climbed the sand dunes and there we came suddenly upon a perfect
panoramic view of the battle all the way from the dunes across the
inundated fields to Dixmude in the distance. The whole line of battle
for ten miles was in the midst of a German attack, covered by a terrific
artillery fire. Over the white, red-tiled cottages of the fishermen,
almost lost among the lesser sand dunes, we could make out the Belgian
line by the fire of their rifle and machine guns. At two points we could
see the Yser Canal and at one of these the Germans were trying to throw
across a pontoon bridge.
We could see it only through the smoke of breaking shells, but it was
the most exciting event I have ever witnessed. At three miles or more,
though, the figures of the men were so small, it was hard to keep the
fact in mind that those who dropped were not merely stooping, but had
been shot. Eager to get closer, we ran over the sand dunes, but never
got another view of it.
[Sidenote: Running to see a battle.]
My Belgian friend knew his way and we trotted along a raised path among
the fields toward Nieuport. It was under fire, but it seemed worth the
risk to get close enough so we could see the pontoons being rushed into
the water. As we neared Nieuport, however, the firing became much more
active and we stopped for second thought. After catching our breath, we
decided to pass through the edge of Nieuport and to go on to the village
of Ramscapelle to the south of it. Few shells seemed to be breaking
there.
[Sidenote: Almost under fire.]
Along the cross road we took, alternately running and walking. The
Belgian trenches were perhaps a half mile beyond us, and we could make
out the tap-tap of the rifle fire which had been only a continuous
cracking a mile in the rear. Into this the machine guns cut with a whir.
Spent bullets dropped here and there in the inundated field to the west
of us, but the German shell fire must have been right in the trenches.
Somewhere before we reached Ramscapelle we crossed a road with military
automobiles going both ways, but my desire to get behind the sheltering
buildings of Ramscapelle was too strong at the moment to take it in.
[Sidenote: Fires and explosions in Ramscapelle.]
About a hundred yards from the village there was a house on the edge of
a canal, and we stopped behind it, safe from bullet-fire, to catch our
breath again. It was as far as we were destined to get. All at once
shells began dropping on the village, and I have not seen shells drop so
fast in so small an area. In the first minute there must have been
twenty. Three fires broke out almost at once. Between the explosions we
could hear the falling tiles.
The short October day grew unexpectedly dusk and the fires in the
village reflected in the water on the fields. After the bombarding had
been going on without the least let-up for fully fifteen minutes, a bent
old woman, a man perhaps older but less bent, and a younger woman
appeared on the road to Furnes just beyond us, hurrying along without
once looking back. They were the only people we saw and the destruction
of the town looked like the most ruthless piece of vandalism. It had a
military purpose, however. The Germans were concentrating an attack on
it with the hope of reaching Furnes. They occupied it that night, but
were later driven out again. I have learned since some of the villagers
remained through that bombardment, and were killed in their houses.
[Sidenote: Destruction of Ramscapelle.]
While we stood sheltered by the house on the canal, speculating as to
which one of the houses still standing in Ramscapelle would be hit next,
the light from those on fire reflected on the dark, brackish water of
the canal, which was running in with the tide. Presently we noticed
something in the water, and, stooping down in the twilight, we made out
the body of a man face downward. The color of the coat and the little
short skirt to it showed it was the body of a German soldier. It passed
on and was followed by three more before we left. They had been in the
water several days.
The fire from the trenches died down at dusk and we made our way back
along the empty crossroad. Half way back to the dunes we passed a Red
Cross motor ambulance, headed toward Ramscapelle. On the seat beside the
driver was a young English woman. She was wearing the gray-brown coat
and gray-brown puttees of the English soldier. We called out to her we
thought the town was empty, but the only answer we got from the speeding
ambulance was an assuring wave of the young woman's hand, which was
evidently meant to inform us she knew where she was going.
[Sidenote: Ambulances and infantry pass.]
