was killed and fell down

between the ship and the wall. Commander Valentine Gibbs had both legs

shot away and died next morning. Lieutenant Spencer, B.N.R., though

wounded, conned the ship and Lieutenant Henderson, R.N., came up from

aft and took command.

[Sidenote: Terrible casualties on the _Iris_.]

_Iris_ was obliged at last to change her position and fall in astern of

_Vindictive_, and suffered very heavily from the fire. A single big

shell plunged through the upper deck and burst below at a point where

fifty-six marines were waiting the order to go to the gang-ways.

Forty-nine were killed and the remaining seven wounded. Another shell in

the ward-room, which was serving as sick bay, killed four officers and

twenty-six men. Her total casualties were eight officers and sixty-nine

men killed and three officers and a hundred and two men wounded.

[Sidenote: The demolition parties on the Mole dynamite buildings.]

The storming and demolition parties upon the Mole met with no resistance

from the Germans, other than the intense and unremitting fire. The

geography of the great Mole, with its railway line and its many

buildings, hangars, and store-sheds, was already well known, and the

demolition parties moved to their appointed work in perfect order. One

after another the building burst into flame or split and crumpled as the

dynamite went off.

[Sidenote: The enemy fights with the machine-guns.]

A bombing party, working up towards the Mole extension in search of the

enemy, destroyed several machine-gun emplacements, but not a single

prisoner rewarded them. It appears that upon the approach of the ships,

and with the opening of the fire, the enemy simply retired and contented

themselves with bringing machine-guns to the shore end of the Mole. And

while they worked and destroyed, the covering party below the parapet

could see in the harbor, by the light of the German star shells, the

shapes of the block ships stealing in and out of their own smoke and

making for the mouth of the canal.

[Sidenote: The _Thetis_ shows the road to all the ships.]

_Thetis_ came first, steaming into a tornado of shell from the great

batteries ashore. All her crew, save a remnant who remained to steam her

in and sink her, had already been taken off by the ubiquitous motor

launches, but the remnant spared hands enough to keep her four guns

going. It was hers to show the road to _Intrepid_ and _Iphigenia_, who

followed.

[Sidenote: The _Thetis_ is sunk.]

She cleared the string of armed barges which defends the channel from

the tip of the Mole, but had the ill-fortune to foul one of her

propellers upon the net defence which flanks it on the shore side. The

propeller gathered in the net and rendered her practically unmanageable;

the shore batteries found her and pounded her unremittingly; she bumped

into a bank, edged off, and found herself in the channel again, still

some hundreds of yards from the mouth of the canal, in a practically

sinking condition. As she lay she signalled invaluable directions to the

others, and here Commander R.S. Sneyd, D.S.O., accordingly blew the

charges and sank her. A motor launch, under Lieutenant H. Littleton,

R.N.V.R., raced alongside and took off her crew. Her losses were five

killed and five wounded.

[Sidenote: The _Intrepid_ follows.]

_Intrepid_, smoking like a volcano and with all her guns blazing,

followed; her motor launch had failed to get alongside outside the

harbor, and she had men enough for anything. Straight into the canal she

steered, her smoke blowing back from her into _Iphigenia's_ eyes, so

that the latter, blinded and going a little wild, rammed a dredger with

a barge moored beside it, which lay at the western arm of the canal.

She got clear though, and entered the canal pushing the barge before

her. It was then that a shell hit the steam connections of her whistle,

and the escape of steam which followed drove off some of the smoke and

let her see what she was doing.

[Sidenote: Sinking of the _Intrepid_ and the _Iphigenia_.]

Lieutenant Stuart Bonham-Carter, commanding the _Intrepid_, placed the

nose of his ship neatly on the mud of the western bank, ordered his crew

away, and blew up his ship by the switches in the chart-room. Four dull

bumps was all that could be heard; and immediately afterwards there

arrived on deck the engineer, who had been in the engine-room during the

explosion and reported that all was as it should be.

[Sidenote: Probable that the canal is effectively blocked.]

Lieutenant E.W. Billyard-Leake, commanding _Iphigenia_, beached her

according to arrangement on the eastern side, blew her up, saw her drop

nicely across the canal, and left her with her engines still going to

hold her in position till she should have bedded well down on the

bottom. According to latest reports from air observation, the two old

ships with their holds full of concrete are lying across the canal in a

V position; and it is probable that the work they set out to do has been

accomplished and that the canal is effectively blocked.

A motor launch, under Lieutenant P.T. Deane, R.N.V.R., had followed them

in to bring away the crews, and waited further up the canal towards the

mouth against the western bank. Lieutenant Bonham-Carter, having sent

away his boats, was reduced to a Carley float, an apparatus like an

exaggerated lifebuoy with a floor of grating. Upon contact with the

water it ignited a calcium flare, and he was adrift in the uncanny

illumination with a German machine-gun a few hundred yards away giving

him its undivided attention.

What saved him was possibly the fact that the defunct _Intrepid_ was

still emitting huge clouds of smoke, which it had been worth nobody's

while to turn off. He managed to catch a rope as the motor launch

started, and was towed for a while till he was observed and taken on

board. Another officer jumped ashore and ran along the bank to the

launch. A bullet from the machine-gun stung him as he ran, and when he

arrived, charging down the bank out of the dark, he was received by a

number of the launch's crew who attacked him with a hammer.

[Sidenote: Shells make incessant geysers in the harbor.]

The whole harbor was alive with small craft. As the motor launch cleared

the canal, and came forth to the incessant geysers thrown up by the

shells, rescuers and rescued had a view of yet another phase of the

attack. The shore end of the Mole consists of a jetty, and here an old

submarine, commanded by Lieutenant R.D. Sandford, R.N., loaded with

explosives, was run into the piles and touched off, her crew getting

away in a boat to where the usual launch awaited them.

[Sidenote: An old submarine is blown up.]

Officers describe the explosion as the greatest they ever witnessed--a

huge roaring spout of flame that tore the jetty in half and left a gap

of over 100 feet. The claim of another launch to have sunk a

torpedo-boat alongside the jetty is supported by many observers,

including officers of the _Vindictive_, who had seen her mast and funnel

across the Mole and noticed them disappear.

[Sidenote: The splendid heroism of men and officers.]

Where every moment had its deed and every deed its hero, a recital of

acts of valor becomes a mere catalogue. "The men were magnificent," say

the officers; the men's opinion of their leaders expresses itself in the

manner in which they followed them, in their cheers, in their demeanor

to-day while they tidy up their battered ships, setting aside the

inevitable souvenirs, from the bullet-torn engines to great chunks of

Zeebrugge Mole dragged down and still hanging in the fenders of the

_Vindictive_. The motor launch from the canal cleared the end of the

Mole and there beheld, trim and ready, the shape of the _Warwick_, with

the great silk flag presented to the Admiral by the officers of his old

ship, the _Centurion_. They stood up on the crowded decks of the little

craft and cheered it again and again.

[Sidenote: The _Warwick_ takes off the men from the canal.]

While the _Warwick_ took them on board, they saw _Vindictive_, towed

loose from the Mole by _Daffodil_, turn and make for home--a great black

shape, with funnels gapped and leaning out of the true, flying a vast

streamer of flame as her stokers worked her up--her, the almost

wreck--to a final display of seventeen knots. Her forward funnel was a

sieve; her decks were a dazzle of sparks; but she brought back intact

the horseshoe nailed to it, which Sir Roger Keyes had presented to her

commander.

[Sidenote: One destroyer, the _North Star_, is sunk.]

[Sidenote: Monitors and siege guns bombard the enemy.]

Meantime the destroyers _North Star_, _Phoebe_, and _Warwick_, which

guarded the _Vindictive_ from action by enemy destroyers while she lay

beside the Mole, had their share in the battle. _North Star_, losing her

way in the smoke, emerged to the light of the star-shells, and was sunk.

The German _communiqué_, which states that only a few members of the

crew could be saved by them, is in this detail of an unusual accuracy,

for the _Phoebe_ came up under a heavy fire in time to rescue nearly

all. Throughout the operations monitors and the siege guns in Flanders,

manned by the Royal Marine Artillery, heavily bombarded the enemy's

batteries.

[Sidenote: The attack on Ostend.]

The wind that blew back the smoke-screen at Zeebrugge served us even

worse off Ostend, where that and nothing else prevented the success of

an operation ably directed by Commodore Hubert Lynes, C.M.G. The coastal

motor boats had lit the approaches and the ends of the piers with

calcium flares and made a smoke-cloud which effectually hid the fact

from the enemy. _Sirius_ and _Brilliant_ were already past the Stroom

Bank buoy when the wind changed, revealing the arrangements to the

enemy, who extinguished the flares with gunfire.

[Sidenote: The _Sirius_ runs aground.]

The _Sirius_ was already in a sinking condition when at length the two

ships, having failed to find the entrance, grounded, and were forced

therefore to sink themselves at a point about four hundred yards east of

the piers, and their crews were taken off by motor launches.

[Sidenote: Operations cannot be rehearsed.]

The difficulty of the operation is to be gauged from the fact that from

Zeebrugge to Ostend the enemy batteries number not less than 120 heavy

guns, which can concentrate on retiring ships, during daylight, up to a

distance of about sixteen miles. This imposes as a condition of success

that the operation must be carried out at night, and not late in the

night. It must take place at high water, with the wind from the right

quarter, and with a calm sea for the small craft. The operation cannot

be rehearsed beforehand, since the essence of it is secrecy, and though

one might have to wait a long time to realize all the essential

conditions of wind and weather, secrecy wears badly when large numbers

of men are brought together in readiness for the attack.

[Sidenote: The _Vindictive_ makes for Ostend.]

The _Sirius_ lies in the surf some two thousand yards east of the

entrance to Ostend Harbor, which she failed so gallantly to block; and

when, in the early hours of yesterday morning, the _Vindictive_ groped

her way through the smoke-screen and headed for the entrance, it was as

though the old fighting-ship awoke and looked on. A coastal motor-boat

had visited her and hung a flare in her slack and rusty rigging; and

that eye of unsteady fire, paling in the blaze of the star-shells or

reddening through the drift of the smoke, watched the whole great

enterprise, from the moment when it hung in doubt to its ultimate

triumphant success.

[Sidenote: Unforeseen conditions add to the difficulties.]

[Sidenote: German destroyers guard the coast.]

The planning and execution of that success had been entrusted by the

Vice-Admiral, Sir Roger Keyes, to Commodore Hubert Lynes, C.M.G., who

directed the previous attempt to block the harbor with _Sirius_ and

_Brilliant_. Upon that occasion, a combination of unforeseen, and

unforeseeable, conditions had fought against him; upon this, the main

problem was to secure the effect of a surprise attack upon an enemy who

was clearly, from his ascertained dispositions, expecting him. _Sirius_

and _Brilliant_ had been baffled by the displacement of the Stroom Bank

buoy, which marks the channel to the harbor entrance, but since then

aerial reconnaissance had established that the Germans had removed the

buoy altogether and that there were now no guiding marks of any kind.

They had also cut gaps in the piers as a precaution against a landing;

and, further, when towards midnight on Thursday the ships moved from

their anchorage, it was known that some nine German destroyers were out

and at large upon the coast. The solution of the problem is best

indicated by the chronicle of the event.

[Sidenote: A still sea and no moon.]

It was a night that promised well for the enterprise--nearly windless,

and what little breeze stirred came from a point or so west of north; a

sky of lead-blue, faintly star-dotted, and no moon; a still sea for the

small craft, the motor-launches and the coastal motor-boats, whose work

is done close in shore. From the destroyer which served the Commodore

for flagship, the remainder of the force was visible only as swift

silhouettes of blackness, destroyers bulking like cruisers in the

darkness, motor-launches like destroyers, and coastal motor-boats

showing themselves as racing hillocks of foam. From Dunkirk, a sudden

and brief flurry of gunfire announced that German aeroplanes were

about--they were actually on their way to visit Calais; and over the

invisible coast of Flanders the summer-lightning of the restless

artillery rose and fell monotonously.

[Sidenote: _Vindictive_ passes.]

"There's _Vindictive_!" The muffled seamen and marines standing by the

torpedo-tubes and the guns turned at that name to gaze at the great

black ship, seen mistily through the streaming smoke from the

destroyer's funnels, plodding silently to her goal and her end.

Photographs have made familiar that high-sided profile and the tall

funnels, with their Zeebrugge scars, always with a background of the

pier at Dover against which she lay to be fitted for her last task; now

there was added to her the environment of the night and the sea and the

greatness and tragedy of her mission.

[Sidenote: Small craft guide the _Vindictive_.]

She receded into the night astern as the destroyer raced on to lay the

light buoy that was to be her guide, and those on board saw her no more.

She passed thence into the hands of the small craft, whose mission it

was to guide her, light her, and hide her in the clouds of the

smoke-screen.

[Sidenote: Precise orders are planned for each stage of operation.]

There was no preliminary bombardment of the harbor and the batteries as

before the previous attempt; that was to be the first element in the

surprise. A time-table had been laid down for every stage of the

operation; and the staff work beforehand had even included precise

orders for the laying of the smoke barrage, with plans calculated for

every direction of wind. The monitors, anchored in their

firing-positions far to seaward, awaited their signal; the great siege

batteries of the Royal Marine Artillery in Flanders--among the largest

guns that have ever been placed on land-mountings--stood by likewise to

neutralize the big German artillery along the coast; and the airmen who

were to collaborate with an aerial bombardment of the town waited

somewhere in the darkness overhead. The destroyers patrolled to seaward

of the small craft.

[Sidenote: The signal is given for the guns to open.]

The _Vindictive_, always at that solemn gait of hers, found the

flagship's light-buoy and bore up for where a coastal motor-boat,

commanded by Lieutenant William R. Slayter, R.N., was waiting by a

calcium flare upon the old position of the Stroom Bank buoy. Four

minutes before she arrived there, and fifteen minutes only before she

was due at the harbor mouth, the signal for the guns to open was given.

Two motor-boats dashed in towards the ends of the high wooden piers and

torpedoed them. There was a machine-gun on the end of the western pier,

and that vanished in the roar and the leap of flame and debris which

called to the guns. Over the town a flame suddenly appeared high in air,

and sank slowly earthwards--the signal that the aeroplanes had seen and

understood; and almost coincident with their first bombs came the first

shells whooping up from the monitors at sea. The surprise part of the

attack was sprung.

[Sidenote: The attack is a complete surprise.]

The surprise, despite the German's watchfulness, seems to have been

complete. Up till the moment when the torpedoes of the motor-boats

exploded, there had not been a shot from the land--only occasional

routine star-shells. The motor-launches were doing their work

magnificently. These pocket-warships, manned by officers and men of the

Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, are specialists at smoke-production; they

built to either hand of the _Vindictive's_ course the likeness of a

dense sea-mist driving landward with the wind. The star-shells paled and

were lost as they sank in it; the beams of the searchlights seemed to

break off short upon its front. It blinded the observers of the great

batteries when suddenly, upon the warning of the explosions, the guns

roared into action.

[Sidenote: Heavy batteries on the Ostend coast open fire.]

There was a while of tremendous uproar. The coast about Ostend is

ponderously equipped with batteries, each with its name known and

identified: Tirpitz, Hindenburg, Deutschland, Cecilia, and the rest;

they register from six inches up to monsters of fifteen-inch naval

pieces in land-turrets, and the Royal Marine Artillery fights a war-long

duel with them. These now opened fire into the smoke and over it at the

monitors; the Marines and the monitors replied; and, meanwhile, the

aeroplanes were bombing methodically and the anti-craft guns were

searching the skies for them, Star-shells spouted up and floated down,

lighting the smoke banks with spreading green fires; and those strings

of luminous green balls, which airmen call "flaming onions," soared up

up to lose themselves in the clouds. Through all this stridency and

blaze of conflict, the old _Vindictive_, still unhurrying, was walking

the lighted waters towards the entrance.

It was then that those on the destroyers became aware that what had

seemed to be merely smoke was wet and cold, that the rigging was

beginning to drip, that there were no longer stars--a sea-fog had come

on.

[Sidenote: Destroyers keep in touch by lights and sirens.]

The destroyers had to turn on their lights and use their sirens to keep

in touch with each other; the air attack was suspended, and

_Vindictive_, with some distance yet to go, found herself in gross

darkness.

[Sidenote: The fog and smoke are dense.]

[Sidenote: A motor-boat leads the way for _Vindictive_.]

There were motor-boats to either side of her, escorting her to the

entrance, and these were supplied with what are called Dover

flares--enormous lights capable of illuminating square miles of sea at

once. A "Very" pistol was fired as a signal to light these; but the fog

and the smoke together were too dense for even the flares. _Vindictive_

then put her helm over and started to cruise to find the entrance. Twice

in her wanderings she must have passed across it, and at her third turn,

upon reaching the position at which she had first lost her way, there

came a rift in the mist, and she saw the entrance clear, the piers to

either side and the opening dead ahead. The inevitable motor-boat dashed

up, raced on into the opening under a heavy and momentarily growing

fire, and planted a flare on the water between the piers. _Vindictive_

steamed over it and on. She was in.

[Sidenote: A hail of lead falls upon the _Vindictive_.]

The guns found her at once. She was hit every few seconds after she

entered, her scarred hull broken afresh in a score of places and her

decks and upper works swept. The machine-gun on the end of the western

pier had been put out of action by the motor-boat's torpedo, but from

other machine-guns at the inshore ends of the pier, from a position on

the front, and from machine-guns apparently firing over the eastern

pier, there converged upon her a hail of lead. The after-control was

demolished by a shell which killed all its occupants. Upper and lower

bridges and chart-room were swept by bullets, and Commander Godsal,

R.N., ordered his officers to go with him to the conning-tower.

[Sidenote: The _Vindictive_ prepares to turn.]

They observed through the observation slit in the steel wall of the

conning-tower that the eastern pier was breached some two hundred yards

from its seaward end, as though at some time a ship had been in

collision with it. They saw the front of the town silhouetted again and

again in the light of the guns that blazed at them; the night was a

patchwork of fire and darkness. Immediately after passing the breach in

the pier. Commander Godsal left the conning-tower and went out on deck,

the better to watch the ship's movements; he chose his position, and

called in through the slit of the conning-tower his order to starboard

the helm. The _Vindictive_ responded; she laid her battered nose to the

eastern pier and prepared to swing her 320 feet of length across the

channel.

[Sidenote: A shell strikes the conning-tower.]

It was at that moment that a shell from the shore batteries struck the

conning-tower. Lieutenant Sir John Alleyne and Lieutenant V.A.C.

Crutchley, R.N., were still within; Commander Godsal was close to the

tower outside. Lieutenant Alleyne was stunned by the shock; Lieutenant

Crutchley shouted through the slit to the Commander, and, receiving no

answer, rang the port engine full speed astern to help in swinging the

ship. By this time she was lying at an angle of about forty degrees to

the pier, and seemed to be hard and fast, so that it was impossible to

bring her further round.

[Sidenote: The order is given to abandon ship and the _Vindictive_ sinks

in the channel.]

After working the engines for some minutes to no effect, Lieutenant

Crutchley gave the order to clear the engine-room and abandon ship,

according to the programme previously laid down. Engineer

Lieutenant-Commander Wm. A. Bury, who was the last to leave the

engine-room, blew the main charges by the switch installed aft;

Lieutenant Crutchley blew the auxiliary charges in the forward six-inch

magazine from the conning-tower. Those on board felt the old ship shrug

as the explosive tore the bottom plates and the bulk-heads from her; she

sank about six feet and lay upon the bottom of the channel. Her work was

done.

It is to be presumed that Commander Godsal was killed by the shell which

struck the conning-tower. Lieutenant Crutchley, searching the ship

before he left her, failed to find his body, or that of Sub-Lieutenant

MacLachlan, in that wilderness of splintered wood and shattered steel.

In the previous attempt to block the port, Commander Godsal had

commanded _Brilliant_, and, together with all the officers of that ship

and of _Sirius_, had volunteered at once for a further operation.

Most of the casualties were incurred while the ship was being abandoned.

The men behaved with just that cheery discipline and courage which

distinguished them in the Zeebrugge raid.

[Sidenote: Recall rockets are fired from the flagship.]

Always according to programme, the recall rockets for the small craft

were fired from the flagship at 2.30 a.m. The great red rockets whizzed

up to lose themselves in the fog; they cannot have been visible half a

mile away; but the work was done, and one by one the launches and

motor-boats commenced to appear from the fog, stopped their engines

alongside the destroyers and exchanged news with them. There were

wounded men to be transferred and dead men to be reported--their names

called briefly across the water from the little swaying deck to the

crowded rail above. But no one had seen a single enemy craft; the nine

German destroyers who were out and free to fight had chosen the

discreeter part.

[Sidenote: Ostend Harbor is thus made impracticable.]

It is not claimed by the officers who carried out the operation that

Ostend Harbor is completely blocked; but its purpose--to embarrass the

enemy and make the harbor impracticable to any but small craft and

dredging operations difficult--has been fully accomplished.

* * * * *

Too little was heard during the war of the work of the American

submarines, but they performed most efficient and useful service. A

sketch of the life aboard one of these little vessels follows.

WITH THE AMERICAN SUBMARINES

HENRY B. BESTON

[Sidenote: A view of the Embankment.]

A London day of soft and smoky skies, darkened every now and then by

capricious and intrusive little showers, was drawing to a close in a

twilight of gold and gray. Our table stood in a bay of plate-glass

windows overlooking the Embankment close by Cleopatra's Needle. We

watched the little double-decked tram-cars gliding by, the opposing,

interthreading streams of pedestrians, and a fleet of coal barges coming

up the river, solemn as a cloud.

[Sidenote: Submarine folk are a people apart.]

Behind us lay, splendid and somewhat theatric, the mottled marble, stiff

white napery, and bright silver of a fashionable dining-hall. Only a few

guests were at hand. At our little table sat the captain of a submarine

who was then in London for a few days on richly merited leave, a

distinguished young officer of the "mother ship" accompanying our

underwater craft, and myself. It is impossible to be long with submarine

folk without realizing that they are a people apart, differing from the

rest of the naval personnel even as their vessels differ. A man must

have something individual to his character to volunteer for the service,

and every officer is a volunteer. An extraordinary power of quick

decision, a certain keen, resolute look, a certain carriage; submarine

folk are such men as all of us like to have by our side in any great

trial or crisis of our life.

Guests began to come by twos and threes--pretty girls in shimmering

dresses, young army officers with wound-stripes and clumsy limps. A

faint murmur of conversation rose, faint and continuous as the murmur of

a distant stream.

Because I requested him, the captain told me of the crossing of the

submarines. It was the epic of an heroic journey.

[Sidenote: How the submarines crossed the Atlantic.]

[Sidenote: The mother-ship and submarines leave.]

"After each boat had been examined in detail, we began to fill them with

supplies for the voyage. The crew spent days manoeuvring cases of

condensed milk, cans of butter, meat, and chocolate, down the

hatchways--food which the boat swallowed up as if she had been a kind of

steel stomach. Until we had it all neatly and tightly stowed away, the

_Z_ looked like a corner grocery store. Then, early one December

morning, we pulled out of the harbor. It wasn't very cold, merely raw

and damp, and it was misty dark. I remember looking at the winter stars

riding high just over the meridian. The port behind us was still and

dead, but a handful of navy-folk had come to one of the wharves to see

us off. Yes, there was something of a stir--you know, the kind of stir

that's made when boats go to sea: shouted orders, the plash of dropped

cables, vagrant noises. It didn't take a great time to get under way; we

were ready, waiting for the word to go. The flotilla--mother-ship, tugs

and all--was out to sea long before the dawn. You would have liked the

picture: the immense stretch of the grayish, winter-stricken sea, the

little covey of submarines running awash, the gray mother-ship going

ahead, as casually as an excursion steamer, into the featureless dawn.

"The weather was wonderful for two days,--a touch of Indian summer on

December's ocean; then, on the night of the third day, we ran into a

blow, the worst I ever saw in my life. A storm--oh, boy!"

He paused for an instant. One could see memories living in the fine,

resolute eyes. The broken noises of the restaurant, which had seemingly

died away while he spoke, crept back again to one's ears. A waiter

dropped a clanging fork--

[Sidenote: A terrific storm comes on toward night.]

"A storm. Never remember anything like it. A perfect terror. Everybody

realized that any attempt to keep together would be hopeless. And night

was coming on. One by one the submarines disappeared into that fury of

wind and driving water, the mother-ship, because she was the largest

vessel in the flotilla, being the last we saw. We snatched her last

signal out of the teeth of the gale, and then she was gone, swallowed up

in the storm. So we were alone.

[Sidenote: Rough water the next day.]

"We got through the night somehow or other. The next morning the ocean

was a dirty brown-gray, and knots and wisps of cloud were tearing by

close over the water. Every once in a while a great hollow-bellied wave

would come rolling out of the hullabaloo and break thundering over us.

On all the boats the lookout on the bridge had to be lashed in place,

and every once in a while a couple of tons of water would come tumbling

past him. Nobody at the job stayed dry for more than three minutes; a

bathing-suit would have been more to the point than oilers.

[Sidenote: The boat registers a roll of seventy degrees.]

[Sidenote: The cook provides food after a fashion.]

"Shaken, you ask? No, not very bad: a few assorted bruises and a

wrenched thumb; though poor Jonesy on the _Z-3_ had a wave knock him up

against the rail and smash in a couple of ribs. But no being sick for

him; he kept to his feet and carried on in spite of the pain, in spite

of being in a boat which registered a roll of seventy degrees. I used to

watch the old hooker rolling under me. You've never been on a submarine

when she's rolling,--talk about rolling--oh, boy! We all say seventy

degrees, because that's as far as our instruments register. There were

times when I almost thought she was on her way to make a complete

revolution. You can imagine what it was like inside. To begin with, the

oily air was none too sweet, because every time we opened a hatch we

shipped enough water to make the old hooker look like a start at a

swimming tank; and then she was lurching so continuously and violently

that to move six feet was an expedition. The men were

wonderful--wonderful! Each man at his allotted task, and--what's that

English word?--carrying on. Our little cook couldn't do a thing with the

stove, might as well have tried to cook on a miniature earthquake; but

he saw that all of us had something to eat--doing his bit, game as could

be."

He paused again. The Embankment was fading away in the dark. A waiter

appeared, and drew down the thick, light-proof curtains.

"Yes, the men were wonderful--wonderful. And there wasn't very much

sickness. Let's see, how far had I got?--Since it was impossible to make

any headway, we lay to for forty-eight hours. The deck began to go the

second morning, some of the plates being ripped right off. And

blow--well, as I told you in the beginning, I never saw anything like

it. The disk of the sea was just one great ragged mass of foam being

hurled through space by a wind screaming past with the voice and force

of a million express trains.

[Sidenote: The submarines run on the surface to save electricity.]

"Perhaps you are wondering why we didn't submerge. We simply couldn't

use up our electricity. It takes oil and running on the surface to

create the electric power, and we had a long, long journey ahead. Then

ice began to form on the superstructure, and we had to get out a crew to

chop it off. It was something of a job; there wasn't much to hang on

to, and the waves were still breaking over us. But we freed her of the

danger, and she went on--

"We used to wonder where the other boys were, in the midst of all the

racket. One ship was drifting toward the New England coast, her compass

smashed to flinders; others had run for Bermuda, others were still at

sea.

[Sidenote: Good weather at last.]

"Then we had three days of good easterly wind. By jingo, but the good

weather was great! Were we glad to have it?--oh, boy! We had just got

things shipshape again when we had another blow, but this second one was

by no means as bad as the first. And after that we had another spell of

decent weather. The crew used to start the phonograph and keep it going

all day.

[Sidenote: Reaching a friendly coast.]

"The weather was so good that I decided to keep right on to the harbor

which was to be our base over here. I had enough oil, plenty of water;

the only possible danger was a shortage of provisions. So I put us all

on a ration, arranging to have the last grand meal on Christmas day. Can

you imagine Christmas on a little storm-bumped submarine some hundred

miles off the coast? A day or two more and we ran calmly into--shall we

say, 'deleted' harbor?

[Sidenote: The men rejoice at food and baths.]

"Hungry, dirty; oh, so dirty! We hadn't had any sort of bath or wash for

about three weeks; we all were green-looking from having been cooped up

so long, and our unshaven grease-streaked faces would have upset a

dinosaur. The authorities were wonderfully kind, and looked after us and

our men in the very best style. I thought we could never stop eating,

and a real sleep--oh, boy!"

"Did you fly the flag as you came in?" I asked.

"You bet we did!" answered the captain, his keen, handsome face lighting

at the memory. "You see," he continued in a practical spirit, "they

would probably have pumped us full of holes if we hadn't."

And that is the way the American submarines crossed the Atlantic to do

their share for the Great Cause.

[Sidenote: A guest on the mother-ship.]

I got to the port of the submarines just as an uncertain and rainy

afternoon had finally decided to turn into a wild and disagreeable

night. Short, drenching showers of rain fell, one after the other, like

the strokes of a lash; a wind came up out of the sea, and one could hear

the thunder of surf on the headlands. The mother-ship lay moored in a

wild, desolate, and indescribably romantic bay; she floated in a

sheltered pool, a very oasis of modernity, a marvelous creature of

another world and another time. There was just light enough for me to

see that her lines were those of a giant yacht. Then a curtain of rain

beat hissing down on the sea, and the ship and the vague darkening

landscape disappeared--disappeared as if they had melted away in the

shower. Presently the bulk of the vessel appeared again. At once we drew

alongside, and from that moment on, I was the guest of the vessel,

recipient of a hospitality and courtesy for which I here make grateful

acknowledgment to my friends and hosts.

[Sidenote: The ship is most skillfully handled.]

The mother-ship of the submarines was a combination of flagship,

supply-station, repair-shop, and hotel. The officers of the submarines

had rooms aboard her, which they occupied when off patrol, and the crews

off duty slung their hammocks 'tween decks. The boat was pretty well

crowded, having more submarines to look after than she had been built to

care for; but thanks to the skill of her officers, everything was going

as smoothly as could be. The vessel had, so to speak, a submarine

atmosphere. Everybody aboard lived, worked, and would have died for the

submarine. They believed in the submarine, believed in it with an

enthusiasm which rested on pillars of practical fact.

[Sidenote: The heroism of the men who tried the first submarine.]

The chief of staff was the youngest captain in our navy; a man of hard

energy and keen insight; one to whom our submarine service owes a very

genuine debt. His officers were specialists: the surgeon of the vessel

had been for years engaged in studying the hygiene of submarines, and

was constantly working to free the atmosphere of the vessels from

deleterious gases and to improve the living conditions of the crews. I

remember listening one night to a history of the submarine, told by one

of the officers of the staff; and for the first time in my life I came

to appreciate at its full value the heroism of the men who risked their

lives in the first cranky, clumsy, uncertain little vessels, and the

imagination and the faith of the men who believed in the type. Ten years

ago, a descent in a sub was an adventure to be prefaced by tears and

making of wills; to-day submarines are chasing submarines hundreds of

miles at sea, are crossing the ocean, and have grown from a tube of

steel not much larger than a lifeboat, to underwater cruisers which

carry six-inch guns.

Said an officer to me, "The future of the submarine? Why, sir, the

submarine is the only war vessel that's going to have a future!"

[Sidenote: The submarines are moved alongside.]

On the night of my arrival, once dinner was over, I went on deck and

looked down through the rain at the submarines moored alongside. They

lay close by, one beside the other, in a pool of radiance cast by a

number of electric lights hanging over each open hatchway. Beyond this

pool lay the rain and the dark; within it, their sides awash in the

clear green water of the bay, their gray bridges and rust-stained

superstructures shining in the rain, lay the strange, bulging,

crocodilian shapes of steel. There was something unearthly, something

not of this world or time, in the picture; I might have been looking at

invaders of the sleeping earth. The wind swept past in great booming

salvoes; rain fell in sloping, liquid rods through the brilliancy of

electric lamps burning with a steadiness that had something in it

strange, incomprehensible, and out of place in the motion of the storm.

And then a hand appeared on the topmost rung of the nearer ladder, and a

bulky sailor, a very human sailor in very human dungarees, poked his

head out of the aperture, surveyed the inhospitable night, and

disappeared.

[Sidenote: Submarines are going out to-night.]

"He's on Branch's boat. They're going out to-night," said the officer

who was guiding me about.

"To-night? How on earth will he ever find his way to the open sea?"

"Knows the bay like a book. However, if the weather gets any worse, I

doubt if the captain will let him go. Branch will be wild if they don't

let him out. Somebody has just reported wreckage off the coast, so there

must be a Hun round."

"But aren't our subs sometimes mistaken for Germans?"

"Oh, yes," was the calm answer.

[Sidenote: The boats may never come back.]

I thought of that ominous phrase I had noted in the British

records,--"failed to report,"--and I remembered the stolid British

captain who had said to me, speaking of submarines, "Sometimes nobody

knows just what happened. Out there in the deep water, whatever happens,

happens in a hurry."

My guide and I went below to the officers' corridor. Now and then,

through the quiet, a mandolin or guitar could be heard far off twanging

some sentimental island ditty; and beneath these sweeter sounds lay a

monotonous mechanical humming.

"What's that sound?" I asked.

"That's the Filipino mess-boys having a little festino in their

quarters. The humming? Oh, that's the mother-ship's dynamos charging the

batteries of Branch's boat. Saves running on the surface."

[Sidenote: The captain of the patrol cheerful.]

