WITH THE FOURTH ARMY
On the 29th September I made a trip in the company of Count von
Eichstedt to the little village of Séchault, chiefly with the object
of quietly taking a few photographs of the daily life of the soldiers,
such as I found it on a comparatively peaceful day immediately behind
the front. We proceeded along a familiar road past marching columns of
all kinds, and villages and woods. Our road took us past many fields
where there was nobody to bring in the over-ripe corn, whilst in others
the sugar-beet was simply rotting away. On reaching the above village
we put up the car in a yard and went off to look for some tempting
subjects.
[Illustration: AMMUNITION COLUMN HALTING BESIDE A BARN]
Of these there was no dearth and I will simply say a few words by way
of explanation. In a field of white beet we came across the encampment
of an infantry ammunition column, the men having already put up
their shelter-tents. The foreground was littered with beet pulled up
and thrown aside. By the side of the road an artillery ammunition
column was resting, and its magnificent team of six horses was being
regaled with hay, whilst to complete the picture a _Fussart.-Mun. Kol.
Abteilung_ (_s. F.H._)[18] comes creaking past. From a side-road there
suddenly issues a _Fuhrparkkolonne_, or food column made up of farmers’
carts. A mounted military policeman presides over the crossing. He is
making notes on the column which is marching past. A little further on
another ammunition column has halted by the side of a barn which looks
very picturesque with its decrepit patched-up walls eaten and worn away
by wind and weather. We also catch a glimpse of one of those blessed
institutions, a dressing wagon, which I have already spoken of. It is
probably not the only one. It looks as if we had chanced upon a spot
where what we call in Sweden the first _échelon_ of the great train
belonging to the army corps in front was about to assemble.
[18] Foot artillery ammunition column detachment for heavy field
howitzers.
[Illustration: PROTRACTED HALT OF AN INFANTRY AMMUNITION COLUMN.
SHELTER-TENTS HAVE BEEN PITCHED]
[Illustration: CAMP SCENE ON A FARM AT SÉCHAULT]
In all yards and alleys in the village we see groups of these strong
and cheerful German soldiers, always happy and contented, busy
extricating their gear from the baggage wagons or cooking their dinners
or patching their clothes. The infantrymen--of whom there are many in
the village--are concentrating their attention on their kitchen wagons,
which stand steaming and appetising as usual, ranged up at sheltered
spots. The others, who had no such luxuries, did their cooking in
cooking-trenches in the old familiar way. Around the large awnings
stretched over and in front of the wagons, the crews of the transport
columns often form really idyllic little picnic groups.
Out in the field a bridging train has halted. Its vehicles, drawn by
four horses, have been dispersed. Why? It is because yesterday a French
airman flew over the column and dropped a bomb which mauled several
horses horribly and seriously injured four men. One of the pontoons
was pierced by several shell splinters, but was quickly and most
effectively repaired. It is best to be careful--one does at least what
one can to minimise the effects of these little visitations. Presently
a few infantry soldiers come along, driving a flock of about a dozen
sheep before them; we presume they have come across them wandering
about in the open. Next day there will probably be Irish stew for at
least a couple of companies.
Before a barn stands a steam-engine, busy driving a threshing machine.
Soldiers have brought in the wheat, and soldiers are driving the
engine. So it seems at any rate that a part of the crop is being
gathered. In the copse close by a company of Landwehr have halted by
the side of their piled arms. What they are doing I cannot tell, but
they seem ready for anything that may turn up.
In the village we come across the 38th reserve field hospital.
Accommodation is scanty, and the primitive farmhouses have had to be
requisitioned. The wounded are lying on straw on the bare floor. I
cannot resist the temptation of looking in, and step into a little
hovel which has once been a kitchen. It is now occupied by six men.
They are lying comfortably and softly on their backs and are all fast
asleep. They must be terribly tired since they are sleeping so soundly,
although it is eleven o’clock. I try to step as lightly as possible
on the creaking floor boards so as not to wake them. “Up, ye warriors,
arise and hie ye to the fight!” Had I exhorted them thus, they would
have lain there just the same, sound asleep with peaceful placid faces
and a smile playing about their lips. Why is their sleep so deep, I
wonder? They are all shot through the head, and in most of them the
bullet is still there.