On the main road from Nieuport to Furnes, which we followed a short
distance, there were dozens of ambulances going to the rear and a long
column of infantry going forward. Headed toward the rear there were also
many wounded men on foot. They had been dressed at Nieuport, but there
were not enough ambulances to take them all away. One who was walking
slowly and painfully told me he had a bullet in his back.
During the afternoon the Schneiders I had seen had evidently been placed
among the sand dunes, and they were now bombarding the German lines over
our heads. Crossing over the sand dunes to the beach, we passed under
two batteries, though we did not see them. We could tell they were
French, though, by the rapidity of the fire. The French seem to be able
to fire their guns several times as fast as the Germans or the English.
A cluster of houses belonging to shrimp fishermen was right under these
batteries, where they were sure to get some of the return fire. But we
noticed there were lights in every one of the cottages. Inside were the
same fishermen who were so apathetic about the fight off-shore.
[Sidenote: Battle of the sand dunes.]
[Sidenote: Red flashing of the contact shells.]
The view from the sand dunes was what the war artists on English
illustrated weeklies try so hard to show. The French batteries were
using shrapnel on the German trenches, the shrapnel leaving puffs of
white smoke in long, uneven lines; and the Germans were keeping up their
steady pounding of contact shells, with a short red flash after each
explosion. The firing of the guns on both sides gave the effect of
continuous summer lightning.
Into the panorama the fleet off-shore kept up a new attack on the German
batteries in the sand dunes just beyond Nieuport-les-Bains. As it was
dark now we could see where they were only by the streaks of fire from
their guns. These flashes came and went like the strokes of a dagger, as
if they were stabbing the dark.
[Sidenote: French soldiers.]
We went back along the beach to avoid being questioned, turning around
constantly to watch the fleet. At Coxyde a whole company of French
soldiers was standing along the edge of the water, jumping back in
surprise when the little waves advanced on them. They told us they were
from the centre of France and had never seen salt water before.
The shore there is lined with new villas made of light colored bricks.
One of these had been dynamited, because it belonged to a German and was
suspected of having a concrete floor for siege guns. I had heard of
cases of this kind before, but I had never had an opportunity to examine
one.
[Sidenote: Concrete foundations.]
My private thought was that the villa had probably been built by a
German with a passion for solidity, but, examining it under a half-full
moon, I could see the foundations were brick walls two feet thick
covered with mosaic backed by reinforced concrete about a foot thick. It
seemed like something more than Teutonic thoroughness.
A little later in La Panne I was shown a concrete tennis court belonging
to a German which had been punched full of holes. It was in no place
thick enough, however, to give cause for suspicion that its real
purpose was in any way sinister.
By the time we regained La Panne I was hardly able to walk as I had been
going hard all day, a good deal of the way through soft sand. But even
if I had been much more tired I would have sensed the atmosphere of that
town. To me the little seaside village, built for summer gayety, had
more of the romance of war in it than any place I have seen.
The half dozen summer hotels and all the villas were filled with the
mothers, wives, and children of the Belgian soldiers whose firing line I
had just left. Their homes had been in Brussels, Antwerp, Ghent. Now
they were in the last little town in Belgium. To some their soldiers had
already returned, and they were dining as merrily as if to-morrow did
not hold out a reasonable likelihood of being killed. At the doors of
the hotels and on the street were many others waiting, and, as the
street had filled up with another French artillery division bivouacked
for a few hours, they could not see their men folk until they were close
at hand.
[Sidenote: Refugees at La Panne.]
Now and then as we passed we could hear little gasps of happiness. For
some, of course, there were disappointment and bad news. But they must
have carried their sorrow to their chambers, as La Panne was all gayety.
A comment on the Belgian soldiers made at the beginning of the war
occurred to me: "They shoot the enemy all day; at night they come home
and kiss mother. In the morning they kiss mother again and go back to
shoot some more."
They certainly showed themselves capable of shaking off the horrors of
war before their women folk. To see them there in La Panne that night
you might have thought it was all a sham battle if it had not been for
a conviction of reality that would not shake off.