My guide knocked at a door. Within his tidy little room, the captain who

was to go out on patrol was packing the personal belongings he needed on

the trip.

"Hello!" he cried cheerily when he saw us; "come on in. I'm only doing a

little packing up. What's it like outside?"

"Raining same as ever, but I don't think it's blowing up any harder."

[Sidenote: Reading matter is in demand.]

"Hooray!" cried the young captain with heartfelt sincerity; "then I'll

get out to-night. You know the captain told me that if it got any worse,

he'd hold me till to-morrow morning. I told him I'd rather go out

to-night. Perfect cinch once you get to the mouth of the bay; all you

have to do is submerge and take it easy. What do you think of the news?

Smithie thinks he saw a Hun yesterday. Got anything good to read?

Somebody's pinched that magazine I was reading. Thirteen, fourteen,

fifteen--that ought to be enough handkerchiefs. Hello, there goes the

juice!"

The humming of the dynamo was dying away slowly, fading with an effect

of lengthening distance. The guitar orchestra, as if to celebrate its

deliverance, burst into a triumphant rendering of Sousa's "Stars and

Stripes."

My guide and I waited till after midnight to watch the going of Branch's

_Z-5_. Branch and his second, stuffed into black oilskins down whose

gleaming surface ran beaded drops of rain, stood on the bridge; a number

of sailors were busy doing various things along the deck. The electric

lights shone in all their calm unearthly brilliance. Then slowly, very

slowly, the _Z-5_ began to gather headway, the clear water seemed to

flow past her green sides, and she rode out of the pool of light into

the darkness waiting close at hand.

"Good-bye! Good luck!" we cried.

A vagrant shower came roaring down into the shining pool.

"Good-bye!" cried voices through the night.

[Sidenote: The submarines disappear in the dark.]

Three minutes later all trace of the _Z-5_ had disappeared in the dark.

[Sidenote: Night and day are the same on a submarine.]

Captain Bill of the _Z-3_ was out on patrol. His vessel was running

submerged. The air within--they had but recently dived--was new and

sweet; and that raw cold which eats into submerged submarines had not

begun to take the joy out of life. It was the third day out; the time,

five o'clock in the afternoon. The outer world, however, did not

penetrate into the submarine. Night or day, on the surface or submerged,

only one time, a kind of motionless electric high noon, existed within

those concave walls of gleaming cream-white enamel.

Those of the crew not on watch were taking it easy. Like unto their

officers, submarine sailors are an unusual lot. They are _real_ sailors,

or machinist sailors--boys for whose quality the navy has a flattering,

picturesque, and quite unprintable adjective. A submarine man, mind you,

works harder than perhaps any other man of his grade in the navy,

because the vessel in which he lives is nothing but a tremendously

intricate machine.

[Sidenote: Life on board.]

In one of the compartments the phonograph, the eternal, ubiquitous

phonograph of the navy, was bawling its raucous rags and mechano-nasal

songs, and in the pauses between records, one could just hear the low

hum of the distant dynamos. A little group in blue dungarees held a

conversation in a corner; a petty officer, blue cap tilted back on his

head, was at work on a letter; the cook, whose genial art was

customarily under an interdict while the vessel was running submerged,

was reading an ancient paper from his own home town.

[Sidenote: News of a German submarine.]

Captain Bill sat in a retired nook, if a submarine can possibly be said

to have a retired nook, with a chart spread open on his knees. The night

before, he had picked up a wireless message saying that a German had

been seen at sundown in a certain spot on the edge of his patrol. So

Captain Bill had planned to run submerged to the spot in question, and

then pop up suddenly in the hope of potting the Hun. Some fifteen

minutes before sundown, therefore, the _Z-3_ arrived at the place where

the Fritz had been observed.

"I wish I knew just where the bird was," said an intent voice; "I'd drop

a can right on his neck."

[Sidenote: The sentiments of the captain of a destroyer.]

These sentiments were not those of anybody aboard the _Z-3_. An American

destroyer had also come to the spot looking for the German, and the

gentle thought recorded above was that of her captain. It was just

sundown; a level train of splendor burned on the ruffled waters to the

west; a light, cheerful breeze was blowing. The destroyer, ready for

anything, was hurrying along at a smart clip.

"This is the place all right, all right," said the navigator of the

destroyer. "Come to think of it, that chap's been reported from here

twice."

Keen eyes swept the shining uneasy plain.

[Sidenote: How a submarine crew takes orders.]

Meanwhile, some seventy feet below, the _Z-3_ manoeuvred, killing

time. The phonograph had been hushed, and every man was ready at his

post. The prospect of a go with the enemy had brought with it a keen

thrill of anticipation. Now, a submarine crew is a well-trained machine.

There are no shouted orders. If a submarine captain wants to send his

boat under quickly, he simply touches the button of a Klaxon; the horn

gives a demoniac yell throughout the ship, and each man does what he

ought to do at once. Such a performance is called a "crash dive."

"I'd like to see him come up so near that we could ram him," said the

captain, gazing almost directly into the sun. "Find out what she's

making."

[Sidenote: Getting up speed.]

The engineer lieutenant stooped to a voice-tube that almost swallowed up

his face, and yelled a question to the engine-room. An answer came,

quite unheard by the others.

"Twenty-four, sir," said the engineer lieutenant.

"Get her up to twenty-six."

The engineer cried again through the voice-tube. The wake of the vessel

roared like a mill-race, the white foam tumbling rosily in the setting

sun.

[Sidenote: Seventy feet below the surface.]

Seventy feet below, Captain Bill was arranging the last little details

with the second in command.

[Sidenote: The plan of attack.]

"In about five minutes we'll come up and take a look-see [stick up the

periscope], and if we see the bird, and we're in a good position to send

him a fish [torpedo], we'll let him have one. If there is something

there, and we're not in a good position, we'll manoeuvre till we get

into one, and then let him have it. If there isn't anything to be seen,

we'll go under again and take another look-see in half an hour. Reilly

has his instructions." (Reilly was chief of the torpedo-room.)

[Sidenote: Wreckage all about.]

"Something round here must have got it in the neck recently," said the

destroyer captain, breaking a silence which had hung over the bridge.

"Didn't you think that wreckage a couple of miles back looked pretty

fresh? Wonder if the boy we're after had anything to do with it. Keep an

eye on that sun-streak."

[Sidenote: A crash dive to avoid a destroyer.]

An order was given in the _Z-3_. It was followed instantly by a kind of

commotion--sailors opened valves, compressed air ran down pipes, the

ratchets of the wheel clattered noisily. On the moon-faced depth-gauge,

with its shining brazen rim, the recording arrow fled swiftly, counter

clockwise, from seventy to twenty, to fifteen feet. Captain Bill stood

crouching at the periscope, and when it broke the surface, a greenish

light poured down it and focused in his eyes. He gazed keenly for a few

seconds, and then reached for the horizontal wheel which turns the

periscope round the horizon. He turned--gazed, jumped back, and pushed

the button for a crash dive.

"She was almost on top of me," he explained afterwards, "coming like

hell! I had to choose between being rammed or depth-bombed."

There was another swift commotion, another opening and closing of

valves, and the arrow on the depth-gauge leaped forward. Captain Bill

was sending her down as far as he could, as fast as he dared. Fifty

feet, seventy feet--ninety feet. Hoping to throw the destroyer off, the

_Z-3_ doubled on her track. A hundred feet.

Crash! Depth-charge number one.

[Sidenote: Depth bombs explode near by.]

[Sidenote: The submarine's peril.]

According to Captain Bill, who is good at similes, it was as if a giant,

wading along through the sea, had given the boat a vast and violent

kick, and then, leaning down, had shaken her as a terrier shakes a rat.

The _Z-3_ rocked, lay on her side, and fell through the water. A number

of lights went out. Men picked themselves out of corners, one with the

blood streaming down his face from a bad gash over his eye. Many of them

told later of "seeing stars" when the vibration of the depth-charge

traveled through the hull and their own bodies; some averred that "white

light" seemed to shoot out of the _Z-3's_ walls. Each man stood at his

post waiting for the next charge.

Crash! A second depth-charge. To everyone's relief, it was less violent

than the first. A few more lights went out. Meanwhile the _Z-3_

continued to sink and was rapidly nearing the danger-point. Having

escaped the first two depth-charges, Captain Bill hastened to bring the

boat up to a higher level. Then, to make things cheerful, it was

discovered that the _Z-3_ showed absolutely no inclination to obey her

controls.

[Sidenote: Anxious moments before the submarine rises again.]

"At first," said Captain Bill, "I thought that the first depth-bomb must

have jammed all the external machinery; then I decided that our measures

to rise had not yet overcome the impetus of our forced descent.

Meanwhile the old hooker was heading for the bottom of the Irish Sea,

though I'd blown out every bit of water in her tanks. Had to--fifty feet

more, and she would have crushed in like an egg-shell under the wheel of

a touring-car. But she kept on going down. The distance of the third,

fourth, and fifth depth-bombs, however, put cheer in our hearts. Then,

presently, she began to rise; the old girl came up like an elevator in a

New York business block. I knew that the minute I came to the surface

those destroyer brutes would try to fill me full of holes, so I had a

man with a flag ready to jump on deck the minute we emerged. He was

pretty damn spry about it, too. I took another look through the

periscope, and saw that the destroyer lay about two miles away, and as I

looked she came for me _again_. Meanwhile, my signal-man was hauling

himself out of the hatchway as if his legs were in boiling water."

[Sidenote: The Stars and Stripes signal to the destroyer.]

"We've got her!" cried somebody aboard the destroyer, in a deep American

voice full of the exultation of battle. The lean rifles swung, lowered.

"Point one, lower." They were about to hear "Fire!" when the Stars and

Stripes and sundry other signals burst from the deck of the misused

_Z-3_.

"Well, what do you think of that!" said the gunner. "If it ain't one of

our own gang. Say, we must have given it to 'em hard."

"We'll go over and see who it is," said the captain of the destroyer.

"The signals are O.K., but it may be a dodge of the Huns. Ask 'em who

they are."

In obedience to the order, a sailor on the destroyer's bridge wigwagged

the message.

"_Z-3_," answered one of the dungaree-clad figures on the submarine's

deck.

[Sidenote: No resentment of the adventure.]

Captain Bill came up himself, as the destroyer drew alongside, to see

his would-be assassin. There was no resentment in his heart. The

adventure was only part of the day's work. The destroyer neared; her bow

overlooked them. The two captains looked at each other. The dialogue was

laconic.

"Hello, Bill," said the destroyer captain. "All right?"

"Sure," answered Captain Bill, to one who had been his friend and

classmate.

"Ta-ta, then," said he of the destroyer; and the lean vessel swept away

in the twilight.

[Sidenote: The cook's opinion of the destroyers.]

Captain Bill decided to stay on the surface for a while. Then he went

below to look over things. The cook, standing over some unlovely slop

which marked the end of a half a dozen eggs broken by the concussion,

was giving his opinion on destroyers. The cook was a child of Brooklyn,

and could talk. The opinion was not a nice opinion.

"Give it to 'em, cooko," said one of the crew, patting the orator

affectionately on the shoulder. "We're with you."

And Captain Bill laughed to himself.

The breakfast-hour was drawing to its end, and the very last straggler

sat alone at the ward-room table. Presently an officer of the

mother-ship, passing through, called to the lingering group of

submarine officers.

[Sidenote: The first of the flotilla to return.]

"The _X-4_ is coming up the bay, and the _X-12_ has been reported from

signal station."

The news was received with a little hum of friendly interest. "Wonder

what Ned will have to say for himself this time." "Must have struck

pretty good weather." "Bet you John has been looking for another chance

at that Hun of his."

[Sidenote: The appearance of the crew.]

The talk drifted away into other channels. A little time passed. Then

suddenly a door opened, and, one after the other, entered the three

officers of the first home-coming submarine. They were clad in various

ancient uniforms which might have been worn by an apprentice lad in a

garage: old gray flannel shirts, and stout grease-stained shoes; several

days had passed since their faces had felt a razor, and all were a

little pale from their cruise. But the liveliest of keen eyes burned in

each resolute young face, eyes smiling and glad.

A friendly hullabaloo broke forth. Chairs scraped, one fell with a

crash.

"Hello, boys!"

"Hi, Ned!"

"For the love of Pete, Joe, shave off those whiskers of yours; they make

you look like Trotzky."

"See any Germans?"

"What's the news?"

"What's doing?"

"Hi, Manuelo"--this to a Filipino mess-boy who stood looking on with

impassive curiosity--"serve three more breakfasts."

"Anything go for you?"

"Well, if here isn't our old Bump!"

[Sidenote: Captain Ned begins his story.]

The crowd gathered round Captain Ned, who had established contact (this

is a military term quite out of place in a work on the navy) with the

eagerly sought, horribly elusive German.

"Go on, Ned, give us an earful. What time did you say it was?"

[Sidenote: An enemy submarine that escaped.]

"About 5 a.m." answered the captain. He stood leaning against a door,

and the fine head, the pallor, the touch of fatigue, all made a very

striking and appealing picture. "Say about eight minutes after five. I'd

just come up to take a look-see, and saw him just about two miles away,

on the surface, and moving right along. So I went under to get into a

good position, came up again, and let him have one. Well, he saw it just

as it was almost on him, swung her round, and dived like a ton of lead."

The audience listened in silent sympathy. One could see the

disappointment on the captain's face.

"Where was he?"

"About so-and-so."

"That's the jinx that got after the convoy sure as you live."

[Sidenote: Two blind ships that tried to find each other under water.]

The speaker had had his own adventures with the Germans. A month or so

before, he had shoved up his periscope and spotted a Fritz on the

surface in full noonday. The watchful Fritz, however, had been lucky

enough to see the enemy almost at once, and had dived. The American

followed suit. The eyeless submarine manoeuvred about, some eighty

feet under, the German evidently "making his getaway," the American

hoping to be lucky enough to pick up Fritz's trail, and get a shot at

him when he rose again to the top. And while the two blind ships

manoeuvred there in the dark of the abyss, the keel of the fleeing

German had actually, by a curious chance, scraped along the top of the

American vessel and carried away the wireless aerials!

All were silent for a few seconds, thinking over the affair. It was not

difficult to read the thought in every mind, the thought of _getting at

the Germans_. The characteristic _aggressiveness_ of the American mind,

heritage of a people compelled to subdue a vast, wild continent, is a

wonderful military attribute. The idea of our navy is, "Get after 'em,

keep after 'em, stay after 'em, don't give 'em an instant of security or

rest." And none have this fighting spirit deeper in their hearts than

our gallant boys of the submarine patrol.

"That's all," said Captain Ned. "I'm going to have a wash-up." He lifted

a grease-stained hand to his cheek, rubbed his unshaven beard, and

grinned. "Any letters?"

"Whole bag of stuff. Smithie put it on your desk."

[Sidenote: "Trotzky" and "Rasputin."]

Captain Ned wandered off. Presently, the door opened again, and three

more veterans of the patrol cruised in, also in ancient uniforms. There

were more cheers; more friendly cries. It was unanimously decided that

the "Trotzky" of the first lot had better take a back seat, since the

second in command of the newcomers was "a perfect ringer for Rasputin."

"See anything?"

[Sidenote: A British patrol hunts a lost torpedo.]

"Nothing much. There's a bit of wreckage just off shore. Saw a British

patrol boat early Tuesday morning. I was on the surface, lying between

her and the sunrise; she was hidden by a low-lying swirl of fog; she saw

us first. When we saw her, I made signals, and over she came. Guess what

the old bird wanted--_wanted to know if I'd seen a torpedo he'd fired at

me!_ An old scout with white whiskers; one of those retired captains, I

suppose, who has gone back on the job. He admitted he had received the

Admiralty notes about us, but thought we acted suspicious. Did you ever

hear of such nerve?"

[Sidenote: Courage of the submarine patrol.]

When the war was young, I served on land with _messieurs les poilus_. I

have seen the contests of aviators, also trench-raids and the fighting

for Verdun. Since then I have seen the war at sea. To my mind, if there

is one service of this war which more than any other requires those

qualities of endurance, skill, and courage whose blend the fighting men

call--Elizabethanly, but oh, so truly--"_guts_," it is the submarine

patrol.

Copyright, Atlantic Monthly, October, 1918.

* * * * *

France took tender care of her wounded heroes, and the following

narrative gives a number of touching incidents observed by one who

visited several of the French hospitals and received stories and

experiences from the wounded soldiers.

WOUNDED HEROES OF FRANCE

ABBÉ FELIX KLEIN

The descriptions which are to follow belong to history already ancient;

to the end of 1917 and the beginning of 1918. So rapid is the march of

events with us now!

[Sidenote: The enthusiasm of a wounded soldier in 1914.]

The soldier wounded during the first months of the War came to us

overflowing with enthusiasm, eager to express himself. His mind was full

of picturesque and varied impressions and he asked for nothing better

than to tell about them. Willingly he described the emotions and spirit

of the moment of departure; his curiosity in the presence of the

unknown, the shock of the first contact with the enemy, the dizzy joy of

initial successes. He confessed the amazement and pain of the first

checks and the headlong retreat which followed them. He spoke of the

famous Joffre's "_ordre du jour_" when, in the battle of the Marne, the

men were told to take the offensive. They stopped the enemy. They

pursued him. They experienced the intoxication of a victory that gave

back to France her old prestige and felt with certainty, although at

first confusedly, that their battle was a decisive event in human

history.

[Sidenote: The wounded of 1918 reflect the long tragedy.]

[Sidenote: They have faced terrible new weapons.]

To this brilliant and epic beginning succeeded a long and sombre

tragedy, to this _Iliad_ worthy of a Homer an _Inferno_ worthy of a

Dante. So we cannot wonder that the wounded of 1918 differed from those

of 1914, and that their faces, like the face of the Florentine poet

returning from hell, reflected the terrible things through which they

had passed. The suffering of years, the eternal waiting for a decision

of arms that did not come, the increasing horror of confronting weapons

unknown in the early months--heavy artillery, gas, liquid fire,

aëroplane attacks--left their mark upon our soldiers.

Dante imagines the terrible things he recounts. Our soldiers have seen

them face to face. New Year after New Year has come and gone, and found

them living underground, in constant danger of unseen and unavoidable

forms of death, huddled together in damp, dark holes, exposed to rain

and snow and shell fire. Rarely was there fighting--as we used to

understand the term--but daily death took its toll, and ill and wounded

were evacuated to the rear.

[Sidenote: Modern battle has become a scientific operation.]

Ardor they certainly retained for the assault, and heroism for

confronting sheets of fire, or clouds of asphyxiating gas; but in the

scientific operation which the modern battle has become, most things

that are purely personal are more to be dreaded than desired, a fiery

temper counts for much less than coolness, discipline, mastery of self,

the spirit of abnegation and self-sacrifice. And when the battle was

won, that is to say, when they had taken, not a town with a resounding

name, but the ruins of a village, a treeless forest, a dismantled fort,

a hill thirty metres high, the survivors still had a task before them

which had lost none of its roughness or austerity. They had to organize

the new position in haste, dig other shelters, undergo bombardments and

reject counter-attacks, all the more violent because the enemy,

supported in the rear by positions prepared in advance, was more furious

than ever after defeat. Thus it continued--until now, even now, when

under the irresistible pressure of the French, the English and the

Americans, the German wall is crumbling. At last it will be broken, and

the victorious flood of the armies of democracy will pass through. Then

our invaded provinces and the sacred soil of Belgium will be freed; then

the conditions of just and honorable peace among all the nations of the

earth may be dictated on the banks of the Rhine--or farther, if

necessary.

[Sidenote: Patience and tenacity are necessary.]

But to support, while we waited, the monotonous trench-life to

accomplish the rapid nocturnal raids or the formidable exploits of the

great days and weeks of offensive, required more than that brilliant

quality of our fathers, the _furia francese_ that was the synonym of

overwhelming courage and the ardor which commands victory. Patience to

wait, resignation to accept, tenacity to prolong efforts, deliberate and

indomitable will to overcome trials, within and without and to press on

to the distant goal of final victory were above all things necessary.

[Sidenote: "To the end!"]

These qualities, summed up in one expression: "To the end!" so

profoundly different from those which hitherto have passed as

characteristic of our race, were the ones most noticeable in our

combatant of the fourth year of the War. Youthful enthusiasm was no

more; each man numbered the dangers run, each man took clear account of

those to come.

[Sidenote: Patriotism becomes a passion.]

Only austere love of duty can sustain a man at such a height. A

schoolmaster-sergeant of Lyon, Philippe Gonnard, voices it to a friend

inclined to pity him: he was ill enough to get his freedom, but wished,

nevertheless, to keep at his post until he was killed: "I intend to stay

at the front.... Patriotism for me is a passion. Does that mean that I

am happy here far from all I love? You do not think that and I have

often said I am not, in prose and verse. But from now until peace, no

man of heart can be happy. If I came back, I should be still less happy,

because instead of being dissatisfied with my lot, I should be

dissatisfied with myself."

[Sidenote: Strong will and nobility of soul.]

More or less consciously, this was the rock bottom of the character of

the soldier of France after three and a half years of war: "Will always

on the stretch, anguish conquered, melancholy transformed into nobility

of soul--as long as literature does not portray these essential traits

of the soldier," says one of our best author-combatants, "all it creates

will only be artificial and bear no relation to reality."

[Sidenote: "No matter, it is for France."]

"No matter, it is for France!" says the wounded soldier to the comrades

bending over him, and if it is during an attack he tells them not to

stop, not to carry him away "because it is no longer worth while," but

to continue without him the noble work for which he is offering his

life. Let a chaplain bring him divine help in time and he will die more

than resigned, joyous and radiant in the faith of his childhood,

bewailing his sins and kissing the crucifix like the French of the

Middle Ages. How many times, in the horrible frame of modern war, have

words been uttered, scenes enacted, agonies suffered which echoed the

most sublime passages of the _Chanson de Roland_!

[Sidenote: Most of the wounded recover.]

[Sidenote: Many times wounded.]

But, thank God, among those who fall without being killed outright, the

minority are mortally wounded. Most of them are destined to get well or

at least to survive: they know it, and are glad. As soon as they regain

consciousness after the shock, the first idea is: "Am I really not

dead?" To be wounded does not disconcert them at all. "We are here for

that!" said, the other day, one of my young friends of the class 1915,

who by exception has been preserved until now. The alternative, in this

present War, is not to come out of it wounded, or unwounded, but wounded

or dead: to escape death is all that one can reasonably ask. Men who

have only been wounded once, are more and more scarce, some have

returned to the front four or five times. We had at the hospital a year

ago an American sergeant of the Foreign Legion, engaged at Orleans in

August, 1914, who having fought in Champagne, on the Somme and in

Alsace, had received three wounds, the last at the end of 1915, at

Belloy-en-Santerre, when a German bomb had badly damaged his left thigh:

"the last" up to that time, for he had to go back under fire and will in

all probability receive a fourth wound.

[Sidenote: The slightly wounded are lucky.]

[Sidenote: The most unfortunate.]

Those slightly wounded have not much merit, it must be confessed, in

being resigned or even joyful. After a rapid dressing at the first

station they will rest several days at the hospital at the front, and

then get leave of convalescence which they will pass with their

families. A wound for them, who can bear a little suffering, means an

unexpected holiday and supplementary permission. They are only sorry if

they are hit stupidly, out of action or at the beginning of a

well-prepared attack, and prevented from going on with it. Let us leave

them to their good luck, and stay longer with the severely wounded,

those, for instance, who have a leg or arm broken, a fractured jaw,

vertebra or ribs bruised, or are deprived of one of their senses--blind,

deaf, paralyzed. We unhesitatingly acknowledge that these three last

categories of wounded feel their misery profoundly, and need time to get

used to it. Those, happily much more numerous, who have only temporarily

or permanently lost the use of one of their limbs, generally consider

themselves very fortunate. "I have the good wound!" they affect to say,

meaning that the War is over for them. So at least they express

themselves, not at all wishing to be admired, and trying as it were, to

minimize their courage in bearing their trial.

[Sidenote: Self-sacrifice of the wounded.]

[Sidenote: "Arise, ye dead!"]

But aside from this paradoxical attitude, they frequently speak and act

in the most simple, touching way! It is common to hear one say to the

stretcher-bearer who comes to fetch him: "Take my comrade here first; he

is much more wounded than I; I can wait...." And that when it means

lying on the ground under the bombardment, thirsty, feverish, feeling

his strength ebb with his blood. Before any one comes back to get him,

often he will try again, if he has a sound arm left, to fire his rifle

or his machine-gun once more. Glory surrounds the epic incident of the

trench where the only unwounded soldier, seeing the enemy arrive, cried

out as if in delirium: "Arise, ye dead!" and the dying really rose, and

succeeded, some of them, in firing once more before they fell again, and

the assailants fled. A more recent and simpler deed is also worth

recording.

[Sidenote: A dead observer protects his pilot.]

Returning from a bombardment of the enemy's factories in broad daylight,

a French machine conducted by two men was attacked by several aviators.

The observer, hit by a ball in the chest, dropped down into the

_carlingue_. The pilot seeing this prepared to turn back. But hearing

his machine-gun firing again, he concluded that the observer was not

seriously hurt. As soon as he landed in France: "Well, what about that

wound?" he asked. No answer. He bent down and saw that his companion was

dead. Even in his agony he had continued to protect his comrade.

In the beginning of the War the wounded stayed a long, a very long time

without being rescued, at the place where they fell, or in the shelter

to which they had been able to crawl. Our stretcher-bearers of the

American Ambulance found, after the battle of the Marne, many who had

lain for days and nights in shell holes, at the foot of trees, in

ruined barns or churches! One may guess what the mortality might be!

Today, happily, it is no longer so. The field of action is more

restricted and the aid is better organized.

[Sidenote: Transportation is painful and dangerous.]

[Sidenote: Relief at the first dressing station.]

[Sidenote: The nurses devoted and the sufferers resigned.]

If transportation, however, is less retarded than three years ago, it is

still painful and rather dangerous. Even when a special passage has been

dug before the attack for the evacuation of the wounded, all jolts are

not avoided in this dark and narrow way; but in going through the

ordinary passage-ways, dangerous and unseen obstacles are often

encountered--crumbling earth, perhaps, or convoys going in the opposite

direction. If they heeded the wounded soldier, the stretcher-bearers

would go on open ground. This he frequently does, if he is at all able

to get on without aid; once hit he thinks himself invulnerable--a

singular illusion which has brought about many catastrophes. At the

first dressing-station and at the front hospital, relief begins. In

ordinary times, this will be quite complete, and the wounded will not be

carried to the rear until they are really able to stand the journey. But

while the battle is on, they must go in the greatest haste: the worst

cases are thoroughly cared for; the badly hurt who can be moved receive

the attention which enables them to depart speedily; the slight cases

have to be content with summary consideration. Here one sees the

devotion of the nurses and the resignation of the sufferers, and better

than resignation: the noble effort not to moan, the murmured prayer, the

forgetfulness of self, eagerness to ask news of the fight. Among the

falsities of a book a thousand times too vaunted (falsities due not so

much to the lie direct as to the constant dwelling on odious details,

and the suppression of admirable facts), nothing is farther from the

truth than the picture of a hospital at the front where one hears and

sees only blaspheming and rebellious men. With most of the wounded who

have spoken to me about it in our hospital, and who certainly had the

right to bear witness, we proclaim loudly that if the French army had

been such as the work in question paints it in this passage and in many

others, the War would have ended long ago, and history would never have

known the names of the Marne, nor the Yser, nor Verdun, nor the

Chemin-des-Dames.

[Sidenote: A true picture of our Ambulance at the front.]

A true picture of an Ambulance at the front, overflowing with wounded

the evening of a battle, I find in these lines by an eyewitness: "Some

moderate complaints among the crowded stretchers: one asks for a drink,

one wants relief for pain, a bed, a dressing, to be quickly attended.

But let some story be told in the group, some incident come out like a

trumpet-call, all faces brighten, the men lift themselves a little, the

mirage of glory gives them heart again. I commemorate with piety the

anonymous example of a little Zouave, doubled over on himself, holding

his bullet-pierced abdomen in both hands, whom I heard gently asked:

'Well, little one, how goes it?' Oh, very well, _mon Lieutenant_, our

company has passed the road from B---- to the south; we had gotten there

when I was knocked out. It's all right; we are smashing them!"

[Sidenote: Their first thought for victory.]

I, personally, received such answers from wounded who came to us from

the Chemin-des-Dames, or from the fort of Malmaison. When I asked for

news, my mind preoccupied with their individual sufferings, their first

thought was to tell me of the victory. The ordinary French phrase for

"How are you? _Comment ça va-t-il?_" (literally: How goes it?) may apply

to an event or to a person. This being so, it is never of himself that

the newly-wounded soldier thinks, but of what is interesting to

everybody--the common success. I went to welcome a patient brought in

October 26th and asked: "You came tonight?"

"Yes, Father."

"Not too tired by the journey?"

"No, not too much."

"What wound?"

"Jaw pierced by a bullet, arm broken, wound in the thigh."

"How goes it?"

[Sidenote: The wounded are delighted with the success of the attack.]

"Very well! The wounded who came to the hospital at the front were

delighted, we had gotten everything we were trying for!"

"You were in the attack?"

"Unfortunately no, I was wounded the day before."

"In the bombardment?"

"Yes, while we were filling up the trenches to make a way for the tanks

toward the fort of Malmaison."

"That must have been pretty constant thundering?"

"Yes, but very soon we did not think of it. In the little bombardments

you hear the shells coming and try to get to shelter, but, in those

great days, when it is going on all the time, you can no longer

distinguish anything, it is a continual noise, a kind of huge snoring.

Then you are quite calm."

[Sidenote: They do not speak of what they have done or seen.]

These are a few illustrations, a few rays of light, such as one still

gets sometimes. I do not know if they will become more frequent with the

new evolution of the War. They have been rare, and never followed by

long expansiveness. Our wounded soldier of the fourth year of the War

did not like to speak of what he had done nor of what he had seen. What

may be the reasons for his silence? In seeking to interpret them we

penetrate a little into the psychology of this taciturn man.

[Sidenote: The soldier plays an impersonal part.]

First, his impressions of the War are no longer fresh and now he would

have some difficulty in analyzing them. It is as with ourselves in a new

country: at first we have a thousand things to describe in our letters;

after that nothing strikes us any longer. This passage to a sort of

unconsciousness is the easier for the soldier as he plays a more

impersonal part in the War; a simple cell in a great organism, a simple

wheel in an enormous machine, quite beyond his comprehension in its

learned complication. Catastrophes happen to him but no adventures: he

may be wounded, he may be killed, nothing else. This is no material for

fine stories.

A deeper reason for the silence of the witness, or rather the actor, in

the great drama of the War, is a very just realization of the

impossibility of conveying any idea of it to those who have never been

there. It is so very different from anything they know; so out of

proportion to the normal life of human beings.

[Sidenote: The wounded man does not like to think of war.]

To these intellectual motives may be added one of feeling. The wounded

soldier does not like to speak of the War because he does not like to

think of it: there are too many horrors; he has had to bear too many

privations, too much suffering. As soon as he finds himself out of it,

he tries to turn his mind away from it as much as possible, and to shake

off the impression of it, as the sick man in the morning shakes off his

fevered nightmare. Later on, doubtless, when his memories have lost

their keen edge, they may attract him again. All he asks for the moment

is to forget. One thing especially afflicts his heart and tightens his

lips: it is the thought of the comrades he has lost.

Such are the reasons why the later wounded, differing from those at the

beginning of the War, shut themselves up in a silence full of gravity.

[Sidenote: The men in hospital are grateful.]

[Sidenote: Infirmities are less felt.]

In spite of this, however, you would have a false idea of the military

hospital if you thought of it as a place of mournful desolation.

Doubtless our earlier patients regained their spirits more quickly,

having no years of suffering behind them. But the quiet and serious

resignation which reigns in the hospital of to-day does not exclude a

certain sweetness; the wounded man appreciates the intelligent and

devoted care lavished upon him, he congratulates himself and thanks God

for having escaped from mortal peril, for not having fallen to the

bottom of the abyss, for remounting now the slope at the summit of which

he has a glimpse of the recovery of his strength and activity. If his

wound leaves no serious traces, he rejoices to live again as he did

before; if it has deprived him of the use of his limbs or of some

necessary organ, he consoles himself by the thought that the War is over

for him and that soon he will take his place at home. His infirmities,

which perhaps will weigh more heavily upon him later, he feels less

here, where they are the normal thing and where it is the exception to

appear intact.

It is a rest for him not to hear the voice of the cannon. And he likes

the moral peace with which the wise kindness of the doctors, the

devotion of the nurses, the friendship of the chaplain, surround him; he

especially enjoys the many letters he receives from his family, and

those which he slowly writes himself, or dictates to an amiable

neighbor. Often he has friends and relatives in the neighborhood who

come to see him, but what he likes best of all is the visit from his

family, his mother, father, wife, his young children.

[Sidenote: A dying man is decorated.]

[Sidenote: A legacy of honor for his family.]