Here is a reservist. What a tremendous figure of a man. What can
Latins, Slavs, Celts, Japs, Negroes, Hindoos, Ghurkas, Turcos, and
whatever they are called, do against such strapping giants of the true
Germanic type? His features are superbly noble, and he seems pleased
with his day’s work. He does not regret that he has offered his life
for Germany’s just cause. I cannot leave him, he holds me back, and I
ask for a chair to make if but an imperfect sketch of the dying hero
and his neighbours. But yesterday he had sung himself hoarse with the
proud refrain: “_Lieb Vaterland magst ruhig sein!_” But yesterday he
lay in the cold, narrow trench, and when he and his comrades dashed
forward to charge, he was struck in the head by a bullet which lodged
in the lower part of the temple. From the first collecting-place he was
now on his way to the field hospital.
The doctor comes in accompanied by two assistants. They support and
lift him into a sitting posture, whilst the doctor carefully undoes the
bandage and lays bare his skull. A large lump of cerebral matter has
been squeezed out of the wound and still lies exposed. The doctor does
not remove it, merely dries the edges after the hair round the wound
has been cut away. The edges of the lump are painted with tincture
of iodine, and a fresh, spotlessly white bandage is wound round his
head. “But why don’t you remove the exposed cerebral substance?” I ask
the doctor. “Because one wants to disturb his poor head as little as
possible, and cerebral inflammation must be avoided.”
“Can his life be saved?”
“There is little or no hope for any of those lying in this room.”
The wounded man half opens his eyes. The doctor taps him gently on the
shoulder and asks: “What regiment do you belong to?” He mumbles a few
unintelligible words which we take to mean “Reserve Regiment 87.” The
brain-centre controlling his organs of speech has been injured. He
lapses once more into unconsciousness, his thoughts no longer wander.
Shortly they will cease altogether and the soldier will rest, as now
beside his comrades, in the little churchyard in the village.
The doctor passes on to the next man and rearranges his bandages. “What
regiment?” he asks once more. “Ninety-nine,” is the reply. “Where are
you from?” “Ninety-nine.” “Are you married?” “Ninety-nine.” He gave
the same answer to all the questions put to him. “Anyhow, I suppose
he really belongs to the ninety-ninth regiment of reserves?” “No, his
regiment has quite a different number.”
But why this persistent answer to everything? Had there been
ninety-nine men in his trench or had he estimated his opponents at
this number? Had his battalion or company at some time or other lost
ninety-nine men? Or had he thought that he would reach the French
trenches with his bayonet before counting to one hundred and had
just got to ninety-nine when struck by a bullet in the forehead? Why
had this figure, or its counterpart in the mechanism of his brain,
imprinted itself on his mind like the image on the photographic plate?
Who knows? The dying soldier was about to sink into his last sleep, in
which there would be no counting to one hundred to disturb him. And
when his immortal soul awakens beyond the churchyard, other sights than
bayonets and trenches will meet his gaze.
Right opposite the doorway lay some ten seriously wounded soldiers in a
living-room. Near the door lay a man who had had one leg torn away from
the hip joint by a shell. A few ragged muscle fibres were all that held
it to his body. His face was whiter than the bolster, his big eyes were
wide open; I noticed vaguely that he had a good nose and a dark beard.
No doubt he had already been drained of blood. But as we stood opposite
him, he turned his head and asked for a glass of water. It was brought
at once, he drank eagerly and thanked us. We made a hasty round amongst
the others and in five minutes we were back at the soldier by the door.
He was now dead and his vacant eyes were gazing into the unknown.
The doctor stooped down and firmly closed his eyelids. He patted him
affectionately on the forehead and said in a tender voice, “Sleep
well, my poor boy.” Later on, the hero, dressed in his uniform and
greatcoat, was carried out to the little churchyard outside the village.