It was nearly ten o'clock, now but Belgian soldiers relieved from the
firing line and off duty for the night were still coming into La Panne.
In the Hotel Des Arcades, which incidentally, has no arcades, the bar
and the dining room were full of soldiers. Officers and their men were
eating and drinking together in the pleasant democratic way they have in
the Belgian army. Room was made for us at the long central table in the
dining room, and all at the table were solicitous to see that we were at
once given plenty to eat and drink. Several of the fifteen men at the
table had hands or heads bandaged, but that did not seem to detract from
their gayety.
[Sidenote: Spirit of the Belgian soldiers.]
A joke was being told as we sat down, and every one was taking a lively
interest in it, the narrator was a bearded man of fifty, and he was
telling to the delight of the others how his son had once got the better
of him in Brussels before the war. There were other stories of matters
equally foreign to war. The private on one side of me told me he was the
manager for Belgium of an American typewriter. The lieutenant on the
other side was in ordinary times an insurance agent. All the men there
were in business and talked and acted like a company of young American
business men.
My first hint that these men had been through any trying experience was
the apology offered by a new-comer for being late. He entered rather
gravely and said something about having to take the word to his sister
of his brother-in-law's death. The whole company turned grave then and
conversation from being general was carried on for a few minutes between
those near together. I asked the typewriter agent, to fill an awkward
pause, whether they had seen much action, and he told me their story.
[Sidenote: The fight on the road to Nieuport.]
This was a crack mitrailleuse company of Brussels. It had been in the
fight from Liege back to Malines and from Antwerp back to Dixmude and
Nieuport. Three days before it was told to hold a road into Nieuport. It
was a road the Germans must take, if they were to advance, but the
Belgians would not give way. They were too clever with their rapid-fire
guns to be rushed, and the German bayonet charges only blocked the road
with their dead. Again and again the gray line came on, but each time it
crumpled before their fire. They were attacked every hour of the day or
night, but they were always ready. Finally the Germans got their range
and dropped shell after shell right among them.
"They blew us all to pieces," the story went on in a low tone at my
elbow. "Those shells don't leave many wounded, but they littered the
place with arms and legs. They got a good many of us, but they did not
seem to be able to get our guns."
I asked what their loss had been, and he looked around the table,
counting, before he answered.
"Let's see, now," he said. "We lost some at Dixmude first. I think there
were just seventy last Monday." This was Thursday. "We had a pretty bad
time," he ended; looking down.
"How many are there now?" I asked, and he answered with a sweep of his
hand around the table. "Five or six more," he said. There were eighteen
of them at table now. That meant twenty-three or twenty-four--out of
seventy.
"The dogs suffered, too," he added. "We've only got eight out of twenty,
and I just heard the dogs around here have already been pressed into
service."
[Sidenote: Courtesy of the machine gunners.]
When I went to bed four of the members of that shattered mitrailleuse
company climbed three flights of stairs to see that I had a comfortable
room. And these men had just come out of a trench where they had lost
more than two thirds their number in three days stopping one of the main
lines of the German advance.
[Sidenote: Back to the lines.]
In the twilight of early morning, when the cannonading had at last died
down, I heard the movement of troops in the street and saw my friends of
the night before falling into line and getting their equipment straight.
By the time I reach the sidewalk they were moving off, some of the men
helping the dogs with the mitrailleuse.
"Big fight last night," said the typewriter agent smiling. "Company that
relieved us got it hard. We must hurry back."
They were all very alert and soldierlike in the chill of the morning,
but they were a pitifully small company as they passed up the road and
were lost in the sand dunes.
* * * * *
In August and September, while on the western front were being fought
the great initial struggles of the Great War, Turkey, long under German
political influence, was making ready to cast her lot with the Teutonic
Powers. Germany had already made diplomatic and military moves which
indicated that she was certain of a Turkish alliance. The strongest
figures of the Ottoman Empire, Enver Pasha and Talaat Bey were strongly
pro-German, although the latter endeavored for a time to conceal his
real sentiments and intentions under a cloak of pretended neutrality.