Another joy in the life of our wounded is the announcement and then the

presentation of his decoration. Once, however, I saw the Cross of Honor

received with no sign of satisfaction at all, but that was because it

came too late, and its recipient, one of my friends, a brave officer,

was about to receive another recompense in heaven. It was very affecting

to see the decoration laid on that already gasping breast, without any

consciousness on the part of the poor hero. His mother and wife, at

least, before they buried him, could take the glorious emblem to hand

down as heirloom and as instruction to his three little ones. It is a

noble idea of the French Government, to give the decorations of soldiers

killed by the enemy to their families--their widows, their orphans, or,

if they are not married, to their old parents. During these years filled

with emotion, few spectacles have impressed me so deeply as the ceremony

of "taking arms" in the court of honor of the Invalides, when in this

historic monument, built by Louis XIV. and now the tomb of Napoleon, a

General of the Third Republic gave the emblem of the brave to women and

children dressed in mourning, at the same time as to rough soldiers

newly healed of their wounds and ready to return to the front.

[Sidenote: The return to the front.]

[Sidenote: Often impatient to rejoin his comrades.]

Return to the front!... This is the almost invariable ending of the

history of our wounded soldier of the fourth year of the War. Return to

the front! Never will the heroism required for the acceptance of such a

duty be sufficiently admired! After three years of fatigue, privations,

of unheard-of dangers, after one or several wounds which brought him

within an inch of death, this man who has for long months felt the

sweetness, the care, the calm of a comfortable hospital; has had a taste

of the charms of family life once more; has little by little turned his

thought away from the horrors of war, now he is sent back, to the depot,

from which he knows that before long he will be called again to the

front! And he submits, resigns himself: what do I say? Often impatient

of inaction, of the little rules which annoy his independent temper, he

asks to go in advance of the call, to rejoin as a volunteer and without

further delay his comrades of Champagne, Lorraine, Flanders or Picardy.

He reenters his regiment as the traveler reenters his own country, and

his only sadness is to find that during his absence so many old comrades

have fallen, so many newcomers have filled the gaps. But the welcome of

the survivors warms his heart.

[Sidenote: He goes into the trenches at night.]

Although it is night--for only at night do they go into the

trenches--the sky is ploughed with illuminating fireworks, with

projections and projectiles, of various kinds which bursting sow quick

flashes of light, and a death often as prompt. In a maze of narrow and

complicated paths our friend advances without knowing where and feeling

his way: nearer and nearer he approaches to enemies whose sleepless hate

growls menacingly below his feet in the ground, around him on the earth,

above him in the sky filled with sinister gleams. He goes his way

without enthusiasm, but without hesitation, without boasting, but

without fear, knowing by long experience what peril he runs, but

offering himself calmly to his formidable destiny, ready to answer:

"Present!" if God and his country demand his life.

[Sidenote: There are no heroes in past history so grand.]

What hero in all the centuries of history attains to the grandeur of our

hero? Who ever defended, in a war so terrible, a cause so important to

the future of the world? Who has striven so hard, suffered so much, so

often passed through death? To prove himself equal to his high mission,

he has had to rid himself of all egoism, renounce lucre and vain honors,

sacrifice family joys; many times he has known the worst extremes of

weariness, thirst, hunger and cold; he equals and surpasses in

austerity the severest of monks; he practices an obedience and humility

that monasteries and Thebaîdes know nothing of, constantly ready to

expose himself, as soon as he receives the order, to a terrible and

invisible death. No one ever more completely obeyed the counsels of

Christ: "If you will be perfect, leave your father and mother, your

wife, forsake your possessions, renounce yourself, take up your cross

and follow Me."

[Sidenote: Humanity has never shown such moral grandeur.]

Those among these brave men who have faith, are conscious of such

supernatural life and their letters--admirable collections have been

published--reflect a light of authentic saintliness. The others, too,

without knowing it, walk in the footsteps of Christ; at the moment of

supreme sacrifice He will enlighten them with the brightness of His

grace and will admit them, like their believing brothers, into the

heaven promised to those who suffer for righteousness. Humanity which

has never known horrors like those it is enduring now, has also never

shown such moral grandeur, and it is not astonishing that in face of

such great crimes and such great virtues, our soul should pause,

breathless, incapable of expressing the excess of its emotion.

[Sidenote: The devoted war of the American public for the wounded.]

I cannot speak to the great American public about our wounded, without

saying how much we appreciate the fact that it has followed them, with

admirable solicitude, all the length of their hard Calvary. Its

stretcher-bearers have helped us rescue them at the front, its

ambulances have carried them to our hospitals, where they have found its

doctors, its nurses to tend their wounds, its offerings of all kinds to

assure their material well-being and their moral comfort. And in

after-care it has not been less solicitous: teaching the blind,

reeducating the maimed and giving them the costly apparatus which take

the place of their lost limbs. When they could not survive, despite

efforts of science and devotion, it contributed toward assuring the

future of their widows and orphans.

America to-day gives us even her blood; she has from the first given us

her gold, given her heart!

Copyright, Catholic World, October, 1918.

* * * * *

The great series of battles, known in general as the Battle of Picardy,

formed a prelude to the final acts of the war. A stirring account of

these battles is given in the narrative which follows.

THE BATTLE OF PICARDY

J.B.W. GARDINER

[Sidenote: Possibly the decisive battle of the war.]

[Sidenote: Germany will emerge victor or vanquished.]

On March 21st, 1918, Germany opened the great engagement which will

probably prove to be the decisive battle of the war. This designation

has already, but not altogether correctly, been given to the Battle of

the Marne. The Marne did decide that the Germans were not to capture

Paris in their first great rush through Belgium and France. It did not

only halt the German advance, but threw it back behind the Aisne, thus

preventing Germany from winning the war in 1914. But it did not defeat

the German army decisively. Nor did it make an ultimate German victory

impossible. It left the German army still in the field, its strength

practically unimpaired, still capable of strong defense, still with

great striking power in attack. It made possible for the future a

decisive Allied victory, but it did not achieve it. The German defeat at

Verdun, indeed, did more harm to the German army, lessened to a greater

extent its power of defense and its strength to attack than did the

Marne, because through the French defense and counter-efforts, the

German army lost nearly half a million men. But the battle now raging,

which for convenience of reference is called the Battle of Picardy

(although it embraces Picardy, Artois, and Flanders), will do more than

did either the Marne or Verdun. It will place irrevocably and

unmistakably upon Germany the laurel of victory or the thorny crown of

defeat. It is, therefore, the decisive battle of the war. It is the

final struggle of the civilized world against the domination of the

beast. It is Germany's final effort, and, in order that this may be

appreciated, it is necessary only to recount the conditions which

impelled Germany to take the offensive at this time.

[Sidenote: Germany's eastern ambitions attained.]

[Sidenote: A peace by compromise would be a German victory.]

The developments in Russia, so entirely favorable to Germany, led many

to believe that, having attained so completely their eastern ambitions,

the German leaders would rest content with what they had, and,

strengthening their lines in the west through reinforcements drawn from

the Russian front, remain on the defensive on the western front until a

peace could be arranged. With the German talons firmly fixed in the

throat of Ukraine; with Poland, Courland, and Lithuania practically

annexed, there was a certain element of reason in this contention. It

was entirely conceivable that with such strength in the west, Germany

could set in motion the machinery of a peace propaganda, and obtain a

peace conference which would enable her to work out a programme of

concessions in the west for concessions in the east--a peace by

compromise which would answer present needs while furnishing all future

requirements in case she decided to provoke another war. Thus Germany

would end the war with a victory just as truly as if she had won it on

the field of battle, and without the terrific loss in man power that an

offensive on the western front would entail.

[Sidenote: The Allies refuse a peace by compromise.]

In constructing this theory, however, certain essentials were ignored.

German voraciousness can never be satisfied. It is a bottomless pit

which can be filled only by pouring into it the world. When there is

nothing more to be had, Germany would perforce rest content. The

possession of Russia only whetted her appetite for France and Belgium

and the life of England. Moreover, the Allies, having now learned

Germany, and having acquired a sense of their own safety and of the

future peace of the world, had no thought of permitting Germany to

remain in possession of western Russia, of Serbia, and of Rumania, and

thereby not only perpetuating but actually aggravating the condition out

of which grew the present war. They had, therefore, notified Germany

that they would lay down arms only when she was willing to disgorge what

she and her allies had swallowed, and had rectified their frontiers in

accordance with President Wilson's fourteen conditions and with Lloyd

George's statement on the same subject.

In other words, Germany was to be permitted to emerge from the war with

a profit only through military victory; she would have to defend her

conquests. This negatived the idea of a peace through negotiation.

[Sidenote: The German people equally to blame with their government.]

[Sidenote: The letter to Prince Sixtus.]

[Sidenote: Austria might make a separate peace.]

[Sidenote: There is suspicion among thieves.]

Having absorbed the fundamental fact that the Allies proposed to

continue the fight to the end, what then was Germany's position? I am

not one of those who cherish the fatuous delusion that this is a war in

which the German people are not equally involved with their government.

At the same time, it is undeniable that there existed in both the German

and the Austrian empires a considerable internal pressure, induced by

hunger and by privations (but not by any moral or ethical

considerations), to bring the war to a close. The cupboards of Russia

were neither so full nor so readily available as had been anticipated.

Suffering was general, and, with the scarcity not only of food but of

wool and of cotton, made the prospect of going through another winter of

war a gloomy contemplation. In Austria the situation was worse than in

Germany. The letter of the Austrian Emperor to his brother-in-law,

Prince Sixtus of Bourbon-Parma, which the French Government published

in April, gives sufficient indication of the Austrian need for peace. It

shows also that Germany must have had doubt of the loyalty of her ally,

and German knowledge that conditions had come to such a pass in Austria

that a separate peace would be more welcome to Austria than no peace at

all, regardless of the sacrifices which had to be made to obtain it. How

long Austria could be held Germany did not know, but it was evident that

she was not to be trusted too far. Austria is as unscrupulous, as

hypocritical as is Germany, and Germany knows it. And while there may be

honor among thieves, there is also suspicion.

[Sidenote: Germany must resume the offensive.]

But, aside from internal and political considerations, the military

situation itself was one which demanded immediate action or none at all.

It is an elemental military fact that a war cannot be won by defensive

action alone. Defeat may be averted by such means; but victory cannot be

achieved. Germany, with the exception of a single incident south of

Cambrai, had been on the defensive since the close of the battle of

Verdun early in the summer of 1916. The necessity for offensive action

at some time was therefore absolute if Germany was to win. But there

were many considerations which made that time the present. Germany could

not afford to wait.

[Sidenote: Divisions are brought from Russia.]

The middle of March found Germany at the height of her man power. Never

before since the outbreak of war had the opportunity been presented for

the concentration on the western front of practically her entire

effective strength in both men and guns. For this, of course, Russia was

responsible. The divisions which were holding the Russian lines had been

carefully picked over, and from men thus selected new divisions were

formed and old ones filled up. All were sent to France as rapidly as

possible, the movement occupying the time from September, 1917, to

March of this year. Similarly, all available artillery was concentrated

in the west, the eastern front being practically denuded. Germany then

was in immediate danger of being diverted by activities of the Allies in

other fields.

[Sidenote: America could not furnish numbers in 1917.]

The Allies on the other hand were by no means at their full strength.

America, who stepped into the war just in time to take Russia's place,

still remained impotent, unable to place in Europe numbers in any way

commensurate with the situation. But America was gathering impetus as

she went. And while she was a negligible force in 1917--except in the

matters of food and money--and would probably be a negligible force in

1918 subject to the same exception, in 1919 she was almost certain to

turn the tide strongly against the Central Powers. Even in 1918 there

could be expected a steady though small stream of men across the ocean,

who being fresh, eager, and unwearied, might cause trouble. Germany then

had the one chance to win, and that chance demanded that she strike with

all her power before America reached the field. To delay meant not a

drawn game but certain defeat. For if Germany is ever confronted in

Europe with the full strength of America in men and in the machinery of

war, she will be crushed.

[Sidenote: Germany must strike before America reaches the field.]

[Sidenote: The Russian situation is disquieting.]

Finally, the situation in Russia boded ill for Germany. Great rejoicing

has taken place in Berlin and in Vienna over peace with Russia. But it

is a peace which has not altered Germany's inability to keep faith with

any Power. Her persistent worship of materialism and force has created a

situation in Russia not at all to Germany's liking. Once the Russian

border was absolutely undefended and the way to Petrograd and Moscow

wide open, Germany could not resist the temptation to march on in

continued aggression, regardless of treaty or promises or peace or

morality. And Russia has furnished strong evidence that she is not at

all complacent under such aggression.

[Sidenote: A new Russian national army is formed.]

[Sidenote: Danger of guerilla warfare.]

The Russians are in a stage of transition, and are, therefore, unstable,

mentally unsettled. They are completely dissatisfied at Germany's

interpretation of the peace terms. They see themselves being starved

that Germany may fatten on their granaries. They are reaching the point

where organized resistance is the only answer of which the situation is

capable. Steps have already been taken to form a new national army, to

offer organized resistance to further encroachments. There are also

large elements which have never accepted the unconditional surrender and

which never will. At any moment in this land of instability, the fires

which have been kindled by German bad faith and duplicity may break into

a conflagration. There is no danger at the present time--there is danger

that before the year is out public dissatisfaction and unrest may

crystallize and Germany be faced with the most colossal guerilla war the

world has seen; and while warfare of this kind cannot defeat Germany, it

can neutralize many divisions of German troops and pin them down to the

eastern front while the Allies make the finishing stroke in the west.

This situation, out of which anything can grow, made it strongly

advisable that Germany should act before the crystallization should take

place.

[Sidenote: Ready for a great blow in the West.]

Realizing that she could not wait without serious danger to herself,

Germany mustered all her resources in the west for the great blow she

was to deliver. The problem which confronted the German General Staff

was to destroy one of the two great armies, that of France or that of

England. Both could not be handled together. Germany did not have the

strength. The attack had to be delivered against one or the other. Which

should it be?

[Sidenote: The French losses much greater than the British.]

An attack against the French had certain advantages. The French army was

unmistakably the weaker of the two. In the early days of the war, while

the British army was being formed, it was the French who had to stand

the brunt of the fighting. At Verdun it was the French who from February

to July beat back the German assaults along the Meuse time after time in

the most tremendous duel of the war. In the Battle of the Somme it was

the French who fought their way forward south of the river to the

outskirts of Péronne and Chaulnes. The French losses had, therefore,

been very much greater than the British. As the populations of France

and of the United Kingdom are about the same, the French people had,

therefore, suffered much more than had the British, and were

correspondingly less able to stand such a blow as Germany was able to

deliver.

[Sidenote: Much of French front is invulnerable.]

But there was one great disadvantage in attacking France. The blow could

not be delivered against the front from St. Mihiel to the Swiss

frontiers. This front is vulnerable only where the Vosges Mountains are

broken by the great gaps at Belfort, Epinal, and Nancy; and these gaps

are easy to defend and well backed up in rear by great bases of supply

excellently served by many radiating railroad lines. It could not be

delivered at Verdun, because France had not only retaken all the ground

of military value which had been lost; but Verdun had become to France a

religion, a fanaticism. To France it was a symbol of French love of

country, of French patriotism. Verdun meant France. Germany, therefore,

had no desire to test this fortified area again. This left only the

Champagne line between the Argonne Forest and Rheims.

[Sidenote: Reasons for not striking on the Champagne line.]

[Sidenote: The Allied armies would be left intact.]

If Germany had attacked this front, the British army, the stronger of

her enemies, would soon have struck, and whether Germany so elected or

not, she would nevertheless be running two major operations at the same

time--one offensive in Champagne, the other defensive in Picardy or in

Flanders. Again, suppose her army did bend the French line back, as it

undoubtedly would, how far back would it have to go in order for Germany

to reach a complete military decision? There would indeed be no such

decision in sight, almost regardless of the depth of penetration. The

lines might have to be rectified; Verdun might have to be abandoned; the

Vosges frontier line might have to be drawn in. But even so the French

and British armies would both be intact; both biding their time when,

with full force of their own and a million or more American troops,

Germany could be beaten. In short, an attack against the French at any

point, while promising new gains in territory, promised nothing in the

way of a decision, and, be it remembered, this is Germany's last effort;

it must reach either victory or defeat. The Battle of Picardy must and

will produce a definite, positive result. It cannot end in indecision.

[Sidenote: British army trained only for trench warfare.]

[Sidenote: The French positions.]

[Sidenote: The British railway connections might be taken.]

An attack against the British offered none of the disadvantages which

attended an attack against the French. The British were stronger it is

true. But this army, unlike that of the French, was trained for but one

thing--trench warfare. If Germany could restore war in the open--a war

of movement--this strength might be offset by a wider experience. In

attacking the British, the French could be held in check by defensive

tactics with not a great deal of difficulty; as in such operations the

terrain was greatly in Germany's favor. To take a hurried glimpse of the

French positions, we find them in the valley of the Ailette north of

the Chemin des Dames facing the high slopes of the plateau on which is

found Laon. In the Champagne they are facing a high rolling country,

studded with good artillery positions and points of observation. In the

Vosges, their problem is identical with that of the Germans--forcing the

gaps in a barrier otherwise impassable. There would be then a minimum of

danger from the French while Germany was engaged on the British front.

Moreover, behind the British line was, first, Amiens, through which

passed the great railroad systems from Calais, Boulogne, and Abbeville,

binding together the British north of the Somme to the French in the

south. With Amiens in German hands this connection would be badly

ruptured. And farther on still was the sea, which, if Germany could

reach it, would physically separate the great Allied army into two

armies, without connection, each of which could be dealt with

separately. And unlike an advance through Champagne, the farther the

Germans pushed through, the closer the Allies came to total disaster and

defeat. Germany, therefore, selected the British front for attack and

took up the task of destroying the British army.

[Sidenote: The main blow is to fall along the Oise.]

[Sidenote: Plan to drive through Amiens.]

[Sidenote: High ground near Lens and Ypres to be retaken.]

The German plan of campaign was simple in its essence, although

involving great numbers of men and an inconceivable mass of material. It

was to strike the main blow along the Oise on the front between St.

Quentin and La Fère, while a subsidiary attack was to be simultaneously

delivered on the northern side of the Cambrai salient between Cambrai

and Arras. This subsidiary attack was designed to break the salient and

destroy the danger of a flank attack against the movement to the south.

In the main attack, delivered with 15,000 men to the mile of front, it

was intended to break the connection between the British and the French

along the Oise, push a great wedge through at the point of rupture, and

then roll the British line back to the north, leaving the French to be

taken care of later. Failing in this (and Germany had taken into account

the possibility of failure), the British were to be forced back through

Amiens to the sea, and the split in the armies accomplished by

interposing between the parts a section of the seacoast. This operation

would automatically flank the positions held by the British at Arras,

force the British to fall back from Vimy Ridge, and from Lens toward St.

Pol, and, as they retreated, to uncover the Ypres salient and the

positions held in the high ground to the east and south of Ypres--that

is, the Messines and the Passchendaele ridges.

[Sidenote: The Germans use eighty divisions the first day.]

[Sidenote: The Allies retreat.]

After a brief but very intense bombardment the German infantry went

forward on March 21, 1918. They were favored by a heavy mist which

concealed their movements until they were within fifty yards of the

British trenches, between La Fère and St. Quentin. By sheer weight of

numbers these trenches were overrun and the German infantry poured

through the gap. The line to the north was at once affected by the break

in the southern line, and taken in flank, was also forced to fall back.

But a few hours after the attack was launched, the entire fifty miles of

line north of La Fère was ablaze and the British were in retreat. In

this attack the Germans threw in on the first day 80 divisions--about

one million men--nearly 20,000 men to the mile--a heavier concentration

of men than had ever been used in an attack since the war began. Against

this number the British, in the opening attack could oppose only 5,000

men to the mile. It is not surprising in view of this disparity in

numbers that the British were completely overwhelmed. In spite of the

rapidity of the initial German advance and the strength of the German

attack, the hoped-for rupture of the Allied line at the Oise did not

occur. The British and French, though retreating steadily, kept in close

touch and preserved intact the continuity of their line.

[Sidenote: The French extend their left to keep in touch with the

British.]

As the British section of the line withdrew, the French, in order to

preserve this continuity, were necessarily affected. The French extreme

left withdrew behind the Oise to throw this defensive screen before the

German attack, gradually extending their left as the British retreat

continued, passed Noyons and Pont l'Eveque. As the Allies in their

retreat approached the Somme River, the German progress became slower,

the efforts were labored. From this point indeed, the huge battle took

on something of the nature of the battle of Verdun. It became a fight

for limited objectives. Each village offered resistance and became the

object of an independent battle. The German advance, however, though

slow was not the less persistent and steady.

[Sidenote: The Somme divides the field into two areas.]

[Sidenote: Montdidier falls.]

[Sidenote: French check the Germans at Villers-Bretonneux.]

With the crossing of the Somme and the Somme-Aisne Canal on the front

between Peronne and Noyons, the battle was automatically divided into

two well defined areas by the east and west course of the Somme between

Peronne and Amiens. In the southern area, the Allied line was held by

both British and French in about equal proportions. But the French were

not yet in great force. The Germans, having passed both the Somme and

the Canal, fought their way westward step by step, in total disregard of

losses, until the line of the Avre River was reached. Here the French,

who held the line from the Luce River south and then east, made a

position stand, and a series of pitched battles occurred for the river

crossing. The first of these to fall was Montdidier at the head waters

of the Avre. This enabled the German army to reach westward of the river

and spread out after crossing to flank the defenses to the north.

Gradually the left bank of the river was cleared as far north as

Moreuil. Here the high ground on the left bank between Moreuil and the

mouth of the Luce enabled the French to beat off all German attacks for

several days. Finally, however, both Moreuil and Morisel were taken and

later the village of Cassel, the Avre being thus cleared of the Allied

troops as far north as the mouth of the Luce. From Cassel to the Somme,

however, the German forces found themselves in serious difficulties.

About Hangard, particularly, the fighting was exceptionally heavy; but

after changing hands several times, the Germans were finally thrown

across to the southern bank of the Luce and there held in place. From

Hangard north to the Somme the result was the same. After struggling for

days against the troops on the high plateau of which Villers-Bretonneux

is the centre, the Germans were brought to a standstill in their

attempts to approach Amiens by way of the Avre-Somme angle.

[Sidenote: The British retire behind the Ancre.]

[Sidenote: Albert is taken; but Germans are soon held.]

In the battlefield north of the Somme, the British retired slowly until

they were safely behind the Ancre River, which figured so prominently in

the battle of the Somme in 1916. Taking Albert, an important British

base, the Germans tried desperately to push beyond and reach the

railroad which runs along the lower Ancre from Amiens to Albert. Failing

in this, they struck heavily in the angle between the Somme and the

Ancre in order to flank the line north of Albert from the high ground

north-east of Corbie. Here also they met with defeat, so that from

Beaumont-Hamel southward the Allied line became stationary.

[Sidenote: The situation of the Germans.]

[Sidenote: To win peace the Germans must destroy an army.]

At this point in the battle the Germans found themselves in this

situation: from Montdidier westward the French lines were firmly

established first along a series of small but well defined heights as

far as Noyons and thence along the southern bank of the Oise as far as

the lower forest of Coucy. This side of the wedge was firmly fixed and

capable of great resistance. Moreover, to expend time and men in an

attack on this front would mean a serious departure from the German

plan, as success here would mean an advance toward Paris instead of

toward the sea. And at this stage of the war, peace cannot be obtained

by the capture of any city, even the French capital. The price of peace

is the destruction of an army, either that of the British or that of the

French. This can be accomplished only through reaching the sea at some

central point such as Abbeville at the mouth of the Somme.

Therefore, the German problem had of necessity to find its solution

north of Montdidier--between that town and Albert. There is not much

doubt that by concentrating sufficient artillery and by the expenditure

of sufficient men, the German leaders would be able to push their way

farther westward, even beyond Amiens. But as the wedge deepened it would

gradually draw down to a point so that the ultimate situation would be

that the German lines would form an acute angle, the vortex of which

would be on the Somme at or west of Amiens, one side passing through

Albert, or possibly through the village of Bucquoy, the other through

Montdidier. Such a formation would mean positive disaster. It would be

worth a quarter of a million men to the Allies to strike both north and

south across the base of this angle and snuff it out. It would mean to

Germany the loss of a mass of artillery and tens of thousands of men.

And the Allies would not be slow to see this opportunity and strike. The

German High Command, therefore, did not dare to take the chance with

matters as they then were.

[Sidenote: Necessary to advance north of the Somme.]

[Sidenote: The defenses of the British northern wing.]

[Sidenote: The fight for Vimy and Notre Dame de Lorette.]

In order that the German army might continue its march to the sea then,

it was necessary that the line north of the Somme should advance,

synchronizing its movement with the point of the wedge along the river.

Thus only would the wedge be sufficiently wide to avoid disaster. But

the entire northern wing of the British army was guarded by Vimy Ridge

and the heights of Notre Dame de Lorette. It was impossible that the

advance could be made, leaving these positions directly on the flank.

The combination of these two heights forms a huge semicircle concave

toward the south. The British batteries posted on these heights could

continue to rake the German advancing troops in flank and rear with most

destructive effect. Therefore, after the fighting in the south came to a

halt, the Germans undertook to open the way by forcing these two

positions. Using seven divisions--about 90,000 men--the Germans attacked

on a front not exceeding ten miles from Arleux to Fampoux on the Scarpe.

The attack continued for two days, but was an absolute failure. The

German advance had to be made down the slopes of one hill, across a

stretch of flat, open valley, and up the sides of another. Down in the

valley were the British outpost positions which were overwhelmed and

driven in. But in attempting to cross the valley floor the Germans

literally withered under machine gun and rifle fire. At the end of two

days' fighting, during which the greater part of these divisions were

cut to pieces, the attack had to be abandoned. The fighting then from

Lens southward to the Avre came to an end with the Germans completely

halted. The first definite stage of the decisive battle of the war was

thus concluded.

[Sidenote: The attack about Bucquoy.]

[Sidenote: Considerable initial successes.]

[Sidenote: A stand at the edge of the Forest of Nieppe.]

[Sidenote: The Germans take Messines Ridge.]

But the Germans were by no means ready to acknowledge defeat. The

Lens-Arras sector had to be cleared up. The attack from the south,

crystallizing about Bucquoy, and from the east both having broken down,

there remained but to attack from the north. Utilizing to the utmost the

advantages of the great railroad system which parallels this front,

connecting in a single chain all of their great advance bases, the

Germans effected a heavy concentration at Lille, and, using about twenty

divisions (which were afterward increased to thirty), struck the British

line between Givenchy--just north of La Bassée--and Warneton on the Lys

River. The initial successes were considerable. The Germans penetrated

to a maximum depth of more than four miles in the centre, although on

both right and left the line held fast. North of Armentières, however,

the British line gave ground, which enabled the Germans to pocket this

city and to capture it on the second day of the attack. On the

succeeding days, the British centre continued to give way until the edge

of the Forest of Nieppe was reached. The German position at this point

in the attack became practically untenable. The northern side of this

wedge was lined with heights from which the British artillery was

pouring a devastating plunging fire. These heights, beginning farther

east, began with the famous Messines-Wytschaete Ridge and extended due

west through Kemmel to Cassel. Moreover, in falling back the British

pivoted on Messines, which left this strong bastion from which to strike

out against the very heart of the salient. Accordingly, to remove this

danger the German leaders swung the attack north against the Messines

Ridge. After days of fighting in which Bailleul was taken and the foot

of the Kemmel series of hills was reached, the Messines Ridge was taken

in reverse and the British line was withdrawn until it passed over the

ridge just north of Wytschaete. Still pressing on the north, the Germans

attacked the Kemmel position, but the British, now reinforced by the

French, threw the attacks back as rapidly as they formed. Failing here

and at the centre in Nieppe Forest, still another attack was delivered,

this time against the southern side of the wedge from Givenchy to St.

Venant. The first two days of this fighting was also disastrous to the

Germans who were entirely unable to dent the British positions. In

brief, the Germans were then enclosed in a huge semicircle about fifteen

miles in diameter. All parts of the area enclosed were subject to

artillery fire from three sides and the Germans were striking first on

one side then on the other in frantic efforts to break the Allies'

grip--and giving no indication of sufficient power to succeed.

[Sidenote: Objectives of the Germans in the North.]

[Sidenote: The British gradually retire about Ypres.]

The objects of the German effort in the north were several. Primarily it

was intended as a means of breaking the defenses of Arras and of Lens by

cutting in behind the heights of Notre Dame de Lorette and Vimy Ridge.

Again it was intended to take Hazebrouck, Bethune, St. Pol, Aire, and

St. Omer, through which the distribution of supplies and men landing at

Calais is effected. Finally it was intended to take from the British the

high ground in Flanders, uncover Ypres, and open the way to the coast.

But for many reasons, now that the Allies had caught their breath for a

moment, so to speak, the advantage appeared to have passed from German

hands. The element of surprise, so essential to success even in trench

warfare, was no longer possible. The gradual retirements of the British

around Ypres were not costly nor did they "open a way" to the channel

ports as the Germans hoped. The Germans had fixed the points of

attack--and these were the only possible points: southern Flanders and

from the Avre to the Scarpe. Germany had already used in the offense 130

divisions out of 204; and of these 50 had been in action twice--while

the British had been heavily engaged from the outset, the French have

had but few divisions in action. There was, therefore, apparently much

greater reserve strength behind the Allies' battle line than Germany

could possibly muster. And it is reserve strength which must ultimately

decide the issue.

[Sidenote: The crisis of the Great War is at hand.]

Germany has taken the great plunge--the concentration and utilization of

her entire resources in man power in a final effort to win. It is

Germany's last bid for victory before the peace propaganda is launched.

Germany must win or go down to defeat. But Germany cannot stop. She must

go on and on regardless of cost. She has expended literally hundreds of

thousands of men, not for territorial conquest as the German press has

pointed out and emphasized, but to destroy the British army. What

figment of pretense is left if the battle remains indecisive? None the

less, for the Allies as well the situation is serious though not

critical. The crisis of the Great War is truly at hand. None can doubt

the outcome who has any belief in honor and justice among civilized

nations.

Copyright, World's Work, June, 1918.

* * * * *

For many months prior to the end of the war Bulgaria had sought an

opportunity to make peace. The people were wearied with fighting and it

was plain to them that a German victory was hopeless. Finally a complete

collapse occurred, King Ferdinand fled, and Bulgaria surrendered, as is

described in the following pages.

BULGARIA QUITS

LOTHROP STODDARD

[Sidenote: "Mitteleuropa" crumbles.]

Bulgaria's withdrawal from the Teutonic block and her frank capitulation

to the Allies is easily the most dramatic episode of the World War.

Almost overnight the massive bridge of "Mitteleuropa" has crumbled at

its central span, leaving exhausted Turkey foredoomed to speedy

surrender and laying distracted Austria open to the combined assaults of

Allied arms and domestic revolution. So stupendous are the possibilities

flowing from the Allies' September offensive in Macedonia that we are

almost tempted to believe that the age of miracles is come again.

[Sidenote: The war-spirit of Bulgaria weakens.]

Yet in such hours we should clarify our vision by insistent remembrance

of Clausewitz's famous saying that war is but the extension of politics.

For brilliant as was the Franco-Serbian escalade of mid-September,

storming successive mountain walls as though they were mere trench lines

and shearing through war-hardened Bulgarian divisions like a knife

through rotten cheese, there was more than fighting involved. For the

last year and even longer a combination of circumstances had been

weaning Bulgaria from her former solidarity with the Central powers, and

this disruptive process, proceeding with special rapidity during the

last few months, had been steadily sapping the morale of the Bulgarian

people and the war-spirit of the Bulgarian soldiery. From the broader

point of view, therefore, the Allies' Macedonian offensive must be

deemed not merely a skilful military operation, but even more a

well-timed garnering of fruits ripe for the plucking. In such masterly

combinations of strategy and politics lies the secret of decisive

victory.

[Sidenote: Bulgaria's political evolution.]

The accurate gaging by Allied statesmanship of Bulgaria's political

evolution is specially noteworthy because that evolution was both

complicated and obscure. In fact, its roots reach down to the

fundamental aspirations of the Bulgarian people. Bulgaria's present

volte-face is no chance product of panic, but a logical step in her

national policy. Its consequences thus promise to be not ephemeral, but

lasting. An understanding of the factors that brought about the existing

situation is therefore worth careful study.

[Sidenote: The Prussians of the Balkans.]

[Sidenote: Desire to attain race unity.]

The Bulgarians have often been called the Prussians of the Balkans, and

in this characterization there is a large measure of truth. A

hard-working, tenacious folk, capable of great patience, docile to iron

discipline, and appreciative of governmental efficiency, the material

progress made by the Bulgarians during their forty years of independence

is as striking in its way as the similar progress of the German people.

Unfortunately, the Bulgarians resemble the Prussians not only in their

virtues, but in their most unlovely qualities as well. There are the

same tactlessness, brutality, overweening ambition, and cynical

indifference to the means by which those ambitions are to be attained.

This has shown itself clearly throughout Bulgarian history. When

Bulgaria gained her independence of Turkey in 1878 she started with a

perfectly legitimate ambition, the attainment of Bulgarian race-unity

through the annexation of those Bulgar-inhabited portions of Macedonia

that remained under Turkish rule. For this the Bulgarian people toiled

and taxed themselves without stint. For this they built up a military

machine relatively the most formidable on earth.

[Sidenote: Projects of the leaders.]