[Illustration: “A HERO’S DEATH”]
Of course it was a depressing and melancholy experience to stand
beside so many death-beds. Every day numberless men in the hey-day of
youth were thus being gathered to the eternal rest, in hospitals and
trenches. But one gets accustomed to such sights, as do the soldiers
themselves, for it does not seem to depress or frighten them in the
least to see their comrades die.
When a soldier sees his nearest neighbours fall, he does not think:
Next time it is my turn. On the contrary his train of reflection seems
to be like this: Yes, there they are, poor chaps, but I am still on my
feet and the gaps will soon be filled. No need to lament over men who
are dying for their country and for the liberty and honour of their
people.
Before we left the hospital, we had a look at some of the
identification discs carried by the German soldiers round the neck, by
the French round the wrist. One of the former read: “_Res. 1. R. 17. 6.
K. No. 220_,” and one of the latter: “_Seine, 6, Bau (Bureau) 601_.” A
third bore the somewhat incomplete inscription: “Leclerc, Alfred, 1902.”
The party at dinner, which was served in the open air, included the
Commander of the Army, Duke Albrecht of Württemberg, his three sons and
his staff, and a young Lieutenant von Hindenburg, son of the famous
Field-marshal.
[Illustration: A COMPANY READY TO START OUT, RECEIVING ITS MARCHING
INSTRUCTIONS]
[Illustration: BIVOUACKING FOOD COLUMN WITH HORSES AND COVERED WAGONS]
On the return _via_ Cernay, Condé and Challerange I had a further
opportunity of adding to my collection of photographs. In the
first-named village I took a couple of pictures of an ammunition
column, a few soldiers cooking their dinner in a yard, and a company on
the point of starting out and receiving their marching instructions.
In the next village we came across a fine-looking body of Landsturm,
likewise formed up to receive instructions regarding the work in hand,
and a parked food column with covered wagons and horses. The most
amusing sight was an ammunition column, the wagons of which had been
pulled right under the overhanging trees on the fringe of the wood and
were in addition covered over with leafy branches, all to conceal them
from observation by French aviators. A field hospital had, if possible,
masked its vehicles still more skilfully, and had likewise established
itself under the trees by the roadside. The horses were not to be seen
anywhere. They had disappeared amongst the hazel shrub. A little
further on a dressing station had been rigged up in the middle of the
wood. The white flags with the red cross could just be seen through the
foliage. Similar precautions had been taken for the protection of a
number of kitchen wagons.
[Illustration: AN AMMUNITION COLUMN AT CERNAY]
[Illustration: A FIELD HOSPITAL AT CONDÉ EFFECTIVELY SCREENED FROM
OBSERVATION]
[Illustration: KITCHEN WAGONS “AT WORK” NEAR CONDÉ]
The French aviators were out daily between 5 and 6 p.m. They--like the
corresponding German air scouts--have a double mission, consisting
partly in damaging in a military sense, by means of bombs, the more
delicate parts of the opposing mechanism, and partly in observing the
transfer and grouping of troops, but especially of artillery positions,
on the part of the enemy. The bridge across La Dormoise at Autry had
been the victim of a bomb attack a couple of days previously, resulting
in injuries to a couple of men, but leaving the bridge undamaged. At
another point in our vicinity a soldier was struck by one of those
horrible steel arrows which the airmen let fall from a height of 2500
metres and which pass right through a horse or bury themselves in the
ground after having struck a man on the head. They travel at the speed
of a rifle bullet, but weigh more. At Grandpré, a captain was killed a
few days ago by one of these arrows, and twenty-seven men were injured
by a bomb from the same aeroplane. The previous week the Germans were
just in the act of putting the last touches to a repaired railway line
running through a little town in the neighbourhood, which was to become
the railhead. The French were at once informed through their aviators
of what was going on. Three bombs were thrown, which burst close to the
station building, but no damage was done. The airman was immediately
fired on from an anti-aircraft gun, also without effect. The incident
showed however how well prepared one must be for everything. At some
points in Germany there is a constant watch for enemy aviators. If
one comes soaring along over a fortified town at night-time, several
searchlights are concentrated on him, he is blinded by the light and
loses his bearings altogether, whilst from the nearest church tower he
is pelted by the fire from machine guns, which pour a rain of bullets
on him.