The causes which induced Turkey to side with the Central Powers rather
than with the Allies are explained in the narrative which follows.
WHY TURKEY ENTERED THE WAR
ROLAND G. USHER
Copyright, World's Work, January, 1915.
[Sidenote: Extreme danger of Turkey.]
Many people entirely misunderstand the significance of the declaration
of war by Turkey against Russia, France, and England. Why these
despairing gasps of the dying? they ask. What possible chance has this
weak, moribund state to survive a clash of arms with the Triple Entente?
Has not the Turk, in fact, dug his own grave and committed suicide? In
all probability the Turk is in considerable danger, but the danger does
not arise from his joining Germany. In fact, the war and the present
international situation provide the Turk with the best opportunity in a
century to achieve the aims cherished by Turkish statesmen who have the
best interests of Turkey itself at heart. For several years Turkey has
been in extreme peril. It was condemned to death by the Triple Entente
some time ago, and the prediction of the British Prime Minister in a
recent public speech that this war would end the existence of Turkey as
an independent power was only the publication of the sentence of death
long since decided upon. The Sick Man was kept alive by his friends, the
doctors, largely because they deemed his malady incurable. The moment he
showed signs of convalescence they agreed to poison him. But for the
protection of Germany the political existence of Turkey would be already
a thing of the past. The Turk, therefore, will stand or fall according
to the decision in this war for or against Germany. He will be
excessively foolish not to do everything he can to insure a German
victory.
[Sidenote: Entrance of Turkey into War.]
[Sidenote: Constantinople core of the War.]
The entrance of Turkey into the war has long been foreseen, and its vast
significance has long been clear to students. Some trained observers go
much further: Sir Harry Johnston, a traveler, statesman, and diplomat of
repute, has declared: "Constantinople is really the core of the war." In
diplomatic circles in Vienna this summer there was a general agreement
that the loss of Salonika, which the Turk was forced to hand over to
Greece at the end of the Balkan wars, was a vital blow to the Triple
Alliance, and its recovery would be of sufficient importance to justify
the risk of a European war to accomplish it. The situation in the Near
East and in the Balkans is an integral part of the European war. In
fact, the war is not a European war at all; it is a world war in the
most literal sense of the words.
[Sidenote: Control of exit from the Black Sea imperative to Russia.]
At the beginning of the twentieth century keen observers saw clearly
that the old order of things, which had preserved the Turk so long in
the face of many enemies, had passed away beyond a peradventure and had
left the Turk in great peril. Ever since the decay of the strength of
the Ottoman Empire the Turk had been hardly pressed in Europe by Russia
and by Austria, both of whom coveted sections of his dominions, and both
of whom would have been glad to obtain Constantinople, the gateway
between Europe and Asia. Of the two, Russia was more insistent because
her interests made the control of the exit from the Black Sea imperative
for her. The Turk, however, until very recently, was himself strong
enough to throw considerable obstacles in the face of the invader; he
was probably, in 1900, more efficient than in 1850; but his enemies had
grown by leaps and bounds. He was confronted by a new Austria and a new
Russia.
What was worse, the Balkan nations, who had long been subject peoples,
ill-organized, poverty stricken, had grown with the help of the Turk's
enemies into sturdy, self-reliant, independent communities with
good-sized armies and something approaching national wealth. The long
years of subjection had left behind a consuming hatred of the Turk in
their breasts; as Christians, they hated the Turk as the Infidel; and
they promised themselves some day the control of Constantinople in the
interest of Christianity. The neighbors of the Turk had grown formidable
and would be able to make short work of him unless help arrived.
[Sidenote: Industrial growth of Germany.]
[Sidenote: Old order changes.]