But that was by no means the whole story. Race-unity may have been the

goal for which the simple Bulgarian peasant drilled and delved. His

leaders had more grandiose projects in view. This was specially true of

the Bulgarian monarch, Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, a man of great

political sagacity, but of a cynical unscrupulousness rivaling

Machiavelli's "Prince." Ferdinand's dream was a great Bulgarian empire

embracing the entire Balkan Peninsula, with its seat at Constantinople

and his exalted self occupying the imperial throne. This implied both

the expulsion of the Turks from Europe and the subjugation of the other

Christian Balkan peoples. In the Balkan War of 1912 Bulgaria's hour

seemed to have struck, but Ferdinand for once overplayed his hand, and

Bulgaria's Balkan rivals beat her on the battle-field and forced her to

the humiliating Peace of Bukharest in 1913.

[Sidenote: the Peace of Bukharest.]

The Peace of Bukharest was not a constructive settlement. It was an

attempt on the part of embittered enemies to punish Bulgaria's ambitions

and keep her permanently down. The result was most unfortunate. Playing

upon their balked desire for race-unity, Ferdinand bound his subjects to

his wider imperialistic designs. Raging under their humiliations and

their failure to redeem their Macedonian brethren, the Bulgarians

declared themselves ready to league with the devil if they might thereby

tear up the Bukharest parchment and revenge themselves upon their

enemies.

[Sidenote: The opportunity for revenge.]

The opportunity was not long in coming. The Pan-German devil was already

preparing his stroke for world dominion, and when the blow fell in 1914,

Bulgaria's alinement was almost a foregone conclusion. The military

losses in the recent Balkan Wars had of course so weakened her that

cautious diplomatic jockeying was a preliminary necessity, but when

Russia had succumbed to Hindenburg's hammer-strokes in the summer of

1915 and the Germanic hosts menaced Serbia in the autumn, Bulgaria threw

off the mask, struck Serbia from the rear, and joined the Teutonic

powers. Thus did the "Berlin-Bagdad" dream grow into solid fact, and

Mitteleuropa became a hard reality.

[Sidenote: The people give hearty assent.]

[Sidenote: Germany promises cessions from Turkey.]

[Sidenote: Victory over Serbia and Rumania.]

There can be no question that when Bulgaria entered the war on the

Teutonic side in the autumn of 1915 she did so with the hearty assent of

the vast majority of her people. The Germans had promised Bulgaria those

things which Bulgarians most desired. A Teutonic alliance offered

Bulgaria immediate possession of Serbian Macedonia, where lived the bulk

of the Bulgarian element still outside Bulgaria's political frontiers,

together with the practical destruction of the Serbian arch-enemy. The

Teutonic alliance likewise offered prospects of reclaiming the Bulgarian

populations of Greek Macedonia and of the southern Dobrudja, annexed by

Rumania, in 1913, should Greece and Rumania, both notoriously pro-Ally,

strike in on the Entente side. Lastly, the German Government agreed to

use its good offices with its ally, Turkey, to obtain for Bulgaria a

Turkish cession of the Demotika district of Thrace west of the Maritza

River, thereby giving Bulgaria direct railroad communication with

Dedeagatch, her one practicable outlet on the Ægean Sea. All these

things presently came to pass. Serbia lay crushed, and Serbian Macedonia

was under Bulgarian control before the close of 1915. Turkey soon

yielded Demotika. In the spring of 1916 the quarrel between the Greek

King Constantine and the Entente powers permitted Bulgaria to occupy the

coveted Drama-Serres-Kavala districts of Greek Macedonia, while that

same autumn Rumania's intervention on the Allied side resulted in her

speedy defeat, with Bulgarian troops overrunning the whole Dobrudja as

far as the Danube mouth, and Bulgarian regiments triumphantly parading

through the streets of Bukharest. Small wonder that up to the close of

1916 Bulgaria remained a loyal member of Mitteleuropa, thoroughly

contented with her bargain.

[Sidenote: Effects of defeats on Russia.]

[Sidenote: The Russian Revolution.]

[Sidenote: Bulgaria only a link in Mitteleuropa.]

The year 1917, however, saw the beginning of that estrangement from

Germany which has finally caused Bulgaria's abandonment of the Teutonic

cause. The first rift in the lute was the Russian Revolution. This event

was a great shock to Ferdinand and the Sofia politicians. When Bulgaria

had joined Germany in the autumn of 1915 her political leaders had

divined the fact that Russia's war spirit was broken by the crushing

defeats inflicted upon her by the Germans and that she would ultimately

retire from the war. But Sofia had looked forward to a Russian

retirement under imperial auspices and thereafter to a Russo-German

rapprochement in which Bulgaria should be the connecting-link,

extracting a profitable brokerage by playing off one against the other

in Balkan affairs. The idea was subtle, yet not without reason when we

remember that it was toward this very state of things that the last

czarist governments of Stürmer and Golytzin were feeling their way.

However, Bulgarian expectations were completely dashed by the credo of

Revolutionary Russia, which renounced imperialism and eschewed all those

near-Eastern ambitions which had been the watchword of the old régime.

Now, Bulgaria did not like the new situation. For though Russia was

definitely out of the Balkans, Germany and Austria were emphatically

not, and their weight was too heavy to be borne pleasantly even by their

friends. It was one thing for Bulgaria to be the connecting link of

Mitteleuropa, with mighty Russia always potentially present to redress

the balance. It was quite another matter to be just the link. That this

was to be Bulgaria's future rôle in Mitteleuropa, Germany's new attitude

made increasingly plain. The progressive disintegration of Russia

through 1917 riveted Teutonic domination on the Balkans and even offered

alternative routes to the East. This meant that Germany no longer needed

to show Bulgaria special consideration, and what that fact implied to

Teutonic minds was quickly shown by the series of bitter

disillusionments that Bulgaria had to experience.

[Sidenote: Germany disposes of the Dobrudja.]

The first shock came regarding the Dobrudja. When the Teuton-Bulgar

armies had swept the Rumanians out of the Dobrudja at the close of 1916,

Bulgaria had expected to acquire the entire peninsula. But Germany soon

showed that she had other ideas on the matter. The Dobrudja not only

controlled the mouth of the Danube, but also contained the port terminus

of the main railroad trunk-line from Central Europe to the Black Sea.

These things Germany had no intention of placing in Bulgarian hands.

Accordingly, Bulgaria was given only the southern Dobrudja, the rest of

the peninsula being held "in common." And when in the spring of 1918

Russia's final collapse forced Rumania to make peace with the Central

powers, it was to them, and not to Bulgaria, that Rumania ceded the

Dobrudja prize. Of course Germany temporized, and extended the Dobrudja

"condominium" until the final peace settlement, but Bulgaria could see

with half an eye that her hopes in this quarter would never be realized.

[Sidenote: The dispute with Turkey about Thrace.]

A second shock was presently administered by Turkey. In return for

Bulgaria's extension of territory in the southern Dobrudja, Turkey

demanded compensation by Bulgaria's retrocession of the Demotika

district of Thrace. This district, it will be remembered, was vital to

Bulgaria's railway communications with her Ægean seaboard. Bulgaria

therefore angrily rejected the proposal, Turkey as vehemently insisted,

and by the beginning of 1918 a very pretty quarrel was on between the

two allies, culminating in at least one bloody mix-up between Turkish

and Bulgarian troops. In these circumstances Bulgaria appealed to

Germany, but was deeply chagrined to receive from the Wilhelmstrasse a

Delphic utterance which might have been interpreted as an indorsement of

Turkish claims. The reason for this was that Germany was then

overrunning the Ukraine preparatory to the occupation of Transcaucasia

and the penetration of the middle East. For such far-flung projects

zealous Turkish cooperation was a prime necessity. Accordingly, Turkey

had to be favored in every possible way. As for Bulgaria, she must not

embarrass Germany in her march to world dominion.

[Sidenote: Germany does not promise Saloniki.]

[Sidenote: Reservation regarding Macedonia.]

A third shock was in store. Ever since the spring of 1916 Bulgaria had

occupied the Drama-Serres-Kavala districts of Greek Macedonia. In 1916,

Greece was clinging to an ambiguous neutrality, but a year later the

Entente powers deposed King Constantine, and Greece ranged herself

squarely on the Allied side, with a declaration of war against Bulgaria

as one of the first consequences. Thereupon Bulgaria urged Germany to

allow her definitely to annex the occupied districts and to promise her

Saloniki when victory should crown the Teuton-Bulgar arms. But here

again Bulgaria discovered that Germany had other fish to fry. Ex-King

Constantine and the Greek royalists might yet be very useful to Berlin.

Therefore they must not be alienated by giving Bulgaria territories

which would render every Greek an irreconcilable foe to Mitteleuropa.

Also Saloniki, the great Ægean outlet of central Europe was far too

valuable a prize to be committed exclusively to Bulgarian hands. But

Saloniki could be reached from central Europe only across Macedonia.

Therefore in the final Balkan settlement there must be reserves

regarding Bulgaria's control of the Macedonian railroad system. For that

matter, this might have to be applied to Bulgaria's own railroad system,

since it was the trunk-line from central Europe to the East.

[Sidenote: German interests first.]

So reasoned the suave German diplomats. The effect upon Bulgarian

sensibilities can be imagined. How far removed was this drab reality

from roseate dreams of imperial Bulgaria dominating the entire Balkans

and treating with Teutonic partners as a respected equal! The grim truth

was this: Bulgaria's promised gains were being whittled away according

to the shifting exigencies of German policy. Was anything certain for

the future? No. Because German interests came first, and the junior

colleagues must "do their part." Here once more appeared the Nemesis of

Prussian _Realpolitik_, that sinister heresy the crowning demerit of

which is that it is not even "real," since it reposes on short-sighted

egoism and disregards those moral "imponderables," good faith,

fair-dealing, etc., which weigh most heavily in the end. Having turned

the neutral world into enemies, _Realpolitik_ was now ready to turn

Germany's allies into neutrals.

[Sidenote: Bulgaria is discontented.]

[Sidenote: Bulgaria suffers also from previous wars.]

Thus by the opening months of 1918 Bulgaria was no longer a contented

member of central Europe. Most of her political leaders were profoundly

disillusioned, and uncertain as to the future. Of course these political

matters were still somewhat veiled from the masses. But meanwhile the

Bulgarian peasant had been undergoing a little educative process of his

own. German diplomats might ask Bulgaria to make sacrifices. The

Bulgarian peasant could answer roundly that this was already the case.

For Bulgaria was suffering--suffering in every fiber of her being. When

she entered the European struggle in 1915, Bulgaria was still weak from

two bloody wars. True, the Bulgarian conscripts had marched gladly

enough once more, because they were told that it was a matter of a

single short campaign, ending in a speedy peace. But two long years had

now passed, and Bulgaria's manhood still stood mobilized in distant

Macedonia, while at home the fields went fallow, and the scanty

harvests, reaped by women and children, had to be shared with the

German. Everywhere there was increasing want, sometimes semi-starvation.

Bulgaria, like Russia, was proving that a primitive agricultural people

may make a fine campaign, but cannot wage prolonged modern war.

[Sidenote: Premier Radoslavov resigns.]

All this discontent, both above and below, presently focused itself in

the parliamentary situation. The opposition groups in the Bulgarian

Sobranje steadily gained strength until on June 17, 1918, Premier

Radoslavov was forced to resign. Radoslavov had been in power since

1913. He had been the architect of the Teuton-Bulgar alliance and was

known to be a firm believer in the Mitteleuropa idea. His successor,

Malinov, naturally gave lip-service to the same program, but his past

leaning had been toward Russia, and he had never displayed marked

enthusiasm for the Teutons.

Of course this change of ministry did not mean that Bulgaria was then

ready to make a separate peace with the Entente Allies. Every Bulgarian

knew that such an act would mean the abandonment of Bulgaria's whole

imperialistic dream and the immediate relinquishment of supremely prized

Macedonia. But it did mean that Bulgaria was discontented with her

present situation and that she was resolved to take a more independent

stand toward her Teutonic allies even though Germany was in the full

flush of her great Western offensive and dreaming of a speedy entry into

Paris.

[Sidenote: The changes of fortune in the West.]

[Sidenote: Peace demonstrations.]

[Sidenote: The tales of Bulgarian prisoners.]

[Sidenote: The capitulation.]

But just a month after Malinov's accession came the dramatic shift of

fortune in the West. The German offensive broke down, and the Allies

began their astounding succession of victories. Instantly the Balkan

situation altered. Bulgaria knew that the spring offensive had been

Germany's supreme bid for victory. To fill the ranks for the rush on

Paris and the channel ports the last German veterans had been withdrawn

from the East. Gone were those field-gray divisions which had stiffened

the Macedonian front and kept down popular discontent by garrisoning

Bulgarian towns. The peasant voice was at last free to speak, and it

spoke in no uncertain terms for an end of the war. Agrarian disturbances

increased in frequency. Peace demonstrations occurred in Sofia. In fact,

some of these demonstrations were tinged with revolutionary red.

Bolshevism, that wild revolt against the whole existing order to-day

manifest in every quarter of the globe, had not passed Bulgaria by. Of

course there was the army, but the army itself was not immune. By early

July, Bulgarian deserters and prisoners taken on the Macedonian front

were telling the Allied intelligence officers strange tales--tales of

midnight soldiers' meetings at which "delegates" were chosen in true

Russian fashion, and which Bulgarian regimental officers found it wisest

to ignore. Such was the situation in early summer. By the first days of

autumn Bulgaria was cracking from end to end. It was in mid-September

that General Franchet d'Espérey, the Allied commander, ordered the

Macedonian offensive. Small wonder that within a fortnight Bulgaria had

surrendered and retired from the war.

[Sidenote: Turkey's doom sealed.]

The consequences of Bulgaria's capitulation should be both momentous and

far-reaching. In the first place, Turkey's doom is sealed. Cut off from

direct communication with the Teutonic powers save by the Black Sea

water-route and staggering under her Palestine defeats, Turkey is now

menaced at her very heart. By the terms of the recent armistice Bulgaria

has agreed to allow the Allies free passage across her territory,

including the full use of her railways. This means that the Allies can

move through Bulgaria upon Turkish Thrace, the sole land bastion

protecting Constantinople. Turkey's military situation is thus hopeless,

and it is not impossible that before these lines appear in print Turkey

will have followed Bulgaria's example and will have thrown up the

sponge.

[Sidenote: Rumania to be freed.]

A second possibility is the liberation of Rumania. The "peace" imposed

upon Rumania by the Central powers last spring was one of the most

shameless acts of international brigandage in the annals of modern

history, and though dire necessity compelled Rumania to sign, it was

plain that she would submit to her new slavery only so long as the

Teutonic pistol was held to her head. This pistol took the form of a

Teutonic army of ten divisions camped upon her soil. But to-day Rumania

is thrilling to the great news, and when Allied bayonets begin flashing

south of the Danube these heliographs of liberty will light a flame of

revolt which second-rate German divisions will be unable to stamp out.

With the ground burning under their feet the Teutons will probably

evacuate Rumania with only the most perfunctory resistance to the

advancing Allies.

[Sidenote: German prestige in the East crumbles.]

And southern Russia is in much the same case. To-day it is bowed beneath

the Teuton yoke, yet the Teutonic corps of occupation are mere islets

lost in its vast immensity and ruling more by prestige than by physical

power. But German prestige is crumbling fast, and when Turkey's

surrender opens the Black Sea to the Allied fleets, southern Russia,

like Rumania, should be in a blaze. From the Ukraine to the Caucasus the

land is already seething with disaffection. The Don Cossacks have never

been subdued. Will the Germans dare to hold their thin communication

lines till the guns of Entente warships are thundering off Odessa and

Batum?

[Sidenote: Austria's condition is desperate.]

Lastly, there is Austria-Hungary. Bulgaria's capitulation opens the way

for the liberation of Serbia and an Allied push to the Austrian border

on the middle Danube. Beyond lie whole provinces full of mutinous

Jugoslavs and Rumanians. For that matter, all the non-German and

non-Magyar peoples of the Dual Empire are in a state of suppressed

revolt, held down by armies largely composed of their disaffected

brethren. Perhaps the Balkan winter may delay the Allied advance,

perhaps Germany may find enough troops to stifle Austrian disaffection,

but the condition of the Hapsburg realm is at best a desperate one, full

of explosive possibilities.

[Sidenote: Bulgars are disillusioned about Germany.]

[Sidenote: There may be a Balkan confederation.]

These are the major consequences which seem likely to flow from

Bulgaria's surrender. There remains the question of the future attitude

of Bulgaria herself. Will she remain a passive spectator of these

momentous happenings, or will she, striking in on the Allies' side, do

her share toward bringing them to pass? The latter eventuality is more

than possible. The Bulgarians, from czar to peasant lad, are realists,

not given to vain sacrifices. They see that Germany's game is up and

that her Balkan grip is broken forever. They have also been bitterly

disillusioned about Mitteleuropa, and must to-day realize that under

Mitteleuropa whatever Balkan territories might have been colored

"Bulgarian" upon the map, they themselves would have been virtually

serfs of a Germany whose idea of empire was the outworn concept of a

master race lording it over submissive slaves. With their eyes thus

opened, the Bulgarians are in a position to appreciate the Allies'

profession of faith with its program of freedom for the smallest peoples

and fair-dealing even toward the foe. Imperialistic dreams must of

course be banished forever. But solicitude for race-brethren outside

Bulgaria's present frontiers is a sentiment which the Allies recognize

as wholly legitimate and which they are pledged to satisfy either by

permitting annexation to the homeland or, where this is impossible owing

to superior claims of intervening races, by assuring the unredeemed

Bulgars full cultural liberty. The Allies' hope is a Balkan

confederation in which its varied races may pull together in common

interest and mutual respect instead of rending one another in vain

dreams of barren empire achieved through blood and iron. Is it too much

to hope that so level-headed a people as the Bulgarians will come to

realize that in such a Balkan settlement their lasting interests will be

far safer than in a Balkans precariously dominated by a Bulgarian

minority holding down a majority of sullen and vengeful race enemies?

Copyright, Century, December, 1918.

* * * * *

The most picturesque army raised during the great war was that formed by

large numbers of Czecho-Slovaks, formerly prisoners of war in Russia and

deserters from the Austrian armies. This force fought its way through

Russia and Siberia, opposed by the Bolsheviks who had promised them safe

conduct to France. A description of these famous fighters is contained

in the following pages.

THE FIGHTING CZECHO-SLOVAKS

MAYNARD OWEN WILLIAMS

[Sidenote: The romantic Czecho-Slovak army.]

The Czecho-Slovak Expeditionary Force is one of the most romantic armies

of the ages and an important step toward world democracy and idealism. I

learned to know the Czechs in a journey across Siberia on one of their

trains. They furnished me a bed when beds were scarce, transportation

when transportation was scarcer, and shoes when shoes were necessary. I

have never seen a real Czech that I could not endorse.

[Sidenote: Two methods of travel in Russia.]

[Sidenote: A journey on a Czecho-Slovak train.]

Last March there were two ways to travel in Russia. If one was an

American--relief worker, correspondent, Y.M.C.A. man--one could get a

private car. Many Americans rode that way for a trifling cost and

without inconvenience. And it was in such cars that some of Russia's

severest critics traveled. The other way was intimate travel with the

common herd. I started thus. It was at Irtishevo, a junction point near

the lower Volga, that I changed. In a crowded station in the Russian

disorder, I suddenly found myself looking into the eyes of a spirited,

smiling young officer, who had evidently learned that I was an American

journalist and who was explaining to me in three languages that there

was no way out of my riding to Vladivostok with his military train. He

wore a red and white ribbon. His alert bearing and enthusiasm marked him

in the numbers of nondescript soldiers who were still traveling in the

Russian chaos of last spring. I was about to protest mildly in French

when three of his fellow soldiers of fortune seized my baggage, carried

it around a countless number of trains and stowed it away in a

compartment from which another officer, warned of our arrival just in

time, was removing his personal effects. He may have stood up all night.

Anyway, I was a quite willing captive on one of the forty odd trains of

the Czecho-Slovaks which had started to cross Russia and Siberia to

fight for their liberty in France.

My friend was of medium height, well knit, deep chested, smart in

bearing. The red and white ribbon on his cap was the badge of the

Czechs. Before I had left them at Vladivostok five weeks later I could

have picked a Czech out from any crowd by his air of determination

backed by an enthusiastic good cheer which everywhere won its way from

Austrian prisoner to warmhearted Russian peasant woman. All that night I

heard them singing in that splendid, low, group chorus of theirs along

the entire line of the train.

[Sidenote: The Czechs are finely disciplined.]

I found these finely disciplined fellows next morning sitting in the

doorways of their freight cars. Some were playing on violins they had

whittled out in the prison camps. The future of their cross country

jaunt to the Pacific worried them not at all. They had fought their way

out of the Ukraine, where German elements had tried to stop them. As

former citizens of the Central Powers, they were quite happy in the

chance to fight again for what their ancestors of five centuries before

had stood. Bolsheviks there were among them. But a Czech Bolshevik

differs from a Russian in that he shaves and thinks before he acts.

Never have I seen more sharp salutes or stricter discipline, and these

men were in Russia where discipline was a curiosity. A Czech is so

anxious to accomplish that he is willing to discipline himself. When a

Czech marches, he marches irresistibly. In theory, he may be a

Socialist. In action, he is a patriot.

[Sidenote: Teaching English to Czech officers.]

I found my place on the expedition as teacher of English to a group of

Czech officers and members of the National Assembly. My class wanted

English in order to be able to understand President Wilson's speeches as

they traveled across the United States, for they rank the President with

their own national leader, Masaryk. The Czech is literate in several

languages, and if he wants another he gives a week-end to it. In my

class were university graduates, artisans, engineers and musicians. The

Czech is a natural-born good mixer.

[Sidenote: The young men make friends everywhere.]

When our train would reach a town, these young men of action won friends

wherever they went. Milk woman and bread seller all along the

Trans-Siberian liked them, for they pay spot cash, deal honorably and

don't know what ruffianism means.

The miracle accomplished by the Czechs is the result of discipline and

courage rather than strategy. Their rise to power was on their own

initiative. They could have stayed passive as have so many times their

number among the prisoners from other parts of Austria. But their stand

for freedom from the Austrian yoke is uncompromising. They started out

determined to fight for France and victory. The great bulk of the

remaining Austrian prisoners are completely satisfied if only they can

keep away from war. The Czechs are passionate in their burning

patriotism. The Austrian prisoners in Russia who still feel a certain

degree of loyalty to Austria are passive in their sentiment. Most of

them shrink from enforced military service--either back in Austria or in

a German-Austrian prisoner offensive on the spot in Siberia.

[Sidenote: Groups that have no love for the Germans.]

[Sidenote: Willing to join the Czechs.]

This Czechish heart centre of virile independence acted as a powerful

magnet wherever their bands moved. All through Russia and Siberia, there

are refugee groups from Poland, Lithuania, Courland and the Riga

District. These people have no love for the Germans who drove them from

their homes nor for the Junkers of their own communities who handed

their lands over to the Germans rather than have them divided by the

Bolsheviks. Germany is finding that there is a difference between saving

landed proprietors from hostile peasants and workingmen and the huge

task of enslaving these same peasants under the Prussian yoke. Hundreds

of these elements in Russia's great refugee population wanted to enter

the Czech expedition, but these fighters were compelled to keep their

army small, compact and homogeneous. Transportation was insufficient.

Even Czech artisans were refused a place in the trains unless they could

pass rigid examinations. The willingness of other forces to unite with

the Czechs may well be counted on when the call for them comes in

Siberia and Russia.

[Sidenote: The National Assembly of Bohemia.]

[Sidenote: Attractive decorations of the cars.]

The General Staff train on which I rode carried, in addition to the cars

for officers and men, a hall for the National Assembly meetings, a

complete printing outfit, a photographic dark-room, with full equipment

for still and motion pictures, a bakery, kitchens and a laundry. It was

on this moving train, all parts of which were connected by telephone

with the car of the commanding officer, that the plans for a New Bohemia

were being worked out. A daily four-page newspaper was published on the

General Staff train. It gave the ideals of the expedition, the current

news translated into Czechish, lessons in French for the use of the

forces on landing in France, and quotations from Professor Masaryk.

About four thousand copies of this paper were printed every day and

distributed not only among the Czechs but among many of the Austrian war

prisoners, who were thus informed of the ambitious plans these fighting

independents saw before them. Their trains showed their versatility and

love for decoration and home-making. Not only were they clean, but

hundreds of the cars were decorated with life-size drawings, and with

quaint designs in evergreens. To enable the men to find their friends, a

roster of the occupants of the car was printed on the red flanks of

their freight wagons. On the roofs, model aeroplanes and wind-mills spun

in the breeze. A Czech train reminded me of a picnic, and, aside from

the earnestness, it was.

[Sidenote: Study and athletic contests.]

For some travelers, the Trans-Siberian trip is monotonous. It was not

for the Czechs. They read and studied. They were always busy--even

before their clashes with the Bolsheviks began to take up some time. The

Y.M.C.A. had secretaries with some of the trains and sent supplies of

literature and games. The Bohemians are the champion gymnasts of the

world and athletic contests were arranged at every station, until at the

call of a bugle the train would pull out, picking up sweating, happy men

as it gathered speed.

[Sidenote: The Czechs distribute President Wilson's speeches.]

At the larger stations we spent sometimes hours, sometimes days. That

gave a chance for the Czechs to mix with the Russian people. It gave the

people an awakening sense of acquaintance with this happy race, who,

while going from war to war around the world, were distributing the

words of President Wilson to prove the sanity of their cause and the

folly of the Russian collapse. The President's speeches were widely

read and much appreciated. But these enthusiastic, friendly Czech

soldiers were the living examples of the President's rather abstruse

lessons of democracy. President Wilson might seem a political Messiah,

but the Czechs were the John the Baptists who made the initial

impression upon the Russian and Siberian peasants.

An Austrian prisoner at a Siberian station shouted one day so all could

hear: "What is this freedom that you talk about?"

Immediately a thick-chested Czech strode forward.

"It is the one thing that makes a man a man," he replied. "It is the

thing that links men together without weakening them individually. It is

the thing that will wipe out tyranny, because a free man won't stand a

tyrant."

As he talked to the slow-minded Russians and the slouching Austrian,

this ruddy-cheeked Czech exemplified the advantages he preached. There

was no slouch in his body, or character. The power that had gathered

together a group which had been dispersed all over Russia and welded it

into a fighting unit was not only passionate desire for freedom and

willingness to fight for it, but the power of self-discipline which made

both possible.

[Sidenote: The spirit of crusaders.]

The Czech army was gay without license. In Irkutsk, during the Easter

holidays, it ate ice-cream sandwiches or went up in tiny Ferris wheels

in the true spirit of the reveler at a dry-town carnival. In Omsk one

night it stood silent for hours, listening to the art of a Czech

violinist playing for the wounded in the Red Cross car. It paraded the

streets with a smile and an air of pride. It is boyish, open-hearted,

lovable. It makes friends. Neat in dress, erect in bearing, enthusiastic

in outlook--the Czechs win the Russian masses. There is the spirit of

the Crusaders in these fighters, a spirit of personal and national

cleanliness. Liberty to them is not a thing to wave a flag over but to

die for, if necessary. They are too sincere to be dramatic.

[Sidenote: A force in establishing confidence.]

Having come out of Armenia, with its remnant race of human wrecks, and

after months of the demoralizing fatalism and moral laxity of the

Russian, I was astounded by the miracle of stability of the tiny Czech

force in establishing an economic frontier between the Germanophile

sections of Russia and freedom-loving Siberia. Not only is this force

the key to the military problem of opposing Germany in Siberia. But from

the standpoint of sympathetic friendship between confused Russia and

America, the Czecho-Slovaks offer the most helpful force in establishing

confidence and turning into fact the good will which America bears to

Russian citizenry.

They can best tell their own story. Lieutenant B---- of my English class

was typical.

"When war was declared, I was in Switzerland," he told me. "Late in July

I climbed to the heights overlooking Austria. I could throw a stone over

into that land of oppression. That very day, when I went down into the

Swiss village, I heard that the Austrian mobilization had been ordered.

I could not believe that war would come. I returned to the land I hated

and in two days I had joined my class. We were to fight Russia. This was

unthinkable. Better to mutiny against our German and Magyar officers

than murder our brother Slavs.

[Sidenote: Czech regiments went over to Russia by companies.]

"And so it was that the word was secretly passed through whole regiments

of our men to desert to the Russians. The opportunity came when we faced

Brusiloff's army. The Russians knew and were ready to receive us. We

walked over in companies, with banners flying and bands playing and men

falling before the shots that rang out behind us. We hoped to turn and

fight against our oppressors. And for a while some of us did. But one by

one those of us who had entered the Russian ranks were removed and sent

to prison camps, whence we were scattered among the homes and factories

of Russia. My own band of companies was soon thoroughly broken up and

dispersed from Turkestan and the Caucasus to Tobolsk and Irkutsk. As

German influences strengthened at the Russian court we were sent to

worse and worse positions, malarial and barren territories. But we

prospered in spite of all that was done to oppress us.

[Sidenote: Waiting the time to strike for liberty.]

"For a while I managed a cotton factory in Turkestan and later I went to

open some mines further in the country. But all the while we kept in

touch with one another and day by day we waited for the time when we

could strike for liberty and Bohemia. Professor Masaryk was to give the

signal for the blow for liberty.

[Sidenote: The Russian Revolution.]

[Sidenote: Czechs ask to go to France.]

"Then came the Russian Revolution. With the Czar, the German influences

at Court were overthrown. We left our farm work and our shop benches. We

poured out of the dark mines and united in Czech battalions to fight in

the armies of Kerensky. At Zborov, we pierced six enemy lines but were

forced to retreat because the other fighters failed to advance as fast

as we. Then came the long wait for the time when Russia should find

herself, as she is still trying to do. The Slav is not a coward once his

mind is trained. There is hope for his ultimate recovery. The power of

Czardom was enforced ignorance, and this made possible the infamous

treaty of Brest-Litovsk. But we saw that there was no hope for a mere

handful of us to hold the Russian front, and to attempt this would be to

antagonize the Russian people. So we applied for permission to leave

Russia and go to France.

[Sidenote: The journey to Vladivostok.]

"Everyone said that it could not be done. It meant going almost round

the world. But we were determined and soon we had gained the support of

the French Government and the permission of the Bolshevik leaders, who

were glad enough to get us out of the country. They feared we would

start a counter-revolution. But here we are in Siberia and the hardest

part of our journey is over. Two weeks more should find us in

Vladivostok and from there we can go very quickly to France, where

thousands of our fellows are already fighting for the cause of liberty."

[Sidenote: The men are classified by occupation.]

Captain H---- was in Omsk. Behind him, as I talked with him, was a card

index file showing the occupation and residence of forty thousand Czech

artisans resident in Siberia. Typewriters clicked in the bright office

and outside a Czech wagon arrived with a ton of meat en route to the

cold storage cellar which he had built in the outskirts of Omsk.

[Sidenote: Food is obtained at high prices.]

"I arrived here alone and with only a few rubles," said Captain H----.

"But I heard that some day my fellows would come through on their way to

France. So I began organizing our resources. Many of our men have made

much money as prisoners in Russia. They were generous. Men began to

flock in and we took off their Austrian uniforms and put them into

Russian uniforms--the uniform of our expeditionary force. Fighting men

were listed and trained. Artisans we merely listed, and there are forty

thousand names classified by occupation and residence in those files. In

three weeks we have taken in 610 Czech prisoners and sent them out in

the uniform of the expeditionary force to France. Every shoe and belt

and uniform is utilized and nothing is wasted except the hated Austrian

uniform, which is in most cases worn to shreds anyway. We have

established friendly relations with the people. Theoretically we are not

supposed to be doing this. Theoretically, we are not securing food. But

actually we are getting enough and to spare. Ten trains a week get

several days' supplies here. Only in disorganized Russia could such

things be. But we have to pay the secret agents of the local Soviet

sixty-five rubles for meat. Its market price is thirty-five."

[Sidenote: Professor Masaryk in America is the leader.]

In my note-book, I cannot find the names of a dozen leaders of the Czech

expedition. In a sense, there were no leaders. The outstanding fact in

the Czech army is the democracy of it. The leaders are men who have been

trained, but they owe their position to popular choice. Yet there is no

foolish idea that military decisions can be made by a committee of

soldiers. The Czech sacrifices personal ambition to his cause and that

is why his cause is worth fighting for. The Russian cause, a thing of

chaos, is losing force every day. I might almost say that the Czechs, in

Siberia, were led by Professor Masaryk, in America, through the

influence of his words in the daily paper. As prominent a figure among

the Czechs as any one man in the expedition is Kenneth Miller of New

York, director of the Y.M.C.A., and held on a high pedestal in the

affection of 10,000 men. He has had much to do with the moving of the

Czech trains in all their complicated travel arrangements.

[Sidenote: How the Czechs came to control Siberia.]

The democracy of the Czech army and the ease with which it made friends

continually surprise me. The officer who induced me to join them was a

mere lieutenant, yet he never consulted anyone about taking me in. Was I

not an American? Each day some officer was told off to arrange matters

with the station masters. They moved their trains without bluff or

bluster. Sometimes the Soviets hindered them in order to get what guns

and supplies they could. But not till weeks after they started did any

Soviet have the temerity to try to stop or disarm the men. The Russian

masses were quickly won to friendship for the Czechs and the only force

that tried to interfere was the Bolshevik battalions who acted under

orders from distant points, where the man who gave the order enjoyed

comparative safety. The way that their control of Siberia through an

attempt to disarm them came about is as romantic as any feature of their

story.

[Sidenote: They have passes to leave the country.]