The aviator uses various methods of keeping in touch with his own
side. This presumably is partly effected by direct signals, such as
flags or electric torches, the light from which can be discerned from
the ground through field-glasses. If an airman has seen, or thinks he
has reason to suspect the presence of troops or transport trains
on the fringe of a coppice or wood, he describes by the direction of
his flight the outline of the area in question, and this is promptly
followed by a rain of shells. One of the chief duties of the aviator is
thus to guide the direction of the artillery fire. If one or several
French batteries make it their business to bombard, and if possible to
destroy, a German battery the approximate position of which is known by
the airman, the latter ascends in the neighbourhood of the target and
makes his observations, which are immediately conveyed to the artillery
commander concerned. In case of “minus” hits--that is to say if the
shells fall short of the object--the airman describes a circle of
small diameter. In case of “plus” hits--if the shells burst beyond the
object--the airman describes a circle of large diameter. If the shells
fall to the left of the object, he makes an abrupt turn to the right,
and if they fall subsequently to the right of the object he swings to
the left. In this way the airman by his movements in the air brings the
fire gradually closer to the target. It goes without saying that all
these tricks are countered by the Germans with equal skill. If a German
battery notices aerial observations on the part of the enemy, and that
the enemy shells are coming nearer, it ceases fire and the battery is
moved during the night. One advantage which the French possess, owing
to the otherwise unfortunate circumstance that their own country is
the theatre of war, is that they can gather much valuable information
from the civil population. Amongst the latter it is of course easy
here and there to conceal someone who by certain signs or by light
signals at night is able to give information about the movements of
the Germans. If the chief command of an army corps or other staff has
taken up its quarters in a certain village, the French observers are
informed thereof by prearranged signals, and it is soon revealed by the
artillery fire whether they have been correctly interpreted. Signals
can also be given in day-time, for instance, through a peasant driving
his cattle to a certain spot when an airman is aloft and can see him.
Constant shifting of ground is the most effective means of overcoming
the effects of spying and of direct observation. These changes are
made at night. In daylight care is taken to remain quiet and concealed
under such cover as the ground affords. The Germans are past-masters
in the art of moving troops. The great mobility of the German Army,
the rapidity with which its various units can be thrown backwards and
forwards, according to requirements, the scientifically developed
marching powers of the infantry--there we have a few of the reasons
which contribute to make this army the finest in the world.
On our way eastward we just skim the zone which may at any moment be
reached by the French fire. But we get past safely and all that we
see is a column of yellow smoke ascending from the burning village of
Sevron, set alight by German shells. Thenceforward we are on familiar
ground and are soon home again after a thoroughly successful trip.
At half-past seven I was invited to supper with the Commander of
the 4th Army, Duke Albrecht of Württemberg. The guests included the
Minister of War, Lieutenant-General von Falkenhayn, the Chief of
Staff, General Ilse and the Duke’s three sons, all fine-looking and
talented young men, the eldest twenty-one, the second eighteen and
the third seventeen years old. They performed their duties with their
units like any other officer and had already on numerous occasions
shown commendable ability and courage. We Swedes remember what the
Württemberg Princes are like from the time of Charles XII., when Prince
Max, not yet fourteen, arrived in the King’s camp at Okuniev east of
Warsaw and subsequently shared our hard and scanty bread as well as
the plentiful fare of more prosperous days, until he died at twenty as
Colonel and Chief of the Scanian regiment of Dragoons.
At the end of the meal the son of seventeen rose to go. His duties
took him to another part of the front and he had to return. He now
walked round the table and said good-bye to all, and last of all to
his father. The Duke took his head between both hands and kissed him,
but said nothing. No scenes, no tears, no exhortations not to expose
himself needlessly to the fire and other dangers. It was like an
ordinary, “Good night, I shall see you to-morrow.” And yet, how many
officers and soldiers are there not in this war for whom there is no
such thing as “to-morrow”? How many families on parting from their dear
ones do not see them for the last time? How many bonds have not been
severed for ever? One of the Red Cross nurses had twenty-four relations
in the war, and I was told about a father who had eight sons in the
field and a ninth of sixteen who longed to follow their example. The
whole German nation has during the past months displayed a fortitude
and greatness the like of which has not been seen in our or any other
time.