There was none to be had from his past friends; so much was only too
clear. The shift in the international situation caused by the astounding
industrial growth of Germany, the rapid development of the German,
Austrian, and Italian fleets, the increased efficiency of the armies of
the Triple Alliance had all made the control of the Mediterranean far
more difficult for England and France. They could no longer spare ships
and troops in sufficient numbers to rescue the Turk from Russia without
exposing themselves more than was wise in northern Europe. Besides, the
designs of the Triple Alliance made it seem only too probable that the
possession of Constantinople by Russia and the creation of a fleet in
the Black Sea might be the only means of preserving for the French and
English control of the western Mediterranean. The old order had changed:
the Turk's friends were now his enemies bent on his destruction.
[Sidenote: Ambition of new Turkish party.]
[Sidenote: Democratic and nationalist revival.]
Yet there had never been a time when the Sick Man was more desperately
determined to get well, when life had seemed to him so entirely
desirable. The passing of the old order caused no grief among the
Turks--outside of those few henchmen who had long drawn a fat revenue
from foreign nations. The Turks had become fired with ambition, with
democratic conceptions, highly inconsistent with the state of things
which the old order had so long sanctioned. The new democrats declared
indignantly that Turkey had been for years conducted for the benefit of
foreign nations; it should be conducted in the future solely in the
interests of Turkey. They were roused to enthusiasm by the past history
of the Ottoman empire and burned to reconquer its old provinces, to
establish a closer relationship between the provinces which remained. An
imperialistic movement, a nationalistic revival, if you will, was
preached in Turkey by ardent enthusiasts whose words fell on willing
ears. To the democratic and nationalist revival was joined religious
discontent. The Sultan was the religious head of the Mohammedan world.
Everywhere the true Believers were in chains. Everywhere the infidel
reigned supreme. From Constantinople to Mecca, from the confines of
Morocco to the plains of India, the Mohammedan world was ground under
the heel of the conqueror and the conqueror was the Arch Enemy of Truth.
There must be, they preached, a great crusade, a united rising to cast
out the Christian dogs and restore the sceptre of empire to the hand of
a devout believer in Allah. Turkey, Assyria, Asia Minor, Persia, Arabia,
India, Egypt, the whole of Africa, should be freed from the yoke of the
oppressor.
[Sidenote: Great Confederation of States.]
[Sidenote: From Berlin to Bagdad railroad.]
And now appeared an ally, unfortunately a Christian, in fact a
peculiarly devout Christian, but one able to save the Turk from his
foes, glad to foster his ambitions. The plans of Germany for her future
involved the creation of a great confederation of states stretching from
the North Sea to the Persian Gulf and including Holland, Belgium,
Denmark, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, the Balkans, Turkey, and Persia.
These states controlled the great overland roads from central Europe to
the Persian Gulf and would make possible overland trade with the East. A
railroad already existed as far as Constantinople, and a railroad from
Constantinople to Bagdad and the Gulf would not only throw open Asia
Minor and the great plains of Mesopotamia to European capital, but would
furnish a perfectly practicable commercial road to the East through
which in time would flow a trade which would make the great
Confederation rich. Of this Confederation, Turkey would be an integral
and essential part. Adrianople, the key to the Balkans; Salonika, key to
the AEgean; Constantinople, controlling the outlet to the Black Sea and
the crossing to Asia Minor; the land approaches of the Tigris and
Euphrates valleys--all these the Turk had, all these an alliance with
him would give Germany. The stronger the Turkish State, the better
organized, the larger its army and fleet, the greater its resources, the
more useful it would be to Germany and the more thoroughly it would
insure the success of Pan-Germanism.
[Sidenote: England and France sustain courteous hold on Constantinople.]
It had been for the interests of England and France to keep Turkey weak.
The Turk must hold Constantinople, but must not be strong enough to use
it; as a tenant, as a nominal owner, he was extremely useful; some one
had to own it; England and France could not hold it themselves; they
were determined Russia should not have it; and the Turk was a useful
_locum tenens_. They, therefore, frowned upon Turkish ambitions for
democratic government and would, undoubtedly, have sacrificed the Turk
rather than see an independent Mohammedan State take real control of
Asia Minor and Northern Africa.
[Sidenote: Pan-Germanic Confederation.]