The presence of forty thousand well-disciplined Czech soldiers whose

loyalty to the cause of freedom was stronger than that of the rapidly

changing Russian proletariat made it seem desirable to the Bolshevik

authorities to rid the country of men so willing to fight and so little

subject to the extreme socialistic doctrines then rife in Russia. Both

Lenine and Trotzky by agreement with Professor Masaryk furnished these

men with passes for leaving the country and in spite of the chaotic

condition of transportation ample rolling stock, amounting to about

sixty trains of forty freight cars each, was placed at their disposal or

secured by the Czechs through their own efforts. Arrangements had

already been made with representatives of the French Government so that

plenty of money was provided for provisioning, equipping and

transporting a minimum of forty thousand men over about six thousand

miles.

[Sidenote: Military equipment being taken away.]

[Sidenote: The Czechs resist.]

Before these trains had gone far one local Soviet after another had

insisted on their leaving behind the armored motor cars, aeroplanes,

machine-guns and other military equipment which had been allotted to

them by the Russian Government during the Kerensky offensive. By the

time Penza--one day's run west of the Volga--was reached, after

machine-guns had been mounted on the engines in fighting their way

through the Germanized Ukrainian districts, the arms of each train had

been reduced to 140 rifles and ammunition. But the Czechs knew enough

about Russian conditions to realize the necessity for at least one gun

to a man and when the Bolsheviki, early in June, started to disarm them,

guns and rifles appeared from secret hiding places, to the extreme

consternation of the disarmers.

[Sidenote: Siberian Soviets delay the Czechs.]

[Sidenote: The Czechs overcome their captors.]

The reason for their being in the district of the Urals is one part of

the romance of their adventurous life. Out across Siberia, near the

Manchurian frontier, during April and May, the Cossack General Semenoff

was operating. He had closed to traffic the Trans-Siberian line by way

of Harbin, so that the first twelve thousand Czechs had had to use the

single track Amur Railway line to the north by way of Khabarovsk. By May

4 an international proletariat army thoroughly mercenary in character

and numbering possibly three thousand men, largely Austrian prisoners of

war, was enlisted to repulse Semenoff from the region of the railway

junction at Karuimskaya. Obviously since it was known that the Czechs

were financed by France and that France favored intervention in Siberia

it was indiscreet to allow thousands of Czech soldiers whose bravery was

unquestioned to pass within fourteen miles of the army under the command

of Semenoff. Fictitious floods on the Amur and some well-founded stories

of the poor condition of the single track Amur line were conjured up by

the Siberian Soviets as a reason for temporarily preventing the Czechs

from proceeding to France. The only real service performed by Semenoff's

provocative army of mercenaries and Chinese and Japanese irregulars, was

the indirect one of detaining the Czechs in Siberia, a service on which

the Cossack leader never figured. There is no question but that to get

to France was the sincere desire of the Czechs and there was no

suggestion that their forces could be or desired to be used in Siberia.

Having left the Austrian army rather than fire on their brother Slavs

the Czechs could scarcely be expected to have much enthusiasm for

fighting Russians over an ill-defined intervention program through

thousands of miles of Siberia. Chafing under the enforced delay, these

soldiers insisted that they be allowed to proceed to France. This seemed

out of the question to the Bolsheviki whose only alternative was to

disarm them. The Czechs who had carefully avoided any aggression upon

Russians until then, immediately set up a stout resistance, quickly

overcoming their would-be captors and thus almost miraculously putting

the small force which had then probably reached one hundred thousand men

in control of thousands of miles of railway reaching from Novo

Nikolayevsk to Tcheliabinsk and thence along the two branches leading to

Ekaterinburg and Zlatoust. This virtually established an economic

boundary between Siberia and Russia along the line of the Urals, since

the unsettled condition of the country makes the railway the only

practicable line of communication.

[Sidenote: How control of the railway is secured.]

[Sidenote: The Russian peasants friendly.]

The control of the railways was easily secured. At each of the important

stations Czech trains held the sidings. Due to the delay the trains

which should have been en route to France piled up at the stations, and

even in European Russia at Samara, Simbirsk and Suizran, a sufficient

number of Czechs held the station points to make their capture by

Bolsheviki forces a difficult matter. The Czechs made no attempt to

seize the towns located some distance from the stations or any other

territory. They wanted only to make secure their railroad travel. The

high prices which they paid for their necessarily large supplies of

provisions and the fact that they paid cash while the Bolshevik forces

and Soviets often requisitioned food supplies, likewise their good cheer

and personal magnetism, won for them the friendship of the peasant and

artisan classes in many of the villages so that when the clash came only

such Bolshevik forces as were definitely put to the task of disarming

them were actually hostile. The easy-going and friendly Russian peasant,

supine under the violent political changes, is a traditional friend and

an unwilling enemy. This characteristic, which the Allied Governments

have harshly criticized, may be counted upon to work to the advantage of

the Allies under any fair scheme for economic aid and peaceful

penetration which does not give grounds upon which active German

propaganda could construct open hostility.

One may well wonder why the hundreds of thousands of Austrian war

prisoners in Siberia have not blown up tunnels, destroyed tracks and

otherwise tried to stop the Czech expedition. It may be that the

Austrians secretly admired these men and were too tired of war to take

the initiative in Siberia.

[Sidenote: Seizure of Vladivostok.]

[Sidenote: The people welcome the Czechs.]

The seizure of Vladivostok by the Czechs was characteristic. From their

arrival, they attracted the attention and admiration of the people, many

of whom were planning an anti-Bolshevik demonstration. Every ship

commander in the harbor had his men ready for landing parties in case of

trouble. But there was no disorder on the day of the demonstration and

not till a month later did a Bolshevik disturbance give the Czechs a

chance to free an anti-Bolshevik city from its oppressors. Japanese,

Chinese, English or Americans from the war-ships could have done it. But

when the Czechs did it, a Slavic, Russian-speaking people gained

control of a city that gladly welcomed their intervention. The same idea

explains their marvelous success in Russia. Having braved death rather

than fight Russians, the Czechs can now fight oppressive Russian

elements without having their motives misunderstood or their plans

opposed.

[Sidenote: Marriages of war prisoners and peasant women.]

Siberia has afforded an interesting race study ever since the Teuton

prisoners began to arrive. From the very first, German and Austrian

prisoners mated with the sturdy peasant women of Siberia and settled to

a happy and unhampered life in the undeveloped lands of the great

plains. Some of the women had husbands at the front, but _nichevo_ never

means "never mind" to a greater extent than it does in Russian marital

affairs. A man's a man for a' that, and there was little trouble until

the two parents of different nationality and language discussed which

language the children should be taught. German and Russian produce the

same tow-headed stock. With the downfall of the Russian army the Russian

husband sometimes returned and though quite willing to assume

responsibility for the new offspring, insisted on asking the Austrian

substitute at his bed and board to leave. As often as not the Austrian

left. There were always a better farm and frau to be had elsewhere, and

some Russian women are tiresome anyway.

[Sidenote: Many Austrians do not go home.]

When conditions are like this in Siberia, why should an Austrian return

to a hungry country to fight a heroic enemy? A happy home in Siberia,

which some other man has founded, or starvation in Austria? No wonder

the Austrians in Siberia are a mercenary and unpatriotic lot. I saw many

in the Bolshevik army. Most of those I talked with were under arms for

the sake of the 200 rubles per month, equipment and food they were paid

by the Bolsheviks, without, as they told me, planning to run any

unnecessary chances of losing their lives in actual fighting against the

Czechs or any other enemy of the Bolsheviks for that amount of money, if

they could avoid it; not a very difficult matter.

Allied military support of the Czechs in Siberia is not Japanese

intervention, and sentiment in Russia and Siberia against intervention

to-day is now what it was six months ago. If the Bolsheviki do not

represent the people of Russia, the only way the Russian people can

develop confidence in themselves, and strength, is to throw off the

Bolsheviki. The Archangel and Siberian regions have started such moves.

Siberia seems ready to welcome the Czechs, and if the Allied forces in

Siberia keep themselves sufficiently in the background, Siberia will

probably welcome the friends of the Czechs. The Allies have failed in

Russia in the past because they have trusted upon material equipment

rather than upon education of the people in the ideals of our cause. A

certain amount of military intervention is necessary in Siberia if we

are to protect the Czechs and protect the supplies which an economic

mission would furnish. The danger lies in taking the control of that

military intervention out of the hands of the Czechs. If my observation

among all classes in Siberia counts for anything, the day the non-Slavic

forces of the Allies, especially the Japanese, whom the Russians

despise, move ahead of the Czechs who have already the confidence of the

Russians as no Allied army could, that day the Allied army will

encounter difficulties. This may spell tragedy for the cause of

democracy.

[Sidenote: Siberia differs from Russia.]

In general the Volga divides Siberia, the home of the freedom-seeking

exile, from Russia, in which for years German ideas have been encouraged

to the exclusion of French and English. Whole sections of Russia and

Siberia will starve this winter. If we follow the Czechs into Siberia

with economic aid, repairing and consolidating the railroad lines behind

them, installing modern methods of distribution we can then say to the

stricken people--"Some of you are starving, but this is in spite of all

the aid we can give." But across the Volga in Russia the people will say

to Germany--"We are starving because you took our food, because you

forced disorganization which has ruined us." Spring will allow the

intelligent Russian peasant to compare such Americanism with the blight

of Prussianism. Never fear that the object lesson will be in vain!

[Sidenote: A nucleus for the forces of freedom.]

Can the Czechs become an actual nucleus for the forces of freedom in

Russia and Siberia? They already are. The extent of their influence in

Siberia, in the region of the Don and in the heart of the Central Powers

themselves, is only limited by the support they receive from the Allies

and the restraint of the latter in independent action. The fate of

history may depend on the working out of the Czecho-Slovak miracle--a

plain gift of fortune to the cause of freedom.

Copyright, Asia, Journal of the American Asiatic Association, September,

1918.

* * * * *

The spirit which animated the American soldiers in France was a

revelation to the Allies, although it was precisely the spirit which

Americans at home knew would inspire them when they reached the actual

fighting line. Some instances of this spirit, and of experiences on the

American firing line, are told in the following pages.

SIX DAYS ON THE AMERICAN FIRING LINE

CORPORAL H.J. BURBACH

"We have arrived!"

[Sidenote: We reach the front.]

The French Army officer, who, skilled through years of actual artillery

service on the French fronts, had been my instructor through weeks of

training, and my guide up to the Front, stood still and spoke most

casually, as if our destination had been a Chicago restaurant.

[Sidenote: My comrades are hidden in the fog.]

"Yes, sir." I tried to be as casual, but could not disguise the

excitement that filled me. "Shall--the guns--" and I stopped, startled

at the tone of my own voice. It sounded as if it were coming from some

person a dozen feet away. And as I stood there a sense of elation, that

was possibly partly fear, swept over me. I looked about me, toward the

direction of the French officer who had spoken, toward the fellows of my

battery who had accompanied me up to the Front. I say toward their

direction, for I could not see my comrades--the fog that had come over

the land at sunset was too heavy to allow one to see an arm's length.

The officer snickered.

"Is this all that there is to it? Are we really on the firing line?" I

asked aloud. "Why, it's as quiet here as the Michigan woods!"

The officer laughed again.

"At this minute, yes," he said; then, "Wait here, I will be back

directly, and no noise!"

[Sidenote: The firing line seems a lonely place.]

He went off through the fog, and I have never experienced such a

feeling of loneliness as swept over me at that minute--loneliness, and I

really believe disappointment,--for I had imagined the firing line to be

a place of constant terror.

"Gee, this is what we've been training for all these months!" I heard

one of the fellows say. "Well, all I've got to say is it won't be so

quiet over on the Boches' land when we get started," and they all

laughed.

[Sidenote: An experience of many sensations.]

It is absolutely impossible to describe the sensations that come over a

fellow when he realizes that he is going under fire. I think that you

pass through various stages that include every sensation in life. You

are frightened, you are glad to get into the fight. You are anxious to

begin--you wish you had a few weeks' longer training to become a better

shot.

I am not sure how long we stood there waiting for the return of the

French officer who was tutoring us for our baptism of fire, but suddenly

he was at my side.

[Sidenote: The first need is a signal station.]

"The battery is to be over there," he pointed through the night, "and we

will set up a signal station right here. The first thing to do is to dig

in the telephone wires, for headquarters reports that there is

considerable rifle fire about here in the daytime. Order a detachment of

men to help you!"

[Sidenote: Digging in the telephone wires.]

"Yes, sir," and I went quickly back toward where I knew the men were

waiting, happy to think that there was work to be done at once. I gave

the orders that had been handed to me, and in about twenty minutes we

were turning over the earth. While we were working others were just as

busy, for our battery was being placed in position, and some fifty feet

behind the battery the others of the signal service detachment, of which

I was a member, were setting up a receiving station. As I helped in the

digging of that small trench for telephone wires my heart sang, and I

lived again the months that I had served in order that I might be fit

for the service I was performing that minute.

It might be well, before going further into this narrative, to say that

the fellows who had accompanied me were the first American troops to

take charge of a sector of the French line, a sector which some day will

be moved into the heart of Germany and make old friend Hun wish that

there was a way for him to change his nationality and viewpoint.

[Sidenote: The artillery training camp.]

The training camp where we had prepared for the front after our arrival

in France had been purchased by the United States from the French, and

had been in use since the beginning of the war for the purpose of

putting the high spots on the training of men belonging to both the

heavy and light artillery. It was a spacious place; we had comfortable

quarters and lots of good food. I had been on the Mexican border, so

that sound of the heavy guns that were being used for training purposes

did not annoy me, though to about ninety per cent. of the rest of the

fellows this was a new sound, and orders were issued that cotton was to

be put in the ears.

[Sidenote: The French officers are fine fellows.]

Except for the return fire, we might have been at the front, for the

camp was an exact duplication of conditions under fire. Our equipment

was largely French, and the officers who tutored us in modern warfare

were all French--and as fine a bunch of fellows as ever lived.

[Sidenote: Buying a village for a target.]

One of the exciting incidents of the Camp was the day that news arrived

that the American government had purchased a small village just beyond

the Camp (France is honeycombed with small villages,--it is almost

impossible to walk a mile without passing through a village) and that

it was to be used as a target for the American boys.

We practiced in turn, a battery going out for a few hours' work, and

then returning. Both light and heavy Artillery used the village as a

target, and it was not long before there was only a heap of rubbish to

tell where there had once been houses.

[Sidenote: The instructors praise American marksmanship.]

One of the things that the American fellows felt proud of was the fact

that they were constantly being praised by their French instructors

because of their very superior marksmanship. Several men told me that

the American troopers learned in two weeks' time as much of the

craftsmanship of war as the French learned in three months. As the story

was on themselves, I guess it must be true.

[Sidenote: Good care close to the firing line.]

[Sidenote: A question of high prices.]

We worked hard in camp, but the fellows liked it. We had good food, lots

of fresh vegetables, and meat. It is a fact that the closer you get to

the firing line the better care you get. There was plenty of recreation

through the Y.M.C.A. activities, but we did not have many furloughs.

Remember that at the time I am writing of, the American boys were new in

France. One of the reasons for the lack of furloughs was that in many of

the towns near the great camps that were set apart for the Americans the

merchants had decided that it was harvest time, and prices had gone very

high. General Pershing himself ordered that no member of the American

force should buy anything in these towns until the matter of prices was

adjusted, and this was speedily done.

[Sidenote: A journey in motor trucks.]

[Sidenote: Making the new quarters sanitary.]

I had been in the training camp about a month, making a special study of

telephone work as carried on between the front-line trenches and

outposts regimental headquarters, and the various gun batteries of the

regiment. At the end of that time I was detached from my regular

battery and assigned as Signal Sergeant to work with another battery

proceeding immediately to the American sector of the Front. We did not

travel forward in gradual stages as is the usual custom of approaching

the firing line for the first time, but made the journey as quickly as

possible, in motor trucks--a never-to-be-forgotten journey. Our

destination was a village between five and ten miles from the Front,

where we were to be billeted, and where the American troops would spend

their time while not actively in the trenches. We got there in the

afternoon, and a batch of the men were detached to make the place clean

and perfectly sanitary. It needed their work. The village had been used

by the French soldiers for some time, and there had been no time or

opportunity for repair work. With the coming of the Americans it was

different. Cleanliness is a strictly enforced rule with the fellows of

our fighting force, and from a standpoint of sanitation we are literally

introducing soap, water and whitewash into France.

[Sidenote: The order to advance.]

Later that afternoon, when it was growing dusk, came the orders to go

forward--and at nightfall I found myself walking beside the French

officer across rough ground, a very occasional dull boom telling us that

there was an enemy before us--but all other sounds seemed natural.

As I said before, it is impossible to accurately describe the sensations

that come over a fellow when he discovers that he is on the firing line,

and I welcomed the work to which I was so quickly assigned, and which we

rapidly accomplished. I marveled at the precision with which I had gone

to work that first night on the front, but everyone had their work to

do, and did it so quickly and coolly that we had no time to think of

personal feelings.

[Sidenote: An interesting day on the firing line.]

The first day on the firing line was very interesting. The battery kept

up a constant fire, getting range from the map which is issued daily--as

well as the given ranges, targets, etc. (which arrived over the field

telephone). That night we stood ready to do any work required, but no

orders came through, and I had my first experience in sleeping in a gun

pit.

Our food, by the way, was brought up daily from the headquarters at the

village and was prepared in rolling field kitchens.

[Sidenote: Food is good and abundant.]

As an example of the care that the fellows are getting, I might say that

we were given bread and milk, fruit, excellent coffee, eggs, or possibly

hash, and, of course, bread for breakfast; a heavy meal of soup, steak

or some roast meat, potatoes and vegetables, coffee and sweets, came

next, with a meal of canned foods for supper. All of it well cooked and

mighty tasty. Believe me, Uncle Sam was taking mighty fine care of his

soldier boys!

[Sidenote: The telephone system is demolished.]

The following day started as the first, but in the middle of the

afternoon the telephone system of our sector was demolished by rifle and

it was impossible to get into communication with either the headquarters

or the trenches.

"That stops work for today!" the officer told me. "No more gun fire till

we get it fixed."

I can remember asking anxiously what we could do.

"Nothing just this minute," he laughed at my eagerness, "but tonight you

and I will crawl out on our bellies and find that broken wire. Then we

will fix it, and unless they find us with a shell we'll crawl back."

[Sidenote: We go out to mend the wire.]

The prospect was exciting, and I waited anxiously for night. Then, armed

with the necessary tools, we started to crawl along the trench

containing the wires. We had no light, we could not stand upright. We

went about a half mile, feeling every inch of wire for the break, and

then suddenly I ran my hand along the wire that suddenly came to a

point. We had found the break.

"I've got it," I called in my best whisper, but before I could receive a

reply there was a noise from the German trenches.

"Star shell, star shell," my French companion called excitedly.

[Sidenote: A star shell bursts above us.]

Suddenly the shell burst above us, and it was more brilliant than day.

Frightened! Say, that light is so great and the knowledge that if the

Germans spot you you're a goner, makes you just lie there and forget to

breathe! It does not take many seconds for a star shell to die away to a

glow, but in those seconds you go right through life and back to the

present. When the light was gone I lay there fairly panting for breath.

"We'll have to work quickly," came the inspiring voice at my elbow, and

we did. We had not finished work before a new star shell was sent up.

[Sidenote: The repair work is finished.]

The repair work did not take many minutes, and we started back again. We

were halted several times by star shells, and after the second or third

time I began to reassure myself by saying that the Germans did not know

I was out there, that they had nothing against me individually.

Afterwards I heard one of the officers say that they were probably

suspicious because of the sudden cessation of the gun fire that

afternoon, and were looking for a raiding party to cross no-man's-land.

[Sidenote: The noise of the shells.]

During the time that I was at the front, it was the custom for men to

spend six days at the front, then go back to the village in which they

were billeted--always well beyond the firing line--and there rest for

about two weeks. By the end of my third day I had become quite

acclimated to the noise. One afternoon a scouting aeroplane must have

reported some fancied movement of troops in a village two or three miles

back of us, for the Germans started a heavy barrage which went singing

over our heads. The shells went high, but just the same they made

everyone uncomfortable for a few minutes. Fellows that have been on the

line, however, will tell you that you don't mind the noise of shell

fire--for you figure it out that the bullet that hits you is the bullet

you never hear--and while that doesn't seem a very comfortable thought,

you soon forget to think of danger.

[Sidenote: Shifting the gun's position.]

Perhaps the most exciting incident, and at the same time the one that

sent more terror to our hearts than any other, occurred late one

afternoon. It was foggy, though fog always hung over our battery--in

fact, the climate of the front that has been assigned to our troops is

notorious for its winter fogginess. Orders had been sent out to shift

the position of our gun, and as the afternoon wore away--and the thick

smoke-like pall that hung over us made it impossible to recognize the

fellow standing next to you when he was half a dozen feet away--it was

decided that there was no use to wait till night, but that we could

shift the gun at once.

[Sidenote: A German aeroplane right overhead.]

All the crowd started to work, the new gun pit was ready, and the signal

station was all moved. It was just as we got the gun into the position

and were straightening it into position that a faint breeze came

stealing down from the mountains. In a minute the breeze was stronger,

and we could see a hundred yards away. In another minute we could see

three times that distance, and at the end of the third minute we could

see clear up into the heavens--and there was a German plane flying

straight for us.

Did you ever stand waiting for death? I suppose not--but that was what

happened to our gun crews. The plane swooped low and seemed to hang

right over us. We waited, hardly daring to breathe. I saw the

perspiration running from one fellow's face, and guess it was running

down mine. I know that I had a most pressing desire to run--anywhere, so

long as I was moving. As I was looking down I glanced at my wrist watch

about every thirty seconds and lived minutes between each glance. No one

spoke--it was as if we had suddenly been turned to wood. Then after

fifteen minutes of observation the Hun plane circled away from us--and

we had lived several lifetimes in that short time.

[Sidenote: Army trucks take us back to the village.]

It was the fog that got me--and sent me back to the United States. Two

years before, coming home from drill at the armory (I was then a member

of the National Guard) I fell asleep on the train and contracted a

severe cold. The cold never seemed to leave me, and now, after a week of

fog, after sleeping in a gun pit, I grew hoarse and developed a nasty

cough. I was not really sick when I left the firing line after my six

days and returned to the billet, but I felt pretty miserable. I can

remember being glad when, after a several miles' walk back of the lines,

we found the army trucks ready to carry us to the village where we were

quartered.

[Sidenote: A month at the base hospital.]

I spent four days in the billet receiving further instruction from my

French officer, and then after ten days I started back to the training

camp, where I was to help in the instruction of the fellows of my

division who had not as yet been under fire. By the time I reached the

camp I was what might be termed all in, down and out. I went to the

hospital, and when I was able I was moved in an ambulance to a U.S. Army

Base hospital far removed from the firing line. I was at the base

hospital a month, and spent most of the time in the sunshine trying to

get rid of the heavy bronchial condition that had fastened itself to me.

The hospital was full--but not with Americans. I was surrounded by

fellows from all the allied nations, and had the chance to talk with

them. They're a great lot, and anybody who has any doubt about whether

we are going to win this war needs only a few minutes' conversation with

some of the chaps that have been over there for years. You bet we're

going to win--there isn't a thought of anything else but victory.

[Sidenote: Orders to go home.]

At the end of my month at the base hospital it was decided that I was

not fit for the firing line. Uncle Sam is mighty good to his fellows--he

does not believe in placing them under unnecessary risks, and when the

doctors said that my bronchial condition was practically chronic, and

the life on the firing line would only aggravate it, I got my orders to

go home and take up service in a climate where there was less chance of

my becoming a liability and where there was just as much work for me to

do as in France, though of a different nature.

It was a disappointment, but I'm glad to think that I had those six days

on the firing line, and proud to think that I was with the first batch

of Americans to see service in the fight against autocracy.

Copyright, The Forum, May, 1918.

* * * * *

That portion of France in which the American army did its most active

fighting is a country filled with historic and romantic associations. It

is also a country of great scenic beauty. The following article

describes graphically the general aspect of this portion of France.

AN AMERICAN BATTLEFIELD

RAOUL BLANCHARD

[Sidenote: A glorious battlefield.]

Terrific battles, ushering in the dawn of victories which will ensure

the freedom of the world, were fought in July and August, 1918, between

the Marne and Vesle rivers, from Château-Thierry to Soissons and Fismes.

In this soul-stirring struggle the young American troops played a large

part, and played it with heroism and success. It has occurred to us,

therefore, that the American people will be glad to become acquainted

with the battlefield made glorious by their sons, with the soil which

will some day be a consecrated goal of pilgrimage for the entire nation.

[Sidenote: The field once the most beautiful country.]

This field of death, bristling with ruins still smouldering, was

formerly, and will soon be once more, a beautiful stretch of country.

Here we are in the heart of the Ile de France, and the countryside

displays all the gracious charm of a typical French landscape. With its

undulating plateaus, pleasant vales, broad green valleys, forests and

greensward, châteaux and villas, small towns, and dear old villages

thronged with souvenirs of the past, the district between the Marne and

the Aisne was peculiarly representative of France--the France of the

Merovingians and Capets as well as of the twentieth century.

There is no manufacturing and little commercial activity; but a

skillful, varied, and persistent culture of the soil, with special

attention to those most exacting of crops, the vine and vegetables,

which are successfully raised only by dint of hard labor, and to the

production of vast quantities of sugar-beets and cereals.

[Sidenote: The villages are built of stone.]

The villages, built of the beautiful stone of the district, have, one

and all, an air of dignity and prosperity which gives animation to the

landscape. The very names are among the most pleasant to the ear, and

often among the most illustrious in the language. Our great men of

letters, La Fontaine and Racine, Pope Urban II, who preached the First

Crusade, and other statesmen and princes, all born in the province, had

already made it a genuinely historic spot; and the memory of the battles

fought by Napoleon at Château-Thierry and Soissons, against the invaders

of 1814, has not yet faded. When they turned the enemy back from Paris,

the Americans were fighting in the most truly French of all the

districts of France, and their gallantry has imparted to it a new charm,

a more resplendent glory.

[Sidenote: Topography from the Marne to the Vesle.]

But this attractive region does not exhibit everywhere the same

features. The topography of the Ile de France is so varied that one can

distinguish several families, or groups, of landscapes between the Marne

and the Vesle. Let us follow them, in the order followed by the

different stages of the battle.

The southern portion is the most elevated and most picturesque; it

includes the shores of the Marne, from Epernay to Château-Thierry, as

well as the hills and valleys to the eastward, grouped about the Ardre

River in the district called the Tardenois. In the centre the

battlefield embraces plateaus studded with low hills, half hidden by

broad patches of forest, and cut by deep, narrow valleys--those of the

Ourcq and its affluents; whence the region is known as the district of

the Ourq, or the Orxois. Lastly, to the north this undulating ground

gives place to a practically level plateau, a vast table-land of

cultivated fields, through which flow the deep ravines of the Aisne, the

Vesle, and their affluents. This is the Soissonnais.

[Sidenote: The wake of the American armies.]

From the Tardenois to the Soissonnais by way of the Orxois, let us

follow in the wake of the French and American armies, in their

decisively victorious advance.

[Sidenote: Valleys of stream cut deep.]

On emerging from the plains of Champagne, at Epernay, the Marne flows

through the plateaus of the Ile de France as far as Paris, and the

country along its banks changes its aspect. Instead of the wide valley

which seems one with the immense bare plain, the stream, breaking out a

path for itself through the solid mass of the plateau, has cut a gash

from 500 to 2000 metres in width, which turns and winds in graceful and

ever-changing curves. Thus, although its general course is from east to

west, the trend of the walls of the valley constantly changes and bears

toward every point of the compass in turn. Moreover, these walls,

intersected by the ravines and valleys of numerous tributary streams,

are cut up into capes, bastions, and deep hollows. Finally, the cliff

from whose summit the plateau overlooks the valley, and whose average

height is about 150 metres, at times rises steeply from the lowland, and

again is broken up into terraces following the different strata of which

it is composed. Thus, although the topographical elements are simple

enough, they lend themselves to an ever-changing combination of forms,

which gives to the landscape its great charm, and at the same time

offers some formidable advantages of various kinds from a military

standpoint.

[Sidenote: The placid Marne.]

[Sidenote: The Marne easy to cross.]

The bright green ribbon of the Marne winds along the valley bottom. The

placid stream, about a hundred metres wide and broken here and there by

islets, wanders from one bank to the other, lined by poplars and

willows. On either side of its limpid waters are broad fields, whose

delicate greenery frames the sparkling line of the river, which forms a

by no means impassable obstacle. In the days just preceding the German

offensive of July 15, American patrols constantly crossed between

Château-Thierry and Mézy, and picked up prisoners and information on the

northern bank. In like manner, during that offensive the attacking

German troops were able without great losses to cross the Marne and

attack the defenders on the southern bank. To be sure, the Allied

air-men made their life a burden by keeping up an incessant bombardment

of the bridges, large and small.

[Sidenote: Fierce fighting on the slopes.]

But the real obstacle which this valley offers is found in the slopes

which dominate it, and it was there that the fiercest fighting took

place until the day when the French and Americans, having thrown the

enemy back across the river, scaled the cliffs of the right bank on his

heels and dislodged him therefrom. In this neighborhood there were two

sectors of terrific fighting--that of Châtillon-Dormans upstream, and

that of Château-Thierry below.

[Sidenote: A wide valley with steep slopes.]

[Sidenote: The vine-growing district.]

Going upstream, the valley is quite wide: from Monvoisin to Dormans, by

Château-Thierry, it measures two kilometres almost everywhere. The high

cliff which overlooks it on the north, cut by a multitude of narrow

valleys coming down from the table-land of the Tardenois, forms a series

of buttresses which make excellent defensive positions. On the sharpest,

which is a genuine peninsula overhanging the main valley, sits the

village of Châtillon, formerly crowned by a haughty feudal castle, on

whose ruins was erected a statue of Pope Urban II, who long ago had

trouble with the German emperors. The slopes below are hard to climb,

because of their steepness and the network of tilled fields. Here we

are at the heart of the vine-growing district, and these banks of the

Marne contribute largely to the production of the famous champagne. The

vines extend, on long rows of poles, to the very summit of the cliffs,

especially on the right bank, which has a better exposure to the sun;

they are often connected by strands of wire, on which straw mats are

placed to protect the vines from the cold in winter.

[Sidenote: Allied troops find many obstacles.]

On a lower level, nearer the stream, are magnificent orchards: the

cherry tree joins with the vine to impart to those slopes an aspect of

rustic opulence. Huddled white villages, with tawny-hued pointed roofs,

follow one another in regular succession on the rolling ground. Their

names have lately won a terrible celebrity: Binson, Vandières,

Vincelles, Tréloup. Sandstone quarries burrow into the summit of the

cliffs and furnish shelters for the defenders. Finally, there are strips

of forest along the slopes wherever the exposure is thought poorly

suited for crops. All these features unite to form a cheerful, animated,

lovely landscape; but at the same time a conglomeration of obstacles

which the Allied troops were able to overcome only after fierce

fighting.

[Sidenote: Villages in the hillsides.]

Below the little town of Dormans, the valley narrows temporarily: from

Tréloup to Brasles it is frequently less than 500 metres in width. The

cliff, although steep as before, is less cut up, and the patches of

forest are large. At the mouths of the smaller affluent valleys, the

villages rear their church-towers on the hillsides, overlooking the

lowest vineyards and orchards; on this right bank are Jaulgonne,

Chartèves, and Mont Saint-Père, all taken by the Allies late in July,

and Fossoy, where the Americans successfully repulsed the German attack

of July 15.

[Sidenote: The ancient town of Château-Thierry.]

But now the valley widens once more as it enters the broad basin of

Château-Thierry. It is a beautiful spot, and at the same time, of great

military value. The little town long ago forgot its rôle of fortress,

but has been brutally reminded of it by the violence of the battles that

have been fought in its neighborhood. In the foreground is the wide

expanse of fields in the valley bottom; then a suburb of the town

enclosed between two arms of the Marne. Across the river, scaling the

slopes of a hill crowned by the ruins of a castle, the town rises,

terrace-like, at the mouth of a narrow valley. The position can be

carried by frontal attack only on the heels of a defeated foe, as

Napoleon carried it in 1814, and Franchet d'Esperey just a hundred years

later. But in 1918 the Americans had to take Château-Thierry in flank,

and in order to force their way into the town, had to fight the bloody

battles of Vaux, Bouresches, and Etrepilly, which carried them to the

north of the town and hastened its evacuation.

[Sidenote: Military operations difficult.]

What is the nature of the terrain above those steep cliffs which enclose

the valley of the Marne? Does it become more favorable to military

operations than the deep depression through which the river flows? Not

by any means. The surface of the table-land is broken by so many ravines

and narrow valleys which descend steeply to the Marne, that it is cut

into a multitude of ridges and hillocks amid which it is no longer

possible to recognize the original horizontal aspect of the plateau.

[Sidenote: Heavy impermeable soil.]

[Sidenote: Hills that are fortresses.]

On the other hand, the strata which lie on the surface--loam, sandstone,

and clayey sand--make a heavy, impermeable soil, quite infertile, in

which it is hard to raise anything, and which is largely given over to

woods. Thus, freedom of movement is impeded by deep ravines, ridges

running in all directions, and more or less dense forests; an offensive

is difficult, and the defensive easy. This is true in the immediate

neighborhood of Château-Thierry, where the ravines of Vaux, Brasles,

Chartèves, Jaulgonne, and Tréloup, and the valley of the Surmelin, slash

the plateau on either side of the Marne into fragments--into

forest-topped hillocks which are genuine fortresses, where the struggle

was terrific and where the Allies were able to advance only one step at

a time: on Hill 204, west of Château-Thierry, in the Bois de Mont

St-Père, the forest of Fèze above Jaulgonne, and especially on the spur

of the forest of Riz; and south of the Marne, at the broad, wooded

bastion of Saint-Agnan and at La Chapelle-Monthodon, where the fighting

was so intense from the 15th to the 20th of July.

[Sidenote: The villages and forests of the table-land.]

[Sidenote: Genuine mountain battles.]

This strip of broken table-land becomes broader again farther upstream,

above Dormans and Châtillon-sur-Marne. In that direction the plateau of

the Ile de France ascends until it is more than 260 metres above the

stream. Erosion has been even more active there, and in that part of the

Tardenois the plateau is dissected into narrow strips separated by deep

valleys, broad and moist, the largest of which is the valley of the

Ardre. In the valley bottoms the streams are bordered by bands of

tillage land; above, on the lower slopes, amid the vineyards and

orchards which monopolize all the favorable exposures, is a multitude of

small villages, some of which have become famous--Ste. Euphraise,

Bligny, and Ville-en-Tardenois, whose rustic dwellings of uncut rubble,

arranged amphitheatre-wise, sheltered some 500 inhabitants. Higher up,

on the uneven surface of the plateau, are scattered villages built on

limestone foundations--tiny fortresses, like Rumigny and Champlat, the

scene of hard-fought battles. Almost the entire surface is covered with

forests of pine and oak and birch. These are the woods of Le Roi,

Courton, Pourcy, and Reims, where hand-to-hand fighting went on for more

than a fortnight, British, Italians, and French succeeding at first in

checking the enemy and then in forcing him back, in those titanic

combats. They were, in reality, genuine mountain battles; for the hills

reach a height of 265 metres, above the level of the plateau, while the

valleys are at least 100 metres deep; and the difficulties of the uneven

surface were greatly increased by the obstacles offered by forests,

vineyards, streams, and the villages, closely packed with stone houses,

which could easily be transformed into fortifications.

[Sidenote: The first great American battle.]

A deep, broad, swampy valley, traversed by an unfordable stream;

surmounted by steep slopes bristling with vineyards, orchards, villages,

and diversified by quarries; above, an entanglement of low hills,

ravines, and valleys, under a mantle of forest--such was the theatre of

operations in which the Americans won their first great victory. A more

difficult terrain could not be desired, or one better adapted to test

the valor of the victorious troops.

But when they had made themselves masters of this battlefield, the

Allies were by no means at the end of their labors; and the difficulties

of the ground to be traversed were still serious in the central portion

of the theatre of operations--the Orxois.

[Sidenote: The Orxois plateau--its soil and relief.]

[Sidenote: A varied landscape.]

The Orxois is a plateau extending north of the Marne to the Soissonnais,

at a mean height of 160 metres. But it is very far from being uniform.

Let us study the nature of its soil, and the relief, that we may

comprehend its aspects more thoroughly. The substratum of the plateau of

the Orxois is the layer of rock called "hard limestone" 30 to 40 metres

in thickness, so much of which is used for building material in the

towns and villages. This layer is almost horizontal, and if there were

nothing superimposed upon it, the plateau would be a practically level

platform. But above the hard limestone are successive layers of a far

different character--layers of sand, of Beauchamp sandstone, mingled

with marl, making a moist, impermeable, infertile soil; then another

layer of limestone, softer and more clayey than that below. Finally,

this upper limestone is covered, especially toward the east, with thin

layers of marl, clay and, lastly, Fontainebleau sand, which are

connected with the strata of the Tardenois. Thus, to a depth of 100

metres, we find a succession of diversified strata, hard and soft, dry

and moist, which impart great variety to the landscape.

The valleys which intersect this conglomeration run from east to west,

toward the deep depression hollowed out by the Savières and the Lower

Ourcq. From north to south, we can count three--the Upper Ourcq, by

Fère-en-Tardenois and La Ferté Milon, the Ru d'Alland, and the Clignon.

Very wide where they pass through the upper strata, these valleys grow

abruptly narrower and deeper when they reach the level of the hard

limestone, where they are little more than deep and narrow ditches.

Between these furrows, the marl, sand, and softer limestones form

ridges, now steep, now rising more gently, the sandy soil bearing woods,

the limestones cultivated fields.

[Sidenote: The ridges run east and west.]

Thus the whole plateau of the Orxois is a series of elevations and

depressions, running from east to west, which form just so many

obstacles to an advance from south to north like that of the Allies.

Luckily they approached this locality at the same time from the west,

which enabled them to outflank the obstacles simultaneously with their

approach from the south.

[Sidenote: Torcy, Belleau and Bouresches.]

North of Château-Thierry, three or four kilometres from the Marne, the

plateau is less diversified. The only obstacle is the valley of the

Clignon, which deepens rapidly toward the west. Above it, at the summit

of the limestone cliff, the plateau forms a species of promontories on

which are built villages--Torcy, Belleau, Bouresches. The American

troops had held their positions there during the last part of June, and

it was there that the heroic marines halted the enemy in his march upon

Paris. And again, it was there that they assumed the offensive on July

18, to outflank Château-Thierry from the north. On that day they carried

the ridges of Torcy and Belleau; on the 19th they pressed beyond

Bouresches; and on the 20th they forced their way into Etrepilly and

Château-Thierry.

[Sidenote: The terrain beyond is less rugged.]

Immediately beyond, the terrain is not so difficult. The Clignon valley

becomes less rugged and gradually blends with the plateau. Toward

Bézu-St.-Germain and Epieds lies a comparatively open plain with

extensive stretches of fallow land. In this more open region the

progress was more rapid; on July 22 the American troops took possession

of Epieds, twelve kilometres from Bouresches, their starting point.

[Sidenote: Along the valley of the Ourcq.]

But the difficulties are more serious farther to the north, along the

hills which form the southern boundary of the valley of the Ourcq.

Although the depression made by the Ru d'Alland, being broad and level,

is not a considerable obstacle, it is not the same beyond. The relief

map shows a line of heights running from west to east, and rising higher

and higher in that direction. From these heights a multitude of valleys

descend to the Ourcq, from south to north, cutting the crest into hills

separated by depressions. Thus the terrain is broken up in every

direction and well adapted to meet an attack from the west as well as

one from the south.

[Sidenote: The French carry ridges and valleys in succession.]

It was necessary to deal with all these obstacles one by one. Starting

from the west, the French had to carry successively these lines of

crests and depressions with their fortified villages: ridge of Monnes,

July 19; ravine of Neuilly-St-Front the same evening; the hill of

Latilly and its wood the 20th; La Croix and Grisolles the 21st, with

their thickets and dense plantations of osiers. On the 23d the Allied

troops took Rocourt and the wood of Le Chatelet; on the 24th the deep

ravine of Brécy; and, finally, on the 25th, French and Americans

together attacked the hill of the forest of Fère, which is 228 metres

high, completely covered with woods, cut by ravines, and flanked by

fortified villages. On the 27th the whole position was taken, and the

Allies were on the verge of the deep valley of the Ourcq, which they

were next to cross.

[Sidenote: Caves in the cliffs.]

[Sidenote: Allies turn the line of the Ourcq.]

This line was a by no means inconsiderable obstacle. Imagine, if you

please, a deep depression, twisting and turning in all directions, and

from 200 to 400 metres wide, extending at least as far as

Fère-en-Tardenois. It is bounded on either side by cliffs of hard

limestone, 30 to 40 metres high, in which innumerable caves are

scooped--the so-called _boves_, which are used as dwellings, with doors

and windows flush with the face of the cliff. These _boves_ are

invaluable defensive positions, out of reach of bullets and shells. The

valley bottom is wet and swampy, with dense clumps of poplars mingled

with alder-bushes. There are numerous villages at the foot of the

cliffs,--Rozet-St.-Albain, Brény, Armentières,--or on the slopes above,

like Noroy. A frontal attack on such a position would have been too

costly. The Allies turned the line of the Ourcq from the north. They

crossed the river in force in the upper part of its course, where it

has not yet attacked the stratum of hard limestone, and where the valley

is wider, and the sides are less steep. Nevertheless they encountered

terrible difficulties.

[Sidenote: Strategic value of hills of Orxois.]

North of the Ourcq, indeed, the last heights of the Orxois form another

chain of hills, from four to six kilometres wide--the last obstacle

before we come to the plateau of the Soissonnais. These hills are of the

greatest possible diversity of shape and vary in height from 200 metres

at the western extremity to 230 at the eastern. Their bases consist

largely of sandstone and Fontainebleau sand, with clumps of forest

scattered here and there; higher up is the softer limestone, the land

being entirely cleared and covered with crops. Here and there we find

the remains of the former covering of clay and Fontainebleau

sand--wooded ridges which expand toward the east into the wood of

Seringes, the forest of Nesle, and Meunière wood. These hills, the last

as we travel northward, where they command the whole of the Soissonnais,

have therefore the greatest strategic value, particularly the positions

of Hartennes, Plessier-Huleu, and Seringes.

[Sidenote: The French approach from the west.]

Luckily these formidable defensive positions were approached from the

west, astride the ridges. Starting from the forest of Retz, the French

crossed the Savières with a rush, and in a single bound reached

Noroy-sur-Ourcq and Villers-Hélon, which lie along one of the ridges,

surrounded by orchards. On July 19 they had advanced three kilometres to

the east; the strong line of the Ourcq was outflanked. On the 20th they

were at Parcy-Tigny and Rozet-St.-Albain, pushing forward over the

broken ground planted with sugar-beets and cereals, enlivened in spots

by small clumps of trees perched on the sandstone hillocks. Thus they

drew near to the heart of the position--the ridges of Plessier and of

Hartennes. There the resistance was much more violent; but after three

days of hard fighting, the French entered Plessier and approached the

village of Oulchy-la-Ville, surrounded by picturesque heaps of sandstone

blocks mingled with pines and birches. On the 25th, in the evening, they

were in occupation of Oulchy-le-Château, which lies in a charming vale

running down to the Ourcq. The line of the Ourcq, as to that portion

where the river, flowing between high cliffs, constitutes a real

obstacle, was in the Allies' hands.

[Sidenote: Fère-en-Tardenois and Sergy.]

It remained to complete the victory by the conquest of the eastern

sector of the hills; and this again was no easy task. The French and

Americans had now to approach that strong defensive position from the

south. On the 28th they entered Fère-en-Tardenois; the Americans crossed

the Ourcq, taking Sergy, which changed hands nine times. On July 31,

after more titanic battles, they wrested Seringes from the foe. On

August 1 there was a general advance all along the line, and the Allies

carried the whole line of hilltops, from Plessier-Huleu to Meunière

wood.

[Sidenote: Heroes of the second battle of the Marne.]

This was the end: the horizon expanded. From the heights conquered in

fourteen days of fighting the Allies went down to the plateau of the

Soissonnais; soon they would reach the Vesle and join hands with the

troops who had retaken Soissons. Among the numberless heroes of this

second battle of the Marne, they who stormed the heights of the Orxois

and either outflanked or crossed the valley of the Ourcq were the

bravest of the brave and are entitled to the largest share of our

gratitude. The third act of the battle was played upon a terrain quite

different from those preceding it. The relief is considerably

simplified. The great plateau of the Ile de France, which is buried, as

it were, under the accumulations of recent deposits, where erosion has

worn gaps in the ridges of the Orxois, and hollowed out the deep ravines

of the Tardenois, is reduced here to the substratum of hard limestone,

almost entirely free from superimposed layers. So that, instead of being

an uneven, swampy district, the Soissonnais is a dry level table-land,

where the streams flow underground through the layers of limestone. A

fertile district, too, for the surface is covered with a thin coating of

loam, in which sugar-beets and cereals vie with one another in profusion

of growth.

[Sidenote: Valleys of the Vesle and the Aisne.]

[Sidenote: Fertile slopes and valleys.]

However, the plateau is intersected by occasional valleys, generally

broad and deep. The two most considerable are those of the Vesle and the

Aisne which come together above Soissons, at Condé, and isolate the

famous Chemin-des-Dames to the north. Two tributaries, Ambleny brook and

the Crise, flowing down to the Aisne, subdivide the southern portion of

the Soissonnais, where the battle was fought. With respect to the

plateau, these valleys are little worlds apart. Below the hard

limestone, they have hollowed out a path through very soft rocks, sands,

and clays; in these the streams have inevitably made large inroads,

sapping the limestone cliffs which overhang them. Thus the valley

bottoms are abnormally wide--from two to three kilometres near Soissons.

The presence of the clayey soils makes them very moist, and we find

there fields of beets and grain side by side with extensive tracts of

grassland. On the lower slopes are many small fields given over to the

less hardy products--beans, orchards, and sometimes grape-vines. Here

are most of the villages, at the level where the water-courses, seeping

through the limestone of the plateau, reappear in the shape of springs,

on the impervious stratum. For the most part the villages lie along the

hillsides, surrounded by trees, embellished by châteaux and parks. They

are well-built and attractive, boasting churches of graceful

architecture, thanks to the lovely decorative stone taken from the

quarries in the limestone cliffs above, which are called _boves_, or

_croutes_. A fascinating, fertile country, diversified and pleasant to

the eye, before the war it might well have been taken as a sample of

rural opulence.

[Sidenote: Great difficulties of passage.]

Plateau and valleys, then, differ materially--the one monotonous and

easy of access; the other, no less charming than varied, but presenting

great difficulties of passage in the face of opposition. There is not a

village on the plateau: only a few large farms and scattered sugar-beet

refineries. In the valleys and on the slopes there are everywhere

houses, châteaux, parks, orchards, and grottoes. The slender

church-tower barely rises to the level of the plateau, as if to watch

for the approach of an enemy. The conditions then were quite simple: on

the plateau it was possible to gain many kilometres in a single rush;

but in the valleys a fierce resistance was to be expected.

[Sidenote: The Franco-American attack.]

The French and American attack in the Soissonnais was fortunate in its

starting-point. In the course of the hard-fought battles between June 15

and July 15, the French had retaken the entire valley of

Ambleny-Coeuvres, and had gained a footing on the plateau to the

eastward, which stretches as far as the outskirts of Soissons. To the

south they had completely cleared the verge of the forest of Retz, from

which they were thus able to debouch into the plain.

[Sidenote: In sight of Soissons.]

[Sidenote: Germans bring up reserves.]

The first onrush was magnificent. Starting at ten minutes to five in the

morning, the Allies were within sight of Soissons at ten o'clock, having

overrun the whole plateau on a front of some ten kilometres. Rarely has

a more successful attack been seen in this war. It was even said that

on this first day some French and Americans got as far as the suburbs of

Soissons. But the danger for the Germans was too great, and they brought

all their reserves thither. Moreover, they had the valley of the Crise

to support their defense.

[Sidenote: Artillery can hardly see the villages.]

This valley is the widest and deepest of all those which eat into the

plateau of the Soissonnais from the south. The very considerable

depression is more than 100 metres below the surface of the plateau,

which it cuts in two, effectively shutting off all progress from west to

east; for on the south a narrow isthmus, that of Vierzy, barely

separates it from the ravine of the Savières; and on the southeast it

reaches to the foot of the wooded hills of Hartennes. Clinging to the

sides of the valley and of the ravines which open into it, numerous

villages--Vauxbuin, Berzy-le-Sec, Villemontoire, Buzancy--are the more

difficult to capture because the artillery can hardly see them, as they

lie close against the hillside. It was on the Crise, in the latter part

of May, that a handful of Frenchmen held up the German avalanche from

the Chemin-des-Dames.

[Sidenote: German guns have revenge.]

[Sidenote: Allies enter Soissons.]

The Germans paid us back in July. Sheltered in the ravines and windings

of the valley, their artillery, being almost invisible, had nothing to

disturb its aim. The villages, the orchards, the grottoes, crammed with

machine-guns, were so many fortresses; the whole valley was a veritable

hell. There were incessant counter-attacks, which the Allies, on the

bare plateau, entirely devoid of cover, could repel only with the

greatest difficulty. They pushed forward step by step, and by fits and

starts. On the 19th our troops were hard put to it to hold the ground

they had taken the day before; on the 20th they barely began to nibble

at the ravines, at Ploisy and L'Echelle. On the 21st the Americans took

Berzy-le-Sec, and the French were astride the lower waters of the Crise;

on the 23d they went down into the ravine of Buzancy. But not until the

25th did they gain possession of the promontory of Villemontoire; and

only on the 29th did a Scottish division, after three days of forward

fighting, carry Buzancy. This last success, to be sure, was decisive,

for it uncovered the upper valley of the Crise. And so, on August 2, the

enemy gave way; that day the Allies crossed the valley along its entire

length, and advanced across the eastern side of the plateau as far as

the Vesle. On the same day they entered Soissons--at last. The ancient

capital of the French kings, the city which formerly disputed the claim

of Paris to be called the metropolis, is now no more than a mass of

ruins. For four long years the war has laid its heavy hand upon her; and

it is no new thing for her, since she had played an important military

rôle in 1814, 1815, and 1870. She owes it to her fine location, in the

heart of a broad valley, where the roads from south and east meet. Let

us hope that her martyrdom will soon come to an end.

[Sidenote: The Allies hold the entire plateau.]

Here ended the second battle of the Marne. The Allies have regained

possession of the whole plateau which extends from the Marne to the

Vesle and the Aisne. They have established themselves in the valleys of

those great rivers, from Soissons to Braisne, Bazoches, and Fismes--even

to Rheims. They find there formidable obstacles to be overcome: a broad,

moist, sometimes swampy bottom; facing them the cliff of the

Chemin-des-Dames and the plateau of the Vesle, with its cap of

limestone, and its numerous windings lined with villages and grottoes.

Except in case of a surprise or a voluntary retirement, it will be a

hard job to carry these positions. But sufficient unto the day is the

evil thereof. The results already achieved are fine enough to justify us

in declaring ourselves satisfied.

[Illustration: A PICTORIAL MAP SHOWING THE FARTHEST GERMAN ADVANCE, THE

HINDENBURG LINE AND THE LINE AT THE TIME OF THE ARMISTICE: NOVEMBER 11,

1918]

[Sidenote: The American troops do magnificent work.]

[Sidenote: Peers of the world's best soldiers]

The work done in their début, by the American troops in conjunction with

our own, was magnificent. They fought against victorious soldiers sure

of success, and whipped them. They were engaged on a difficult terrain.

In the south they were obliged to cross a broad river and wide valleys,

to scale cliffs bristling with defensive positions. In the center they

were confronted by a confused entanglement of broken ground, hills and

ravines, woods and open fields, bisected by a deep valley half-concealed

by trees. In the north they became acquainted with the snare formed by

plateaus falling abruptly away into the wolf-trap of ravines, where the

enemy, lying in ambush, refused to give ground. The Americans triumphed

over all these obstacles, and deserve to be reckoned the peers of the

best soldiers in the world. On the other hand, fighting as they have

fought in these countrysides, so typically French in their simplicity

and grandeur, and seeing all their charms foully outraged, our

attractive villages destroyed, our churches--graceful masterpieces, in

almost every case, of the Middle Ages--desecrated and shattered, they

have come to understand France better; they have had a share in her

misfortunes and in her hopes.

Copyright, Atlantic Monthly, December, 1918.

* * * * *

Throughout the war Germans persisted in the assumption that by nightly

raids from bombing machines and Zeppelins they could spread terror among

the Allies and weaken their morale. They did succeed in killing a large

number of defenseless men and women, but this was the only result of

these attacks. A vivid account of these night raids is given in the

narrative following.

NIGHT RAIDS FROM THE AIR

MARY HELEN FEE

[Sidenote: Thousands of automobile trucks.]

When the first offensive began to the north of us, we, who were

stationed in the American Canteen at E----, not more than fifteen miles

from Rheims, were thrilled by the sight of the thousands of automobile

trucks, which like a mighty river flowed ceaselessly by our canteen

carrying French troops up to the English front; and we grew sad when we

beheld ambulance convoys hurrying in the same direction.

We could not be oblivious to certain signs which pointed to renewed

activity in our sector. The American ambulance boys predicted with the

emphasis and at the same time with the vagueness born of surmise instead

of exact knowledge, that we should "see something doing" in a few weeks.

[Sidenote: Few German airplanes.]

What chiefly excited our curiosity, however, was the scarcity of German

airplanes. Although the days were clear and fine for observing, only

occasionally did the barking of guns call us outside to behold a little

white, shimmering object skipping defiantly through extremest blue while

tufts of woolly cloud broke far below it, serving only to aid us in

detecting the almost invisible plane. One came over one night just about

sunset, and called us and our dinner guests from the beginning of a

meal. Another paid us an early morning call. Then for nearly three weeks

we enjoyed undisturbed rest at night. Not once did the "alerte" send us

shivering to damp cellars; not once did we hear the deep "boom" followed

by a savage jar and rattle which differentiates the falling bomb or

torpedo from the cannon. We said, fatuously, that we believed all the

airplanes were engaged up on the English front, and that at last our

mastery of the air must be firmly established.

[Sidenote: News of the second offensive.]

[Sidenote: The permissionaires return in good humor.]

It was on a Monday that the news of the second offensive reached us.

Trains from Paris were delayed and the Paris papers did not arrive, but

the ambulance men told us there was a German offensive from Rheims to

Soissons. Next day the canteen was crowded with permissionaires hastily

recalled from leave and hurrying to join their regiments at the front.

Most of them had passed through, ten to two days before, in the subdued

good humor with which the poilu hails his bath, disinfecting, clean

clothes, and relative security of body while on a ten days' leave. They

were going back to face death, mutilation, and an experience which

drives many men mad. There was no undue hilarity about them, but a quiet

determination which has been reflected in the stand made by the armies.

Here and there a weakling had tried to escape thought in drink, but the

percentage of that sort was very small.

[Sidenote: Three weeks' respite of raids.]

On Tuesday more news drifted in, and that night I did not fully undress

on going to bed. So strongly can the sense of optimism be grown from

little habit that a respite of three weeks from bombing attacks had

almost (though not quite) convinced me there would never be any more. I

may explain that I was serving as canteen accountant, and occupied a

tiny three-room apartment across the street from the canteen, between it

and the railway station, and I took my meals at one of the two Red Cross

houses maintained in E----.

[Sidenote: Objective of a bomb attack.]

When a town is bombed, the Germans have various objectives, principally

the railway stations, troop barracks, canteens, munition dumps, food

stores, and hospitals. As a rule, when private homes are destroyed, it

is because they happen to be close to these points of attack. Torpedoes

are too expensive to be wasted in chance destruction.

[Sidenote: Lights are extinguished in the war zone.]

In towns in the war zone, great precaution is taken to prevent even a

thin line or dot of light from showing at night. Only the railroad shows

its signal lights, and these are put out at the first alarm, while all

moving trains come to a standstill and extinguish what lights they

carry. The lamps in passenger coaches are always put out when the train

enters the war zone. So the bombing aviator has a rather difficult task

in getting his bombs exactly where he wants them. The bomb must be

released about a thousand feet in advance of the object aimed at, and

the plane must pass over and reverse its course before a second bomb

can be thrown at the same target. The course of a plane can be followed

by tracing its bombs.

My position during a bombing raid was most unenviable. A torpedo cast at

the railway station and going a bit too far was likely to land on the

two-story brick house in which I was lodged. One cast at the canteen,

and falling short, was likely to do the same.

[Sidenote: Anticipating air raids.]

It is fashionable among the workers in France to affect great

indifference to danger. I am free to confess that I am not a

particularly courageous woman. My imagination is active, and on nights

when we expect a bombing raid I always go through a period of misery

before going to bed. I would not for anything leave the war zone, but I

have always a lively vision of coming out of slumber to the

accompaniment of fearful noise and the crashing of the building atop,

and then my coward imagination paints pictures of lying torn and

anguished under settling weights of being burned alive while disabled

and unable to extricate myself. Oddly enough, all my terrors vanish with

the falling of the first bomb. I cannot remember being in what the

English call a "blue funk" while a raid is going on, though many a time

I have been in one beforehand.

[Sidenote: Premonition of danger.]

Tuesday night some subtle instinct warned that trouble might come. In

accordance with a natural forethought I slipped into a suit of underwear

and woollen stockings under my nightdress. I must have been asleep in

three minutes after my head touched the pillow, for I was dead tired.

[Sidenote: A bomb lands close by.]

[Sidenote: The sky blazes with shells.]

I wakened with the sense that I had heard a gun, and, with one

stockinged foot thrust out of bed, wondered sleepily whether it was the

first, second or third of the alerte, or whether indeed I had not

wakened from a dream of a gun. Probably it was the last gun of the

alerte, for the next sound was the thunderous roar of a bomb which

clearly had landed close by (it got a railway shed and a freight car on

the tracks behind me). The terrific noise and the shock to our building,

which rattled as if it were coming down, considerably accelerated my

movements. I snapped on the electric torch which always lay, together

with my cap and slippers, beside the bed, slipped a skirt over my

nightdress and my great-coat atop, and got into the cap and slippers in

record time. But by the time I had crossed the flagged passage and

wrestled with the lock of the "grande porte" there was no getting out of

the house. The canteen, directly across the street, lay in utter

darkness, lights out, doors locked. There was no hope of using it as a

short cut to the _abris_, or shelter, on the other side, while to try to

go around it was almost certain death. The sky was ablaze with breaking

shells from our seventy-fives; shrapnel was falling like hail in the

streets, while the steady "pup-pup" of machine-guns--both our own and

the bombing planes'--advised all who could to remain under shelter. The

noise of our guns and of the bombs was like a small inferno.

[Sidenote: Waiting through the raid alone.]

I stayed it out--about twenty minutes--alone in that dark flagged

hallway, and it was lonesome. When the shrapnel and machine-gun fire let

up sufficiently to make it safe, I crept along under the shelter of the

eaves to the door of a courtyard next door where I knew one of our cooks

lived. She had invited me a few days before, to refuge there instead of

trying to get over the _abris_, because, she said, the whole upper lofts

were full of hay, and it had been demonstrated that bombs will not

penetrate to any depth in hay. But the door was locked, and though I

beat upon it with my electric torch, nobody heard me. I finally took

advantage of a lull in the firing, when the Germans went back to their

own lines for more ammunition, to get over the _abris_.

There one of the women on night duty at the canteen told me that the

directrice and everybody else not on night duty, had gone up to the

evacuation hospital about ten o'clock, in response to a call for aid

from the French authorities.

[Sidenote: Many wounded in the hospitals.]

In E---- there were half a dozen large hospitals. The wounded, chiefly

English, were coming in faster than the hospital corps could handle

them. They needed our help, not only in registering the men--very few of

whom understood any French--but in feeding and giving water.

I got to the hospital the next day and worked steadily till eight

thirty. Then an ambulance driver gave me a lift as far as the canteen,

and I managed to get a cold supper at our mess.

[Sidenote: Dispensing hospitality to worn-out officers.]

I was hardly in my office before I heard a knock at the door, which, as

I was alone in the house, I always locked at night as soon as I entered.

In response to my "Who's there?" a voice, guided by my English, replied,

"I am an English officer." I threw open the door without a second's

hesitation. A young officer, weary, white-faced, stood there, beginning

to apologize as he saw my uniform and white veil. He was simply "done,"

he said--and he looked it. He had found every hotel was full, and,

seeing a few gleams of light behind the shutters, he had knocked in the

hope of finding shelter for the night. I knew that the woman at the

canteen who would go off duty at midnight was scheduled to go

immediately to the hospital to work until seven in the morning and that

I could occupy her bed after I came back from the hospital, and I

offered my apartment to the officer for the night. He was most grateful,

and I rushed over to the canteen to get him a pitcher of hot water and a

cup of chocolate. But there I found a group of French officers, who said

they had neither sleep nor rest for three days and nights, pleading for

some place to lie down. As there was a comfortable leather couch in my

office, besides a wide soft couch over which I had laid my steamer rug,

and, in addition, an exceedingly soft double bed in my room which I

thought the tired Englishman ought to be willing to share with an

equally tired man, I proffered my hospitality, which was gratefully

accepted. I piloted them across to the office, and returned to the

canteen, hoping to find an American ambulance boy who would run me over

to the hospital.

[Sidenote: A new raid begins.]

[Sidenote: Directing men to shelter.]

[Sidenote: Help from American boys.]

I sighted a group of the familiar uniforms, and was heading for it when,

bang! went a falling bomb, without any warning alerte. The next instant

all lights were out, and the French soldiers were swarming through the

door. As all the other women in the canteen had set duties to

perform--putting out fires, locking up money and food--and I, not being

on duty, had none, I stationed myself at the door, calling out to the

soldiers where they would find shelter. Being transients, they did not

know where to find refuge. But long before the canteen was empty, the

machine-gun bullets were sweeping the street and the shrapnel was

raining down. Two American boys came up in the darkness, and one said in

the quietest tone of authority, "Get between us, lady!" They backed me

up against the side of the canteen, close under the shelter of the

eaves, and stood one on each side of me. I had no trench-helmet, so one

of them took his sheepskin driving coat, folded it, and put it over his

head and mine. As soon as a lull in the firing permitted, we ran across

the street to the _abris_. The Germans went back several times for more

ammunition and continued the bombing for nearly two hours.

[Sidenote: The nurses stay with the wounded.]

One of our workers, who was at the hospital, told me that her first

impulse was to run for an _abris_ as we would do at the canteen, but

when she looked about her and saw everybody composedly going on with

duty, she gathered herself together and did the same--"Although," she

added, "my teeth just rattled at first." Some of the wounded were

terrified and begged not to be left; and that called out the mother

instinct in the women, so that they forgot to be afraid.

The Germans swept the hospital with their machine guns and did their

best to bomb it, but fortunately made no hits. It was finally necessary

to put out all lights and to cease work. It was a most trying ordeal,

because the buildings were of pine, close together, and a direct hit

probably would have started a fire which would have burned the wounded

as they lay.

[Sidenote: The sound of battle draws near.]

About half past one I went up to our mess and crawled into an empty bed.

The next morning when I awakened it was to the sound of distant cannon.

This meant that the battle was drawing nearer.

[Sidenote: A ride on an ambulance.]

An especially hard day kept me on the strain from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. and

when I returned to the mess I found no dinner and no servants. Our

directrice, anticipating evacuation, had dismissed them. Only a little

Belgian refugee, a sort of "slavey," hung on, because she had no other

place to go. Tired out, I managed to make an omelet and a cup of tea,

and to fry some griddle cakes to replace the bread which was conspicuous

by its absence. Then I stationed myself in front of the canteen hoping

to flag a passing ambulance. An American driver stopped his car, and a

Frenchman, who was beside him on the front seat, jumped down to help me

up. This man had a bandage around his throat, and when I asked him if he

was wounded, he made a hissing sound in reply. The American driver

explained that he could not speak because he had a bullet through his

windpipe. There were six badly wounded men on the stretchers inside, but

we heard not a sound from them.

[Sidenote: A night of horrors.]

I shall not soon forget that night I had steeled myself to meet horrors,

and knew that I _must not_ let them affect me. Yet in spite of terrible

wounds, there was little sound of suffering. The place was wonderfully

quiet.

When I got inside of the receiving room, a group of our women who had

been at work all afternoon were still moving about, white and

hollow-eyed with fatigue. A French doctor asked if I could not bring

some food there from the canteen. It was Thursday. Some of the men had

been wounded on Tuesday, and had had no food and little water.

[Sidenote: Bringing up food for the wounded.]

I found an English girl with an empty ambulance, who risked a reprimand

for leaving without orders, and we flashed back to the canteen, and

loaded up with twenty gallons of hot chocolate, bread, about three

hundred hard boiled eggs, some kilos of chocolate, and raw eggs and

sugar. We flew back to the hospital; but there was a big convoy of

ambulances just in, so that we could not get up to the main buildings.

We scouted around in the dark to find a place to deposit our stuff and

open a temporary kitchen, and, returning to the ambulance, we came

across a wounded boy who had sunk on a bench. The ambulance driver had

passed him, making his way on foot, but being full-up, she was unable to

give him a lift. He was wounded in the chest, was exhausted, and had no

great-coat. It was absolutely necessary to get him under cover and to

give him warmth and nourishment. We put our arms around him and tried to

help him along, but soon it was apparent that he had not the strength to

make the reception ward.

[Sidenote: Holding up a boy too weak to stand.]

The English girl said, "You hold him up while I get a stretcher"; so I

jammed myself up against the side of a building and put my arms about

the boy while his weight grew heavier and heavier against me. I could

not let him slip, because the roadway was narrow and a long string of

ambulances, without lights, was passing. He never uttered a sound, but

his arms moved convulsively. As he felt himself growing weaker, he put

them around my neck, and clung to me precisely as a frightened child

would. It seemed an age while I waited there, warning off ambulances

that were about to shave us too closely. I could not help wondering

where that boy's mother was, what she was doing, or if he had a mother.

And I thought some terrible thoughts about war and some wicked ones

about Germans.

[Sidenote: Dispensing food to the wounded.]

The girl came with her stretcher at last, and we got the boy on it.

Then we went about setting up our feeding station. Hungry men limped in,

bandaged mostly about the head, and _how_ they consumed hard boiled eggs

and drank hot chocolate! I left the English girl dispensing food and

drink, while I took to the badly wounded a mixture of beaten egg, hot

milk and sugar. Here and there men asked for a piece of chocolate or

bread, but most of the wounded wanted only the liquid food. They would

say with their awful English cockney accent, "Ah! that's good!" or

"Prime stuff!" or "Could you spare a little more, sister?" In spite of

dreadful wounds, they were full of pluck.

[Sidenote: Great numbers of wounded in stretchers.]

For the next two hours I gave water and egg mixture to all sorts and

conditions of men--English, French, Canadians, Moroccans, Senegalese.

The doctor asked if I knew enough to administer morphine hypodermics,

and I regretfully admitted that I did not, while I registered a vow to

learn. Then some American Red Cross men appeared, and some English

doctors. Before midnight three or four long Red Cross trains had been

filled with wounded, and sent out. Yet at that hour more than five

hundred wounded men still lay on their stretchers on the grass outside.

And all the while, as I worked, I thought of how, as soon as the moon

came up, we should hear the familiar roar and rattle of the bombs, and

of how the shrapnel and machine gun bullets would rain down on those

upturned faces.

[Sidenote: The hospital floors are crowded.]

But, grace to heaven, the Germans did not come that night! At midnight I

went into Ward 4, where some of the worst wounded had been placed.

Stretchers had been laid on top of the beds and flat on the floor on

both sides of the central aisle, till one could hardly move. Most of the

wounded seemed to sleep. Only here and there one begged for water, and

these men were usually wounded in the abdomen where not even water

could be given. We could moisten their lips and wipe off the hot

feverish faces, and that was all.

[Sidenote: Everything possible has been done.]

By one o'clock it was evident that the most of what could be done had

been done. Another section of our women had arrived with more food, and

I went out to the covered way between the receiving room and the

operating room, to steal a ride home on the driver's seat of some

departing ambulance. An English boy, who had been gassed, asked me

hoarsely if I could get him a blanket, and I did so. Another man was

there, on whose eyelashes and eyebrows something that looked like ice

seemed to hang. I think it was an application to soothe gas-burns.

It was two o'clock before I got to bed at the mess. The English officer

was still occupying my apartment. I might pass off my action in

resigning it to him as philanthropy, but candor compels me to admit that

I was glad of an excuse to stay at the house where there was company in

case of a bombing raid.

[Sidenote: The French bills come in.]

Friday was a long, tense day. The French merchants and all the people

with whom we had dealings, anticipating our withdrawal, swarmed in with

accounts. When the G.A.N. (Grand Armée Nationale) sent in its request

for a check (previously, I had been obliged fairly to windlass their

bill out of them), I knew the French would evacuate. The Commandant sent

for the Directrice, and advised her to follow French headquarters

wherever it might move. He said he was evacuating all French hospitals

and had turned over all evacuation hospitals to the English. No more

wounded French were to be brought into E----.

[Sidenote: The German aviators bomb hospitals again.]

All day I worked without food, and after 7.30 got supper for myself and

three companions. We hoped for a night's rest, but the Germans began

bombing us at dusk, and kept it up till daylight. They were after

hospitals, as we knew by the fact that the dropping bombs were at a

distance from us and the regular line. All night the machine-gun battle

went on--our own guns at E----, warring with the sweeping planes

overhead. We got so tired of going to shelter, and so accustomed to the

firing, that we finally stayed in our rooms and even opened our shutters

to peer out into the calm summer sky. Shells were bursting and ground

signals of colored lights were streaming skyward. It was too exciting to

sleep until we gave out from sheer exhaustion. I managed to get an

intermittent slumber from four until seven.

[Sidenote: The town is full of refugees.]

As there was no breakfast at our mess, I went to the canteen for a cup

of coffee, and found the place crowded. The French Commander said that

our town was due to be shelled before long as we were getting in range

of the German guns. We decided not to go until we had to, but to cease

keeping the canteen open at night; to sell only hot coffee, chocolate,

bread, cheese, eggs and apples by day--thus omitting our hot meal--and

to divide our forces, one part to run the canteen, another to organize a

temporary canteen on the grounds of the evacuation hospital, and still

another to maintain the rolling canteen at the railway station. The

streets were almost blocked with refugees. I saw one unconscious woman

in a wheelbarrow being trundled by a boy. Regiments went through, going

up to the front, the men's faces stern and set. The sound of the battle

grew louder and louder.

[Sidenote: An airplane sweeps the street with a machine gun.]

That night we bundled our bedding into the Ford camion, and slept in one

of the deep champagne caves. I had volunteered to go on duty at the

canteen at six the next morning, and arriving there on time, found two

or three hundred tired and hungry men waiting for the doors to open.

The night before a great thermos marmite had been filled with boiling

coffee, and we were able to begin feeding the men without delay. All day

we did a tremendous business. About half past nine a German plane came

over, tried to bomb us, and swept the street with a machine gun. We

continued serving and pouring out coffee. The aviator killed a woman and

child who were standing in a garden, and then one of our machine guns

got him. The plane, a three passenger one, came tumbling down into the

public square. The pilot was caught with both legs under the engine and

was badly hurt, but the observer and the gunner were uninjured. An

infuriated Frenchman, who had seen the killing of the woman and child,

rushed up and killed the gunner as they lifted him out. I got these

facts from an American staff car driver who assisted in extricating the

pilot. That morning, our guns got three German planes.

[Sidenote: A German shell hits twenty-seven.]

At one that afternoon I left the canteen, and went home for the bath

which I had missed that morning. I had just finished dressing when a

German shell passed over the house, killing, as they said, twenty-seven

persons.

[Sidenote: The distant thunder of battle.]

I elected to stay over night at the hotel instead of going to the

champagne cave. No sound disturbed the night except the distant thunder

of the battle and the bursting of shells which were falling about a

thousand yards short of the town. The Germans were trying to destroy the

bridge over the Marne, to cut our communication with Rheims, but they

did not have the range.

Copyright, The Forum, November, 1918.

* * * * *

Volumes of detailed narrative could not sum up more graphically what the

American Army did in France than did the summary written by General

Pershing, presented in the following pages.

THE AMERICAN ARMY IN EUROPE

GENERAL JOHN J. PERSHING

[Sidenote: Organization of the American army.]

With French and British armies at their maximum strength, and all

efforts to dispossess the enemy from his firmly intrenched positions in

Belgium and France failed, it was necessary to plan for an American

force adequate to turn the scale in favor of the Allies. Taking account

of the strength of the central powers at that time, the immensity of the

problem which confronted us could hardly be overestimated. The first

requisite being an organization that could give intelligent direction to

effort, the formation of a General Staff occupied my early attention.

[Sidenote: The division.]

[Sidenote: A corps comprises six divisions.]

After a thorough consideration of allied organizations it was decided

that our combat division should consist of four regiments of infantry of

3,000 men, with three battalions to a regiment and four companies of 250

men each to a battalion, and of an artillery brigade of three regiments,

a machine-gun battalion, an engineer regiment, a trench-mortar battery,

a signal battalion, wagon trains, and the headquarters staffs and

military police. These, with medical and other units, made a total of

over 28,000 men, or practically double the size of a French or German

division. Each corps would normally consist of six divisions--four

combat and one depot and one replacement division--and also two

regiments of cavalry, and each army of from three to five corps. With

four divisions fully trained, a corps could take over an American

sector with, two divisions in line and two in reserve, with the depot

and replacement divisions prepared to fill the gaps in the ranks.

[Sidenote: Plan of training for the infantry.]

Our purpose was to prepare an integral American force which should be

able to take the offensive in every respect. Accordingly, the

development of a self-reliant infantry by thorough drill in the use of

the rifle and in the tactics of open warfare was always uppermost. The

plan of training after arrival in France allowed a division one month

for acclimatization and instruction in small units from battalions down,

a second month in quiet trench sectors by battalion, and a third month

after it came out of the trenches when it should be trained as a

complete division in war of movement.

[Sidenote: The school center at Langres.]

[Sidenote: British and French officers assist.]

Very early a system of schools was outlined and started, which should

have the advantage of instruction by officers direct from the front. At

the great school center at Langres, one of the first to be organized,

was the staff school, where the principles of general staff work, as

laid down in our own organization were taught to carefully selected

officers. Men in the ranks, who had shown qualities of leadership, were

sent to the school of candidates for commissions. A school of the line

taught younger officers the principles of leadership, tactics, and the

use of the different weapons. In the artillery school, at Saumur, young

officers were taught the fundamental principles of modern artillery;

while at Issoudun an immense plant was built for training cadets in

aviation. These and other schools, with their well-considered

curriculums for training in every branch of our organization, were

coordinated in a manner best to develop an efficient army out of willing

and industrious young men, many of whom had not before known even the

rudiments of military technique. Both Marshal Haig and General Petain

placed officers and men at our disposal for instructional purposes, and

we are deeply indebted for the opportunities given to profit by their

veteran experience.

[Sidenote: Questions of communication and supply.]

The eventual place the American Army should take on the western front

was to a large extent influenced by the vital questions of communication

and supply. The northern ports of France were crowded by the British

Armies' shipping and supplies while the southern ports, though otherwise

at our service, had not adequate port facilities for our purposes and

these we should have to build. The already overtaxed railway system

behind the active front in northern France would not be available for us

as lines of supply and those leading from the southern ports of

northeastern France would be unequal to our needs without much new

construction. Practically all warehouses, supply depots and regulating

stations must be provided by fresh constructions. While France offered

us such material as she had to spare after a drain of three years

enormous quantities of material had to be brought across the Atlantic.

[Sidenote: Plans for construction on a vast scale.]

With such a problem any temporization or lack of definiteness in making

plans might cause failure even with victory within our grasp. Moreover,

broad plans commensurate with our national purpose and resources would

bring conviction of our power to every soldier in the front line, to the

nations associated with us in the war, and to the enemy. The tonnage for

material for necessary construction for the supply of an army of three

and perhaps four million men would require a mammoth program of

shipbuilding at home, and miles of dock construction in France, with a

correspondingly large project for additional railways and for storage

depots.

[Sidenote: The southern ports are selected.]

All these considerations led to the inevitable conclusion that if we

were to handle and supply the great forces deemed essential to win the

war we must utilise the southern ports of France--Bordeaux, La Pallice,

St. Nazaire, and Brest--and the comparatively unused railway systems

leading therefrom to the northeast. Generally speaking, then, this would

contemplate the use of our forces against the enemy somewhere in that

direction, but the great depots of supply must be centrally located,

preferably in the area included by Tours, Bourges, and Chateauroux, so

that our armies could be supplied with equal facility wherever they

might be serving on the western front.

[Sidenote: Army and civilian experts are employed.]

To build up such a system there were talented men in the Regular Army,

but more experts were necessary than the Army could furnish. Thanks to

the patriotic spirit of our people at home, there came from civil life

men trained for every sort of work involved in building and managing the

organization necessary to handle and transport such an army and keep it

supplied. With such assistance the construction and general development

of our plans have kept pace with the growth of the forces, and the

Service of Supply is now able to discharge from ships and move 45,000

tons daily, besides transporting troops and material in the conduct of

active operations.

[Sidenote: Organization of the Service of Supply.]

As to organization, all the administrative and supply services, except

the Adjutant General's, Inspector General's and Judge Advocate General's

Departments which remain at general headquarters, have been transferred

to the headquarters of the services of supplies at Tours under a

commanding general responsible to the commander in chief for supply of

the armies. The Chief Quartermaster, Chief Surgeon, Chief Signal

Officer, Chief of Ordnance, Chief of Air Service, Chief of Chemical

Warfare, the general purchasing agent in all that pertains to questions

of procurement and supply, the Provost Marshal General in the

maintenance of order in general, the Director General of Transportation

in all that affects such matters, and the Chief Engineer in all matters

of administration and supply, are subordinate to the Commanding General

of the Service of Supply, who, assisted by a staff especially organized

for the purpose, is charged with the administrative coordination of all

these services.

[Sidenote: The transportation department.]

The transportation department under the Service of Supply directs the

operation, maintenance, and construction of railways, the operation of

terminals, the unloading of ships, and transportation of material to

warehouses or to the front. Its functions make necessary the most

intimate relationship between our organization and that of the French,

with the practical result that our transportation department has been

able to improve materially the operations of railways generally.

Constantly laboring under a shortage of rolling stock, the

transportation department has nevertheless been able by efficient

management to meet every emergency.

[Sidenote: Duties of the Engineer Corps.]

The Engineer Corps is charged with all construction, including light

railways and roads. It has planned and constructed the many projects

required, the most important of which are the new wharves at Bordeaux

and Nantes, and the immense storage depots at La Palice, Montoir, and

Gièvres, besides innumerable hospitals and barracks in various ports of

France. These projects have all been carried on by phases keeping pace

with our needs. The Forestry Service under the Engineer Corps has cut

the greater part of the timber and railway ties required.

To meet the shortage of supplies from America, due to lack of shipping,

the representatives of the different supply departments were constantly

in search of available material and supplies in Europe. In order to

coordinate these purchases and to prevent competition between our

departments, a general purchasing agency was created early in our

experience to coordinate our purchases and, if possible, induce our

Allies to apply the principle among the Allied armies. While there was

no authority for the general use of appropriations, this was met by

grouping the purchasing representatives of the different departments

under one control, charged with the duty of consolidating requisitions

and purchases. Our efforts to extend the principle have been signally

successful, and all purchases for the Allied armies are now on an

equitable and cooperative basis. Indeed, it may be said that the work of

this bureau has been thoroughly efficient and businesslike.

Our entry into the war found us with few of the auxiliaries necessary

for its conduct in the modern sense. Among our most important

deficiencies in material were artillery, aviation, and tanks. In order

to meet our requirements as rapidly as possible, we accepted the offer

of the French Government to provide us with the necessary artillery

equipment of seventy-fives, one fifty-five millimeter howitzers, and one

fifty-five G P F guns from their own factories for thirty divisions. The

wisdom of this course is fully demonstrated by the fact that, although

we soon began the manufacture of these classes of guns at home, there

were no guns of the calibers mentioned manufactured in America on our

front at the date the armistice was signed. The only guns of these types

produced at home thus far received in France are 109 seventy-five

millimeter guns.

[Sidenote: The first airplanes received from America.]

In aviation we were in the same situation, and here again the French

Government came to our aid until our own aviation program should be

under way. We obtained from the French the necessary planes for training

our personnel, and they have provided us with a total of 2,676 pursuit,

observation, and bombing planes. The first airplanes received from home

arrived in May, and altogether we have received 1,379. The first

American squadron completely equipped by American production, including

airplanes, crossed the German lines on August 7, 1918. As to tanks, we

were also compelled to rely upon the French. Here, however, we were less

fortunate, for the reason that the French production could barely meet

the requirements of their own armies.

[Sidenote: The attitude of the French Government liberal.]

It should be fully realized that the French Government has always taken

a most liberal attitude and has been most anxious to give us every

possible assistance in meeting our deficiencies in these as well as in

other respects. Our dependence upon France for artillery, aviation, and

tanks was, of course, due to the fact that our industries had not been

exclusively devoted to military production. All credit is due our own

manufacturers for their efforts to meet our requirements, as at the time

the armistice was signed we were able to look forward to the early

supply of practically all our necessities from our own factories.

[Sidenote: Responsibility for the welfare of the troops.]

[Sidenote: Welfare organizations and their valuable work.]

The welfare of the troops touches my responsibility as Commander in

Chief to the mothers and fathers and kindred of the men who came to

France in the impressionable period of youth. They could not have the

privilege accorded European soldiers during their periods of leave of

visiting their families and renewing their home ties. Fully realizing

that the standard of conduct that should be established for them must

have a permanent influence in their lives and on the character of their

future citizenship, the Red Cross, the Young Men's Christian

Association, Knights of Columbus, the Salvation Army, and the Jewish

Welfare Board, as auxiliaries in this work, were encouraged in every

possible way. The fact that our soldiers, in a land of different customs

and language, have borne themselves in a manner in keeping with the

cause for which they fought, is due not only to the efforts in their

behalf but much more to other high ideals, their discipline, and their

innate sense of self-respect. It should be recorded, however, that the

members of these welfare societies have been untiring in their desire to

be of real service to our officers and men. The patriotic devotion of

these representative men and women has given a new significance to the

Golden Rule, and we owe to them a debt of gratitude that can never be

repaid.

[Sidenote: The Twenty-sixth fights at Seicheprey.]

During our periods of training in the trenches some of our divisions had

engaged the enemy in local combats, the most important of which was

Seicheprey by the Twenty-sixth on April 20, in the Toul sector, but none

had participated in action as a unit. The First Division, which had

passed through the preliminary stages of training, had gone to the

trenches for its first period of instruction at the end of October and

by March 21, when the German offensive in Picardy began, we had four

divisions with experience in the trenches, all of which were equal to

any demands of battle action. The crisis which this offensive developed

was such that our occupation of an American sector must be postponed.

[Sidenote: Pershing offers forces to Foch.]

On March 28 I placed at the disposal of Marshal Foch, who had been

agreed upon as Commander in Chief of the Allied Armies, all of our

forces to be used as he might decide. At his request the first division

was transferred from the Toul sector to a position in reserve at

Chaumont en Vexin. As German superiority in numbers required prompt

action, an agreement was reached at the Abbeville conference of the

Allied premiers and commanders and myself on May 2 by which British

shipping was to transport 10 American divisions to the British Army

area, where they were to be trained and equipped, and additional British

shipping was to be provided for as many divisions as possible for use

elsewhere.

[Sidenote: The First takes Cantigny.]

[Sidenote: Fighting qualities demonstrated.]

On April 26 the First Division had gone into the line in the Montdidier

salient on the Picardy battle front. Tactics had been suddenly

revolutionized to those of open warfare, and our men, confident of the

results of their training, were eager for the test. On the morning of

May 28 this division attacked the commanding German position in its

front, taking with splendid dash the town of Cantigny and all other

objectives, which were organized and held steadfastly against vicious

counterattacks and galling artillery fire. Although local, this

brilliant action had an electrical effect, as it demonstrated our

fighting qualities under extreme battle conditions, and also that the

enemy's troops were not altogether invincible.

[Sidenote: The Third Division on the Marne.]

[Sidenote: The Second wins Bouresches and Belleau Wood.]

The Germans' Aisne offensive, which began on May 27, had advanced

rapidly toward the River Marne and Paris, and the Allies faced a crisis

equally as grave as that of the Picardy offensive in March. Again every

available man was placed at Marshal Foch's disposal, and the Third

Division, which had just come from its preliminary training in the

trenches, was hurried to the Marne. Its motorized machine-gun battalion

preceded the other units and successfully held the bridgehead at the

Marne, opposite Château-Thierry. The Second Division, in reserve near

Montdidier, was sent by motor trucks and other available transport to

check the progress of the enemy toward Paris. The Division attacked and

retook the town and railroad station at Bouresches and sturdily held its

ground against the enemy's best guard divisions. In the battle of

Belleau Wood, which followed, our men proved their superiority and

gained a strong tactical position, with far greater loss to the enemy

than to ourselves. On July 1, before the Second was relieved, it

captured the village of Vaux with most splendid precision.

[Sidenote: Second Corps is organized.]

Meanwhile our Second Corps, under Major General George W. Read, had been

organized for the command of our divisions with the British, which were

held back in training areas or assigned to second-line defenses. Five of

the ten divisions were withdrawn from the British area in June, three to

relieve divisions in Lorraine and the Vosges and two to the Paris area

to join the group of American divisions which stood between the city and

any farther advance of the enemy in that direction.

[Sidenote: The Forty-second and the Twenty-eighth.]

[Sidenote: Brilliant work of the Third.]

The great June-July troop movement from the States was well under way,

and, although these troops were to be given some preliminary training

before being put into action, their very presence warranted the use of

all the older divisions in the confidence that we did not lack reserves.

Elements of the Forty-second Division were in the line east of Rheims

against the German offensive of July 15, and held their ground

unflinchingly. On the right flank of this offensive four companies of

the Twenty-eighth Division were in position in face of the advancing

waves of the German infantry. The Third Division was holding the bank of

the Marne from the bend east of the mouth of the Surmelin to the west of

Mézy, opposite Château-Thierry, where a large force of German infantry

sought to force a passage under support of powerful artillery

concentrations and under cover of smoke screens. A single regiment of

the Third wrote one of the most brilliant pages in our military annals

on this occasion. It prevented the crossing at certain points on its

front while, on either flank, the Germans, who had gained a footing,

pressed forward. Our men, firing in three directions, met the German

attacks with counterattacks at critical points and succeeded in throwing

two German divisions into complete confusion, capturing 600 prisoners.

[Sidenote: First and Second in the thrust toward Soissons.]

The great force of the German Château-Thierry offensive established the

deep Marne salient, but the enemy was taking chances, and the

vulnerability of this pocket to attack might be turned to his

disadvantage. Seizing this opportunity to support my conviction, every

division with any sort of training was made available for use in a

counter-offensive. The place of honor in the thrust toward Soissons on

July 18 was given to our First and Second Divisions in company with

chosen French divisions. Without the usual brief warning of a

preliminary bombardment, the massed French and American artillery,

firing by the map, laid down its rolling barrage at dawn while the

infantry began its charge. The tactical handling of our troops under

these trying conditions was excellent throughout the action. The enemy

brought up large numbers of reserves and made a stubborn defense both

with machine guns and artillery, but through five days' fighting the

First Division continued to advance until it had gained the heights

above Soissons and captured the village of Berzy-le-Sec. The Second

Division took Beau Repaire farm and Vierzy in a very rapid advance and

reached a position in front of Tigny at the end of its second day. These

two divisions captured 7,000 prisoners and over 100 pieces of artillery.

[Sidenote: The Twenty-sixth and the Third.]

The Twenty-sixth Division, which, with a French division, was under

command of our First Corps, acted as a pivot of the movement toward

Soissons. On the 18th it took the village of Torcy while the Third

Division was crossing the Marne in pursuit of the retiring enemy. The

Twenty-sixth attacked again on the 21st, and the enemy withdrew past the

Château-Thierry-Soissons road. The Third Division, continuing its

progress, took the heights of Mont St. Père and the villages of

Chartèves and Jaulgonne in the face of both machine-gun and artillery

fire.

[Sidenote: Germans fall back.]

[Sidenote: The Forty-second relieves the Twenty-sixth.]

[Sidenote: Third and Fourth Advance.]

On the 24th, after the Germans had fallen back from Trugney and Epieds,

our Forty-second Division, which had been brought over from the

Champagne, relieved the Twenty-sixth and, fighting its way through the

Forêt de Fère, overwhelmed the nest of machine guns in its path. By the

27th it had reached the Ourcq, whence the Third and Fourth Divisions

were already advancing, while the French divisions with which we were

cooperating were moving forward at other points.

[Sidenote: The Forty-second and Thirty-second.]

[Sidenote: The Twenty-eighth and the Seventy-seventh.]

The Third Division had made its advance into Roncheres Wood on the 29th

and was relieved for rest by a brigade of the Thirty-second. The

Forty-second and Thirty-second undertook the task of conquering the

heights beyond Cierges, the Forty-second capturing Sergy and the

Thirty-second capturing Hill 230, both American divisions joining in the

pursuit of the enemy to the Vesle, and thus the operation of reducing

the salient was finished. Meanwhile the Forty-second was relieved by the

Fourth at Chéry-Chartreuve, and the Thirty-second by the Twenty-eighth,

while the Seventy-seventh Division took up a position on the Vesle. The

operations of these divisions on the Vesle were under the Third Corps,

Major General Robert L. Bullard, commanding.

[Sidenote: The First Army is organized.]

[Sidenote: The American sector is extended.]

With the reduction of the Marne salient we could look forward to the

concentration of our divisions in our own zone. In view of the

forthcoming operation against the St. Mihiel salient, which had long

been planned as our first offensive action on a large scale, the First

Army was organized on August 10 under my personal command. While

American units had held different divisional and corps sectors along the

western front, there had not been up to this time, for obvious reasons,

a distinct American sector; but, in view of the important parts the

American forces were now to play, it was necessary to take over a

permanent portion of the line. Accordingly, on August 30, the line

beginning at Port sur Seille, east of the Moselle and extending to the

west through St. Mihiel, thence north to a point opposite Verdun, was

placed under my command. The American sector was afterwards extended

across the Meuse to the western edge of the Argonne Forest, and included

the Second Colonial French, which held the point of the salient, and the

Seventeenth French Corps, which occupied the heights above Verdun.

[Sidenote: Large troop movements.]

The preparation for a complicated operation against the formidable

defenses in front of us included the assembling of divisions and of

corps and army artillery, transport, aircraft, tanks, ambulances, the

location of hospitals, and the molding together of all the elements of a

great modern army with its own railheads, supplied directly by our

Service of Supply. The concentration for this operation, which was to be

a surprise, involved the movement, mostly at night, of approximately

600,000 troops, and required for its success the most careful attention

to every detail.

[Sidenote: Heavy guns can reach Metz.]

The French were generous in giving us assistance in corps and army

artillery, with its personnel, and we were confident from the start of

our superiority over the enemy in guns of all calibers. Our heavy guns

were able to reach Metz and to interfere seriously with German rail

movements. The French Independent Air Force was placed under my command

which, together with the British bombing squadrons and our air forces,

gave us the largest assembly of aviation that had ever been engaged in

one operation on the western front.

[Sidenote: The First Corps.]

[Sidenote: The Third Corps.]

[Sidenote: The Fifth Corps.]

[Sidenote: Reserves.]

From Les Eparges around the nose of the salient at St. Mihiel to the

Moselle River the line was roughly 40 miles long and situated on

commanding ground greatly strengthened by artificial defenses. Our First

Corps (Eighty-second, Ninetieth, Fifth, and Second Divisions) under

command of Major General Hunter Liggett, restrung its right on

Pont-a-Mousson, with its left joining our Third Corps (the Eighty-ninth,

Forty-second, and First Divisions), under Major General Joseph T.

Dickman, in line to Xivray, were to swing in toward Vigneulles on the

pivot of the Moselle River for the initial assault. From Xivray to

Mouilly the Second Colonial French Corps was in line in the center and

our Fifth Corps, under command of Major General George H. Cameron, with

our Twenty-sixth Division and a French division at the western base of

the salient, were to attack three difficult hills--Les Eparges, Combres,

and Amaranthe. Our First Corps had in reserve the Seventy-eighth

Division, our Fourth Corps the Third Division, and our First Army the

Thirty-fifth and Ninety-first Divisions, with the Eightieth and

Thirty-third available. It should be understood that our corps

organizations are very elastic, and that we have at no time had

permanent assignments of divisions to corps.

[Sidenote: The attack on St. Mihiel begins.]

[Sidenote: Breaking the barbed-wire defenses.]

After four hours' artillery preparation, the seven American divisions

in the front line advanced at 5 a.m., on September 12, assisted by a

limited number of tanks manned partly by Americans and partly by the

French. These divisions, accompanied by groups of wire cutters and

others armed with bangalore torpedoes, went through the successive bands

of barbed wire that protected the enemy's front line and support

trenches, in irresistible waves on schedule time, breaking down all

defense of an enemy demoralized by the great volume of our artillery

fire and our sudden approach out of the fog.

[Sidenote: The First Army takes the salient.]

[Sidenote: Many prisoners and guns taken.]

Our First Corps advanced to Thiaucourt, while our Fourth Corps curved

back to the southwest through Nonsard. The Second Colonial French Corps

made the slight advance required of it on very difficult ground, and the

Fifth Corps took its three ridges and repulsed a counterattack. A rapid

march brought reserve regiments of a Division of the Fifth Corps into

Vigneulles in the early morning, where it linked up with patrols of our

Fourth Corps, closing the salient and forming a new line west of

Thiaucourt to Vigneulles, and beyond Fresnes-en-Woevre. At the cost of

only 7,000 casualties, mostly light, we had taken 16,000 prisoners and

443 guns, a great quantity of material, released the inhabitants of many

villages from enemy domination, and established our lines in a position

to threaten Metz. This signal success of the American First Army in its

first offensive was of prime importance. The Allies found they had a

formidable army to aid them, and the enemy learned finally that he had

one to reckon with.

[Illustration: AMERICAN ATTACK ON THE ST. MIHIEL SALIENT]

[Sidenote: Movement to cut German railway connections.]

On the day after we had taken the St. Mihiel salient, much of our Corps

and Army artillery which had operated at St. Mihiel, and our Divisions

in reserve at other points, were already on the move toward the area

back of the line between the Meuse River and the western edge of the

forest of Argonne. With the exception of St. Mihiel, the old German

front line from Switzerland to the east of Rheims was still intact. In

the general attack all along the line, the operation assigned the

American Army as the hinge of this Allied offensive was directed toward

the important railroad communications of the German armies through

Mézières and Sedan. The enemy must hold fast to this part of his lines

or the withdrawal of his forces with four years' accumulation of plants

and material would be dangerously imperiled.

[Sidenote: German Army not demoralized.]

The German Army had as yet shown no demoralization and, while the mass

of its troops had suffered in morale, its first-class divisions and

notably its machine-gun defense were exhibiting remarkable tactical

efficiency as well as courage. The German General Staff was fully aware

of the consequences of a success on the Meuse-Argonne line. Certain that

he would do everything in his power to oppose us, the action was planned

with as much secrecy as possible and was undertaken with the

determination to use all our Divisions in forcing decision. We expected

to draw the best German divisions to our front and to consume them while

the enemy was held under grave apprehension lest our attack should break

his line, which it was our firm purpose to do.

[Sidenote: The Argonne Forest considered impregnable.]

[Sidenote: American order of battle.]

Our right flank was protected by the Meuse, while our left embraced the

Argonne Forest whose ravines, hills, and elaborate defense screened by

dense thickets had been generally considered impregnable. Our order of

battle from right to left was the Third Corps from the Meuse to

Malancourt, with the Thirty-third, Eightieth, and Fourth Divisions in

line, and the Third Division as corps reserve; the Fifth Corps from

Malancourt to Vauquois, with Seventy-ninth, Eighty-seventh, and

Ninety-first Divisions in line, and the Thirty-second in corps reserve;

and the First Corps, from Vauquois to Vienne le Chateau, with

Thirty-fifth, Twenty-eighth, and Seventy-seventh Divisions in line, and

the Ninety-second in corps reserve. The Army reserve consisted of the

First, Twenty-ninth, and Eighty-second Divisions.

[Sidenote: Attack begins on September 25.]

[Sidenote: Montfaucon is taken.]

On the night of September 25 our troops quietly took the place of the

French who thinly held the line in this sector which had long been

inactive. In the attack which began on the 26th we drove through the

barbed wire entanglements and the sea of shell craters across No Man's

Land, mastering all the first-line defenses. Continuing on the 27th and

28th, against machine guns and artillery of an increasing number of

enemy reserve divisions, we penetrated to a depth of from 3 to 7 miles,

and took the village of Montfaucon and its commanding hill and Exermont,

Gercourt, Cuisy, Septsarges, Malancourt, Ivoiry, Epinonville,

Charpentry, Very, and other villages. East of the Meuse one of our

Divisions, which was with the Second Colonial French Corps, captured

Marcheville and Rieville, giving further protection to the flank of our

main body. We had taken 10,000 prisoners, we had gained our point of

forcing the battle into the open and were prepared for the enemy's

reaction, which was bound to come as he had good roads and ample

railroad facilities for bringing up his artillery and reserves.

[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF PERSHING'S SECRET BATTLE MAP SHOWN AT

NATIONAL MUSEUM

There is on exhibition in the United States National Museum at

Washington what is probably the most interesting and valuable single

record of America's part in the Great War--General Pershing's own secret

battle map, transported here from his headquarters in France and set up

in the museum exactly as it was there.

It was General Pershing's own idea to have the map displayed to the

public to show the people of the United States the actual military

results obtained by their armies. For instance, at the hour the

armistice was signed the United States forces were holding 145

kilometers of front, of which 134 kilometers were active. This is made

plain on the map by the colored pins and tags by which the different

allied and enemy armies are shown.

The map itself shows the location of all divisions, both the enemy and

allied, on the western front; the correct battle line, commanding

generals, location of headquarters and boundaries down to include

armies, and various other information concerning divisions, as, for

example, whether they were fresh or tired. The map was developed and

kept posted to date daily by the third section of General Pershing's

staff, and used by them and other superior officers during active

operations for strategical studies and purposes of general information.

It is evident that during the war the information which this map

contained was such that the enemy would have spared no pains to secure

it. Every precaution was taken to insure its secrecy, and to this end

the map was always kept locked up, and in addition was kept in a small

compartment formed by a closed screen. Furthermore, access to this map

was had by only the half dozen chiefs of the general headquarters staff

sections whose work was directly affected by the changes shown on the

map. This map appears to have been unique. The staff officers from the

different allied headquarters who had occasion to see the map declared

that it was the most complete representation of the opposing forces that

they had seen.

General Pershing, in his letter to the adjutant general suggesting the

public display of the map in the National Museum, says:

"It has occurred to me that this particular map with its accompanying

installation will have a great historical value. It will be of intense

interest to future generations, not only because it was the only map of

its kind used at these headquarters, but because it shows in a vivid

fashion the exact situation at the hour of the armistice."]

[Sidenote: Difficult tasks of engineers and gunners.]

In the chill rain of dark nights our engineers had to build new roads

across spongy, shell-torn areas, repair broken roads beyond No Man's

Land, and build bridges. Our gunners, with no thought of sleep, put

their shoulders to wheels and dragropes to bring their guns through the

mire in support of the infantry, now under the increasing fire of the

enemy's artillery. Our attack had taken the enemy by surprise, but,

quickly recovering himself, he began to fire counterattacks in strong

force, supported by heavy bombardments, with large quantities of gas.

From September 28 until October 4 we maintained the offensive against

patches of woods defended by snipers and continuous lines of machine

guns, and pushed forward our guns and transport, seizing strategical

points in preparation for further attacks.

[Sidenote: The Twenty-seventh and the Thirtieth with the British.]

Other Divisions attached to the Allied armies were doing their part. It

was the fortune of our Second Corps, composed of the Twenty-seventh and

Thirtieth Divisions, which had remained with the British, to have a

place of honor in cooperation with the Australian Corps on September 29

and October 1 in the assault on the Hindenburg line where the St.

Quentin Canal passes through a tunnel under a ridge. The Thirtieth

Division speedily broke through the main line of defense for all its

objectives, while the Twenty-seventh pushed on impetuously through the

main line until some of its elements reached Gouy. In the midst of the

maze of trenches and shell craters and under cross fire from machine

guns the other elements fought desperately against odds. In this and in

later actions, from October 6 to October 19, our Second Corps captured

over 6,000 prisoners and advanced over 13 miles. The spirit and

aggressiveness of these Divisions have been highly praised by the

British Army commander under whom they served.

[Sidenote: Second and Thirty-sixth with the French.]

On October 2 to 9 our Second and Thirty-sixth Divisions were sent to

assist the French in an important attack against the old German

positions before Rheims. The Second conquered the complicated defense

works on their front against a persistent defense worthy of the

grimmest period of trench warfare and attacked the strongly held wooded

hill of Blanc Mont, which they captured in a second assault, sweeping

over it with consummate dash and skill. This Division then repulsed

strong counterattacks before the village and cemetery of Ste. Etienne

and took the town, forcing the Germans to fall back from before Rheims

and yield positions they had held since September, 1914. On October 9

the Thirty-sixth Division relieved the Second and, in its first

experience under fire, withstood very severe artillery bombardment and

rapidly took up the pursuit of the enemy, now retiring behind the Aisne.

[Sidenote: Steady progress in the Argonne Forest.]

[Sidenote: The terrain favors the defense.]

The Allied progress elsewhere cheered the efforts of our men in this

crucial contest as the German command threw in more and more first-class

troops to stop our advance. We made steady headway in the almost

impenetrable and strongly held Argonne Forest, for, despite this

reinforcement, it was our Army that was doing the driving. Our aircraft

was increasing in skill and numbers and forcing the issue, and our

Infantry and Artillery were improving rapidly with each new experience.

The replacements fresh from home were put into exhausted divisions with

little time for training, but they had the advantage of serving beside

men who knew their business and who had almost become veterans

overnight. The enemy had taken every advantage of the terrain, which

especially favored the defense, by a prodigal use of machine guns manned

by highly trained veterans and by using his artillery at short ranges.

In the face of such strong frontal positions we should have been unable

to accomplish any progress according to previously accepted standards,

but I had every confidence in our aggressive tactics and the courage of

our troops.

[Sidenote: Strong enemy counterattacks.]

[Sidenote: First Corps takes Chatel-Chéhéry.]

[Sidenote: Argonne Forest is cleared.]

On October 4 the attack was renewed all along our front. The Third Corps

tilting to the left followed the Brieulles-Cunel road; our Fifth Corps

took Gesnes while the First Corps advanced for over 2 miles along the

irregular valley of the Aire River and in the wooded hills of the

Argonne that bordered the river, used by the enemy with all his art and

weapons of defense. This sort of fighting continued against an enemy

striving to hold every foot of ground and whose very strong

counterattacks challenged us at every point. On the 7th the First Corps

captured Chatel-Chéhéry and continued along the river to Cornay. On the

east of Meuse sector one of the two Divisions cooperating with the

French captured Consenvoye and the Haumont Woods. On the 9th the Fifth

Corps, in its progress up the Aire, took Fléville, and the Third Corps

which had continuous fighting against odds was working its way through

Brieulles and Cunel. On the 10th we had cleared the Argonne Forest of

the enemy.

[Sidenote: The Second Army is organized.]

It was now necessary to constitute a second army, and on October 9 the

immediate command of the First Army was turned over to Lieutenant

General Hunter Liggett. The command of the Second Army, whose divisions

occupied a sector in the Woevre, was given to Lieutenant General Robert

L. Bullard, who had been commander of the First Division and then of the

Third Corps. Major General Dickman was transferred to the command of the

First Corps, while the Fifth Corps was placed under Major General

Charles P. Summerall, who had recently commanded the First Division.

Major General John L. Hines, who had gone rapidly up from regimental to

division commander, was assigned to the Third Corps. These four officers

had been in France from the early days of the expedition and had learned

their lessons in the school of practical warfare.

[Sidenote: The Kriemhilde line is penetrated.]

Our constant pressure against the enemy brought day by day more

prisoners, mostly survivors from machine-gun nests captured in fighting

at close quarters. On October 18 there was very fierce fighting in the

Caures Woods east of the Meuse and in the Ormont Woods. On the 14th the

First Corps took St. Juvin, and the Fifth Corps, in hand-to-hand

encounters, entered the formidable Kriemhilde line, where the enemy had

hoped to check us indefinitely. Later the Fifth Corps penetrated further

the Kriemhilde line, and the First Corps took Champigneulles and the

important town of Grandpre. Our dogged offensive was wearing down the

enemy, who continued desperately to throw his best troops against us,

thus weakening his line in front of our Allies and making their advance

less difficult.

[Sidenote: Thirty-seventh and Ninety-first in Belgium.]

Meanwhile we were not only able to continue the battle, but our

Thirty-seventh and Ninety-first Divisions were hastily withdrawn from

our front and dispatched to help the French Army in Belgium. Detraining

in the neighborhood of Ypres, these Divisions advanced by rapid stages

to the fighting line and were assigned to adjacent French corps. On

October 31, in continuation of the Flanders offensive, they attacked and

methodically broke down all enemy resistance. On November 3 the

Thirty-seventh had completed its mission in dividing the enemy across

the Escaut River and firmly established itself along the east bank

included in the division zone of action. By a clever flanking movement

troops of the Ninety-first Division captured Spitaals Bosschen, a

difficult wood extending across the central part of the division sector,

reached the Escaut, and penetrated into the town of Audenarde. These

divisions received high commendation from their corps commanders for

their dash and energy.

[Sidenote: Preparation for the final assault.]

On the 23d the Third and Fifth Corps pushed northward to the level of

Bantheville. While we continued to press forward and throw back the

enemy's violent counterattacks with great loss to him, a regrouping of

our forces was under way for the final assault. Evidences of loss of

morale by the enemy gave our men more confidence in attack and more

fortitude in enduring the fatigue of incessant effort and the hardships

of very inclement weather.

[Sidenote: The final advance begins.]

With comparatively well-rested divisions, the final advance in the

Meuse-Argonne front was begun on November 1. Our increased artillery

force acquitted itself magnificently in support of the advance, and the

enemy broke before the determined infantry, which, by its persistent

fighting of the past weeks and the dash of this attack, had overcome his

will to resist. The Third Corps took Aincreville, Doulcon, and

Andevanne, and the Fifth Corps took Landres et St. Georges and pressed

through successive lines of resistance to Bayonville and Chennery. On

the 2d the First Corps joined in the movement, which now became an

impetuous onslaught that could not be stayed.

[Sidenote: Aid of large caliber guns.]

[Sidenote: The enemy's line of communications cut.]

On the 3d advance troops surged forward in pursuit, some by motor

trucks, while the artillery pressed along the country roads close

behind. The First Corps reached Authe and Châtillon-sur-Bar, the Fifth

Corps, Fosse and Nouart, and the Third Corps Halles, penetrating the

enemy's line to a depth of 12 miles. Our large caliber guns had advanced

and were skillfully brought into position to fire upon the important

lines at Montmedy, Longuyon, and Conflans. Our Third Corps crossed the

Meuse on the 5th and the other corps, in the full confidence that the

day was theirs, eagerly cleared the way of machine guns as they swept

northward, maintaining complete coordination throughout. On the 6th, a

division of the First Corps reached a point on the Meuse opposite Sedan,

25 miles from our line of departure. The strategical goal which was our

highest hope was gained. We had cut the enemy's main line of

communications, and nothing but surrender or an armistice could save his

army from complete disaster.

[Sidenote: Prisoners and guns taken.]

[Sidenote: Divisions long in battle line.]

In all 40 enemy divisions had been used against us in the Meuse-Argonne

battle. Between September 26 and November 6 we took 26,059 prisoners and

468 guns on this front. Our Divisions engaged were the First, Second,

Third, Fourth, Fifth, Twenty-sixth, Twenty-eighth, Twenty-ninth,

Thirty-second, Thirty-third, Thirty-fifth, Thirty-seventh, Forty-second,

Seventy-seventh, Seventy-eighth, Seventy-ninth, Eightieth,

Eighty-second, Eighty-ninth, Ninetieth, and Ninety-first. Many of our

divisions remained in line for a length of time that required nerves of

steel, while others were sent in again after only a few days of rest.

The First, Fifth, Twenty-sixth, Forty-second, Seventy-seventh,

Eightieth, Eighty-ninth, and, Ninetieth were in the line twice. Although

some of the divisions were fighting their first battle, they soon became

equal to the best.

[Sidenote: The fight in the Meuse Hills.]

On the three days preceding November 10, the Third, the Second Colonial,

and the Seventeenth French Corps fought a difficult struggle through the

Meuse Hills south of Stenay and forced the enemy into the plain.

Meanwhile, my plans for further use of the American forces contemplated

an advance between the Meuse and the Moselle in the direction of Longwy

by the First Army, while, at the same time, the Second Army should

assure the offensive toward the rich iron fields of Briey. These

operations were to be followed by an offensive toward Château-Salins

east of the Moselle, thus isolating Metz. Accordingly, attacks on the

American front had been ordered and that of the Second Army was in

progress on the morning of November 11, when instructions were received

that hostilities should cease at 11 o'clock a.m.

[Sidenote: A new offensive is halted by the armistice.]

At this moment the line of the American sector, from right to left,

began at Port-sur-Seille, thence across the Moselle to Vandieres and

through the Woevre to Bezonvaux in the foothills of the Meuse, thence

along to the foothills and through the northern edge of the Woevre

forests to the Meuse at Mouzay, thence along the Meuse connecting with

the French under Sedan.

[Sidenote: Cordial assistance of the Allied armies and governments.]

Cooperation among the Allies has at all times been most cordial. A far

greater effort has been put forth by the Allied armies and staffs to

assist us than could have been expected. The French Government and Army

have always stood ready to furnish us with supplies, equipment, and

transportation and to aid us in every way. In the towns and hamlets

wherever our troops have been stationed or billeted the French people

have everywhere received them more as relatives and intimate friends

than as soldiers of a foreign army. For these things words are quite

inadequate to express our gratitude. There can be no doubt that the

relations growing out of our associations here assure a permanent

friendship between the two peoples. Although we have not been so

intimately associated with the people of Great Britain, yet their troops

and ours when thrown together have always warmly fraternized. The

reception of those of our forces who have passed through England and of

those who have been stationed there has always been enthusiastic.

Altogether it has been deeply impressed upon us that the ties of

language and blood bring the British and ourselves together completely

and inseparably.

[Sidenote: Americans in Italy and in Russia.]

There are in Europe altogether including a regiment and some sanitary

units with the Italian Army and the organizations at Murmansk, also

including those en route from the States, approximately 2,053,347 men,

less our losses. Of this total there are in France 1,338,169 combatant

troops. Forty divisions have arrived, of which the Infantry personnel of

10 have been used as replacements, leaving 30 divisions now in France

organized into three armies of three corps each.

[Sidenote: American losses and American captures.]

The losses of the Americans up to November 18 are: Killed in action,

36,145; died of disease, 14,811; deaths unclassified, 2,204; wounded,

179,625; prisoners, 2,163; missing, 1,160. We have captured about 44,000

prisoners and 1,400 guns, howitzers and trench mortars.

[Sidenote: Ability of the American officers.]

The duties of the General Staff, as well as those of the Army and corps

staffs, have been very ably performed. Especially is this true when we

consider the new and difficult problems with which they have been

confronted. This body of officers, both as individuals and as an

organization, have, I believe, no superiors in professional ability, in

efficiency, or in loyalty.

[Sidenote: The Service of Supply.]

Nothing that we have in France better reflects the efficiency and

devotion to duty of Americans in general than the Service of Supply

whose personnel is thoroughly imbued with a patriotic desire to do its

full duty. They have at all times fully appreciated their responsibility

to the rest of the Army and the results produced have been most

gratifying.

[Sidenote: The Medical Corps.]

Our Medical Corps is especially entitled to praise for the general

effectiveness of its work both in hospital and at the front. Embracing

men of high professional attainments, and splendid women devoted to

their calling and untiring in their efforts, this department has made a

new record for medical and sanitary proficiency.

[Sidenote: The Quartermaster Department.]

The Quartermaster Department has had difficult and various tasks, but it

has more than met all demands that have been made upon it. Its

management and its personnel have been exceptionally efficient and

deserve every possible commendation.

[Sidenote: Ordnance Department, Signal Corps and Engineer Corps.]

As to the more technical services, the able personnel of the Ordnance

Department in France has splendidly fulfilled its functions both in

procurement and in forwarding the immense quantities of ordnance

required. The officers and men and the young women of the Signal Corps

have performed their duties with a large conception of the problem and

with a devoted and patriotic spirit to which the perfection of our

communications daily testify. While the Engineer Corps has been referred

to in another part of this report, it should be further stated that the

work has required large vision and high professional skill, and great

credit is due their personnel for the high proficiency that they have

constantly maintained.

[Sidenote: American aviators.]

[Sidenote: The Tank Corps.]

Our aviators have no equals in daring or in fighting ability and have

left a record of courageous deeds that will ever remain a brilliant page

in the annals of our Army. While the Tank Corps has had limited

opportunities its personnel has responded gallantly on every possible

occasion and has shown courage of the highest order.

[Sidenote: Other Departments.]

The Adjutant General's Department has been directed with a systematic

thoroughness and excellence that surpassed any previous work of its

kind. The Inspector General's Department has risen to the highest

standards and throughout has ably assisted commanders in the

enforcement of discipline. The able personnel of the Judge Advocate

General's Department has solved with judgment and wisdom the multitude

of difficult legal problems, many of them involving questions of great

international importance.

It would be impossible in this brief preliminary report to do justice to

the personnel of all the different branches of this organization which I

shall cover in detail in a later report.

[Sidenote: Cooperation of Navy and Army.]

The Navy in European waters has at all times most cordially aided the

Army, and it is most gratifying to report that there has never before

been such perfect cooperation between these two branches of the service.

As to Americans in Europe not in the military services, it is the

greatest pleasure to say that, both in official and in private life,

they are intensely patriotic and loyal, and have been invariably

sympathetic and helpful to the Army.

[Sidenote: Heroism of the officers and the men in the line.]

Finally, I pay the supreme tribute to our officers and soldiers of the

line. When I think of their heroism, their patience under hardships,

their unflinching spirit of offensive action, I am filled with emotion

which I am unable to express. Their deeds are immortal, and they have

earned the eternal gratitude of our country.

* * * * *

No one doubted the efficiency of the navy or of its capacity to carry on

its operations in a way worthy of the traditions of the American Navy.

What the navy did during the war, and how it did it, is summarized in

the following report by its chief.

THE AMERICAN NAVY IN

EUROPE

EXTRACTS FROM REPORT OF

ADMIRAL H.T. MAYO

[Sidenote: Activities in Ireland, Great Britain, and France.]

In conformity with instructions contained in the reference, the

following preliminary statement is herewith submitted in regard to

United States naval activities in Europe. This preliminary report

relates to our naval activities in Great Britain, Ireland, and France,

visit to the last named having been concluded on November 1, 1918. A

complete and detailed report will be submitted later and upon completion

of the current tour of inspection and observation.

In view of the fact that United States naval activities in Europe are

chiefly matters of cooperation with the allied navies, and that the

cooperation amounts practically to consolidation where effected with the

British Navy, this preliminary report is arranged on that basis in

several parts:

[Sidenote: General cooperation.]

I. COOPERATION WITH THE ALLIED NAVIES IN GENERAL.

(1) Commander United States naval forces in Europe.

(2) Allied naval council.

(3) Naval staff representative, Paris.

(4) Naval staff representative, Rome.

[Sidenote: Naval Headquarters in London and Ireland.]

II. ACTIVITIES IN COOPERATION WITH THE BRITISH.

(1) United States naval headquarters, London.

(2) United States naval activities in Ireland.

(_a_) Battleship Division Six, Berehaven.

(_b_) Submarine detachment, Berehaven.

(_c_) Destroyers based on Queenstown.

(_d_) Subchaser Detachment Three based on Queenstown.

(3) United States naval air stations in Ireland; seaplane stations;

kite-balloon station.

(4) Battleship Division Nine.

(5) Mine Force.

(6) Subchaser Detachment One, based on Plymouth.

(7) United States Naval Air Stations, Great Britain, Seaplane Station,

Killingholme; Northern Bombing Group, Assembly and Repair Plant,

Eastleigh.

(8) Cross-channel Transport Service.

[Sidenote: Paris, Brest and coast districts.]

[Sidenote: Naval air stations.]

III. ACTIVITIES IN COOPERATION WITH THE FRENCH.

(1) Naval staff representative, Paris.

(2) United States naval headquarters, Brest.

(3) French coastal districts.

(4) Destroyers based on Brest.

(5) United States naval air stations on French coast:

(_a_) Seaplane stations.

(_b_) Dirigible stations.

(_c_) Kite-balloon stations.

(_d_) Assembly and repair plant, Pauillac.

(_e_) Aviation Training School, Moutchie.

[Sidenote: Radio stations, hospitals, etc.]

IV. OTHER COOPERATING ACTIVITIES.

(1) Naval liaison officer at Army General Headquarters.

(2) Naval Radio Station, Croix d'Hins.

(3) United States Naval Railway Battery.

(4) Naval Pipe-Line Unit.

(5) Stations not yet inspected or not to be visited.

V. UNITED STATES NAVAL AVIATION IN EUROPE.

VI. Y.M.C.A. AND SIMILAR ACTIVITIES.

VII. HOSPITAL FACILITIES, ETC.

VIII. CONCLUDING REMARKS.

I. COOPERATION WITH THE ALLIED NAVIES IN GENERAL.

[Sidenote: Varied character of Naval activities.]

It could hardly have been foreseen to what extent United States naval

activities in Europe would accumulate, and it is a fact that it has been

a growth by accretion rather than by system. The resultant fact is that

the supervision of the commander of United States Naval Forces in Europe

is of great and varied scope and continues to increase from week to

week. Despite this great extent and varied character of our naval

activities in Europe (as evidenced by the list given in par. 2 above)

and the fact that their growth by accretion has made a highly

centralized control more or less inevitable, the results speak for

themselves--all of our naval activities are cooperative in character and

all of them give every evidence of performing useful and appreciated

work wherever found.

[Sidenote: Under the Allied Naval War Council.]

Cooperation with the allied navies in general is effected by means of

the Allied Naval War Council, which meets monthly or as may be deemed

advisable. The membership is composed of the several naval ministers and

naval chiefs of staff and of officers specifically appointed to

represent them in their absence. Vice Admiral Sims is the United States

naval representative. The secretariat of the council is composed of

British officers and personnel, with officers of the allied navies

designated for liaison duties therewith.

The Allied Naval Council has advisory functions only and has liaison

with the Supreme War Council, with a view to coordinating and unifying

allied naval effort, both as regards naval work only and as regards

unity of action with military or land effort. Proposals made by the

several allied navies are considered and definite steps recommended to

be taken in the premises. As well the naval aspects of military (land)

proposals are examined into and passed upon. Conversely military (land)

aspects of naval activities are referred to the Supreme War Council for

consideration.

[Sidenote: Unity of effort on land and sea.]

[Sidenote: Council at first advisory.]

The Allied Naval Council has had, in common with the Supreme War

Council, until last spring the handicap of being only advisory in

function. The conclusions are recommended to the several Governments for

adoption, but there is no common instrumentality for carrying into

effect measures which require cooperation or coordination. This state of

affairs in the Supreme War Council has been remedied by the appointment

of an allied commander in chief in the person of Marshal Foch.

There can be no doubt but that the Supreme War Council has met and that

the Allied Naval Council continues to fill a great need as a sort of

clearing house for the necessarily varied proposals of the several

Governments, most of which require cooperation on the part of some other

Government, and certainly it should be continued in being until a more

forceful control of allied naval effort can be agreed upon and brought

into effect.

[Sidenote: Liaison officers with the War Council and the Naval Council.]

The United States naval staff representative in Paris is the United

States naval liaison officer with the Supreme War Council, and a member

of the staff of Vice Admiral Sims is the liaison officer with the

secretariat of the Allied Naval Council. The United States naval staff

representative in Paris is also liaison officer at the French Ministry

of Marine and is at present naval attaché as well.

[Sidenote: Naval attaché to Italy.]

The naval attaché to Italy, Capt. C.R. Train, maintains naval liaison

with the Italian Ministry of Marine and keeps in touch with the United

States naval activities in Italian waters.

II. ACTIVITIES IN COOPERATION WITH THE BRITISH.

Inasmuch as the British are predominant in naval activity, it is natural

to find that a major part of our naval activities are in cooperation

with them and controlled by them. In fact, the British have been in

position to carry so much of the "naval load" of this war that our first

and our principal efforts have been toward taking up a share of that

load.

[Sidenote: Friendly rivalry between British and Americans.]

Cooperation has in many cases been carried to such an extent that the

coordination necessary for efficiency has developed into practical

consolidation. It is pleasing to note that while consolidation is all

but a fact, our own naval forces have in every case preferred to

preserve their individuality of organization and administration and, as

far as feasible, of operations; and that a healthy and friendly rivalry

between them and their British associates has resulted in much good to

the personnel of both services.

[Sidenote: On the coast of Ireland.]

The largest single group of naval activities wherein cooperation is

effected with the British is that in Ireland, all of them being under

the jurisdiction of the commander in chief, coast of Ireland, who has

been and is Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, whose cordial appreciation of the

work of our forces has gone far to stimulate the personnel coming under

his direction. The chief of staff, destroyer flotillas, and the officer

in charge of aviation in Ireland are designated by the British Admiralty

as members of the staff of Admiral Bayly.

[Sidenote: Battleship Division Six.]

_Battleship Division Six_, Rear Admiral T.S. Rodgers, is based on

Berehaven, Ireland, in readiness for the protection of convoys in

general and of troop convoys in particular. Arrangements are in effect

for the supply of their needs as to fuel and stores. While lack of

destroyers has operated to restrict their training underway, they are in

good material condition and their efficiency is being maintained by

utilizing all available facilities.

[Sidenote: The submarine patrol.]

_Submarine Detachment_, Lieutenant Commanders Friedell and Grady, is

based on Berehaven, Ireland, and maintains a submarine patrol off the

west and south coasts of Ireland. Their service is hard; they have had a

great deal of work at sea and have cheerfully met every demand made on

them. Despite their relative isolation, they have maintained themselves

in readiness with the aid of the submarine tender _Bushnell_, whose

limited facilities have been utilized to the utmost. Their performances

and condition of material and personnel reflect great credit on all

concerned.

[Sidenote: Destroyers at Queenstown.]

(_a_) _The destroyers based on Queenstown_, Capt. F.R.P. Pringle, are

the original United States naval force in European waters--a distinction

which is an ever-present spur to cheerful efficiency under any and all

circumstances and produces results which must be a satisfaction to their

superiors.

[Sidenote: Changes in destroyer personnel.]

(_b_) Despite the fact that the requirements of supplying personnel for

new destroyers has resulted in large changes in the original experienced

destroyer personnel, this has been accomplished in such a manner as to

maintain the operating efficiency of the force at or near its original

high standard.

(_c_) Aside from unavoidable casualties, the force is in good operating

condition. The systemization of supply and repairs developed and

maintained by the destroyer tenders _Melville_ and _Dixie_ effect the

readiness of destroyers for sea with commendable promptness and with a

view to the comfort of destroyer personnel during their short stays in

port.

[Sidenote: Destroyer tenders.]

[Sidenote: Gunnery and torpedo exercises.]

(_d_) Within the last few months means have been found to systematize

and supervise the training, particularly with regard to the carrying out

of gunnery and torpedo exercises, which, under the press of keeping the

sea, had somewhat lapsed in favor of the necessary development of escort

work and of depth-charge tactics.

(_e_) All of the activities at Queenstown--the torpedo repair and

overhaul station, the training barracks at Passage, the repair force

barracks at Ballybricken House, the general supply depot at Deepwater

Quay, the hospital and barracks at White Point, as well as the

activities afloat--were well underway and gave an impression of

purposefulness in "getting on with the war" in that particular corner of

the world.

[Sidenote: Enlisted Men's Club at Queenstown.]

(_f_) On account of the restricted facilities for liberty and

recreation, a special and most successful effort has been made to

furnish healthful and interesting diversion in Queenstown itself by

means of the Enlisted Men's Club, wholly of and for the men, which is

second to none in results obtained in promoting contentment.

[Sidenote: Subchaser at Queenstown.]

_Subchaser Detachment Three at Queenstown_, Captain A.J. Hepburn, had

only recently arrived, but arrangements for their employment were well

in hand, and they were expected to begin operations as soon as the means

of basing them had been perfected. The need of a suitable tender was

apparent, especially for the upkeep of those units whose working ground

would be at some distance from the main base. The personnel gave

evidence of a strong feeling of eagerness to get to work and of

readiness to face the hardships that going to sea in small craft

entails.

[Sidenote: Seaplane and balloon stations.]

_United States Naval Air Stations in Ireland_, Commander F.R. McCrary,

consists of seaplane stations at Whiddy Island, Queenstown (also the

main supply and repair base), Wexford, and Lough Foyle, and a

kite-balloon station at Berehaven. None of these stations was in

operation in mid-September, except that Lough Foyle was partially so,

but all were about ready to begin operations and would do so upon the

receipt of the necessary planes or pilots or both, all of which were en

route. A great deal of the construction has been done by our own

personnel, some of the stations having been entirely done by them.

[Sidenote: Rear Admiral Rodman's command.]

(_a_) _Battleship Division Nine of the Atlantic Fleet_, under the

command of Rear Admiral Rodman, has constituted the Sixth Battle

Squadron of the British Grand Fleet under Admiral Sir David Beatty for

nearly a year.

(_b_) When this division was sent abroad it had, in common with other

units of the Atlantic Fleet, suffered in efficiency from the expansion

of the Navy, which required reduction in the number of officers and

transfers of numbers of men to furnish trained and experienced nuclei

for other vessels. Upon reporting in the Grand Fleet, it immediately

took its place in the battle line on exactly the same status as other

units of the Grand Fleet. The opportunities for gunnery exercises are

limited but drill and adherence to standardized methods and procedure as

developed in our own naval service have brought this division to a

satisfactory state of efficiency, which continues to improve.

[Sidenote: General efficiency of the squadron.]

(_c_) It is pleasing to record that the efficiency of this unit in

gunnery, engineering, and seamanship is deemed by the British commander

in chief to be in no way inferior to that of the best of the British

battle squadrons. In fact, it is perfectly proper to state the belief

that our ships are in some respects superior to the British, and perhaps

chiefly in the arrangements for the health and contentment of personnel,

which have been very thoroughly examined into by the flag officers,

captains, and other officers of the Grand Fleet. These ships have also

been the subject of much favorable comment in regard to their capacity

for self-maintenance, a matter which has been given much attention in

our own Navy of late years.

[Sidenote: Capacity for self-maintenance.]

(_d_) Service in the Grand Fleet is noteworthy by reason of the fact

that the fleet is at never less than four hours' notice for going to

sea, so that liberty is restricted and whatever is necessary in the way

of overhaul and upkeep of machinery must always be planned with a view

to assembly in case of orders to sea.

[Sidenote: Mine-laying operation.]

[Sidenote: Readiness to attack difficulties.]

_The Mine Force of the Atlantic Fleet_, under the command of Rear

Admiral Strauss, is an independent unit, except that the mine-laying

operations are under the jurisdiction of the commander in chief of the

Grand Fleet, who has to choose the time when arrangements can be carried

into effect to furnish the necessary destroyer escort and heavy covering

forces. The arrangements made at home prior to the departure of the mine

force appear to have been well considered and thoroughly developed. The

mine-laying operations themselves give an impression of efficiency which

can only come from thorough preparation and complete understanding of

the work. The assembly of mines in the bases has been somewhat changed

by the necessity for certain alterations in the mine itself, most of

which are due to difficulties inherent in the application of the

operating principle of the mine. Here, as elsewhere, the cheerful

readiness of officers and men to attack difficulties and to surmount all

obstacles is producing results of magnitude and importance of which all

too little is known even in the Navy itself.

[Sidenote: Crossing the channel.]

_The Cross-channel Transport Service_ was brought into being to render

indispensable assistance to the British in ferrying United States troops

across the channel from England, in whose ports over half of our troops

were landed from British ships. At the time of inspection late in

September four United States vessels were in service, and four more were

expected in the course of a few weeks. The vessels in service were

superior in capacity to British vessels engaged in the same work and

combined with the efficiency of their naval personnel made them the

subject of favorable remark by the British transport authorities.

[Sidenote: Subchasers at Plymouth.]

_Subchaser Detachment One_, based on Plymouth, Captain L.A. Cotten, had

been operating for some time. A very compact and efficient base was in

process of completion and should, with the aid of the subchaser tender

_Hannibal_, amply suffice for the requirements of a larger number of

chasers than that now available. This base is to be expanded into a

United States naval base, of which Rear Admiral Bristol will be in

charge. The upkeep of chasers is effected entirely with the resources of

the base; operations are initiated by the British commander in chief at

Plymouth. A great deal of development work in listening devices is being

carried on at and from this base. The work of the subchasers from this

base has proved their usefulness up to the limit of their sea-going

capacity.

(_a_) _United States Naval Aviation in England_ is carried on by

cooperation in two British commands.

[Sidenote: Seaplanes at Killingholme.]

(_b_) _The United States Seaplane Station, Killingholme_, Commander K.

Whiting, is under the vice admiral commanding on the east coast of

England. It has been in operation for some time and does escort of

coastal convoys, escort of mine layers in the southern part of the North

Sea, and some reconnaissance work in the direction of the Dutch coast.

[Sidenote: Day and night bombing squadrons.]

(_c_) _The Northern Bombing Group_, Captain D.C. Hanrahan, is under the

vice admiral commanding at Dover, whose jurisdiction extends to naval

aviation units in northern France in the vicinity of Calais and

Dunkerque. The day bombing squadrons are manned by marines; the night

bombing squadrons by the Navy. There has been some delay in the

acquisition of suitable night bombing planes, but their delivery will

find all in readiness to go immediately to work. The British prescribe

the objectives and designate the available free flying time; the

operations themselves are carried out by our own personnel. The seaplane

station at Dunkerque has operated successfully under the handicap of

limited and difficult water area in which to take off and to land.

[Sidenote: The base at Eastleigh.]

(_d_) _The Assembly, Repair, and Supply Station at Eastleigh_ was

brought into being primarily for the Northern Bombing Group because of

the difficulties of transportation to and from the general aviation base

at Pauillac. It also does necessary work for Killingholme and for the

air stations in Ireland. This base, when visited, was in process of

completion and gave every evidence of purpose and capacity to meet all

requirements likely to be made of it.

III. _Activities in Cooperation with the French._

[Sidenote: Vice Admiral Wilson's command.]

Aside from the cooperation effected by the force commander with the

French Ministry of Marine through the naval staff representative in

Paris on matters of general policy, actual cooperation is carried on by

Vice Admiral H.B. Wilson, commander United States naval forces in

France, whose headquarters are maintained in Brest.

[Sidenote: The coastal convoy system.]

It is deemed worthy of special remark that whereas practically all

cooperation with the British is effected by operating as units under

British control, cooperation with the French is arranged on a basis that

leaves to the United States naval forces a very large measure of

initiative. This is particularly true in regard to troopships destined

to French ports, which are provided with escort and routed in and out

wholly from the Brest headquarters which is kept fully informed as to

routes and positions of British-controlled convoys and as to locations

of submarine activities and has to so adjust routes on and off the coast

as to keep clear of both. Three out of eight escort units are provided

by United States vessels for the coastal convoy system, which is

operated by the French. Unity of purpose and sympathy of understanding

have combined to make the handling of cargo convoys on and off the coast

a matter of ready adjustment to the general conditions obtaining in

regard to destination of cargo ships and availability of escort vessels.

[Sidenote: Rate of movement of troops by transports.]

At the end of the fiscal year United States naval forces in France are

stated to have been escorting troops into France at the rate of 134,000

per month. Since May 1, 1918, the number of troopships and cargo-vessel

convoys east and west bound have averaged more than 1 a day, and the

number of ships over 200 a month. No convoy of troopships has failed to

be met by destroyer escort before entering the area of submarine

activity, and no passenger intrusted to the care of the United States

naval forces in France has been lost.

[Sidenote: Destroyers controlled from Brest.]

(_a_) _The destroyers based on Brest_ are controlled directly from

headquarters at Brest and are at present maintained in readiness for

service with the aid of the fleet repair ship _Prometheus_ and lately

also by the destroyer tender _Bridgeport_. Additional repair shops on

shore are in process of completion.