On my return “home” my friends Behr, Eichstedt and Tschammer were still
sitting up talking. I settled down beside them. We were just discussing
the events and news of the day, when a cavalry captain entered and told
us that the inhabitants of two villages about twelve kilometres away
had fired on the soldiers, although the village had been in German
hands for six weeks. The order had therefore been given that all the
men of one village and all men, women and children of the other should
be arrested and taken to Vouziers. The distinction made was probably
due to the shots in the first village having been aimed at aviators
and in the second at troops. Half a company of Landsturm infantry,
accompanied by a squadron, likewise of Landsturm, were therefore at
1 a.m. to proceed to the spot. The latter were to occupy all street
exits and prevent any attempt at flight. Meanwhile every house was to
be searched by the infantry and all inhabitants arrested. On arrival
in the town they were to be court-martialled and the guilty ones shot.
Such is the severe rule of war. There is no quarter, no salvation.
Of course pity is felt for the wretched people, for what could they
gain by firing a few paltry shots against a whole army? Is it possible
that they believed in the mad rumours that the bridges of the German
engineers had been built to assure the German retreat, and that the
fortune of war had lately turned completely round? Whence could such
news come? Obviously only from the civil population itself. Those
who spread such rumours incur a heavy responsibility towards their
countrymen for the lives they have risked, and gain nothing in return.
I wondered what would happen to the wretched creatures. The very next
day I had an opportunity of seeing them in the dock. They were all
old people, peasants and their women folk. The latter wept and looked
surprised, the men showed an indifferent demeanour. The war had already
taken from them everything, life had no longer any charms. During the
few days that the trial lasted they wanted for nothing--once I saw the
prisoners sitting round large tables in a yard, eating their dinner. My
heart urged me to intercede for them and to appeal to charity and pity,
but my reason told me that one cannot and must not interfere in the
decisions of military authorities, who are guided by law. I could but
harden my heart and let it grow as cold as ice. It may be asked what
happened to them in the end, whether they were tied to trees and shot.
I lost trace of them for the moment. But a couple of days later I asked
one of my friends about their fate.
“They were all released through lack of evidence,” he said. “Those
who had fired from the villages had clearly fled when our Landsturm
arrived. The suspects have all returned to their homes.”
[Illustration: PEROT JULIEN, A 54 YEAR OLD PEASANT CHARGED WITH
PLOTTING BUT RELEASED THROUGH INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE]
It must not be thought that the German court-martials treat such cases
lightly or hastily, as if human life in a conquered country had no
value. No, the court is utterly incorruptible and carries out its task
with the most scrupulous thoroughness. Just as mitigating circumstances
are when possible adduced in favour of a German soldier who--which
is very rare--has assaulted a woman and therefore been condemned to
death, it is sought in the same way to save the country’s own children
when they are accused of crime. The court-martials of the German
“barbarians” are in the highest degree conscientious and humane.
The last day in September was set aside for rest, that is to say,
for short walks and excursions. One of the latter was made to the
churchyard, where eighteen German soldiers had been buried the previous
day in a common grave, which was still open. Dressed in uniforms,
greatcoats and caps, the dead are laid in rows alongside one another,
with thin layers of earth in between. The reason why this grave has not
been filled in is probably that there is still room for more dead. The
German warriors who have been resting since 1871 amongst the French
crosses have now indeed got company from their own land. On a new grave
I read the inscription: “_Hier ruht in Gott Ltnt. Hans Greiner, Inf.
Reg. 29. Schlaf wohl, tapfrer Kamerad_.” (Here rests in God Lieut.
Hans Greiner, Inf. Reg. 29. Sleep in peace, brave comrade.) And on
another: “_Hier ruht in Gott Hauptmann Parsohen, Res. Feld Art. 16. Er
starb für König und Vaterland._” (Here rests in God Capt. Parsohen,
Res. Field Art. 16. He died for King and Country.) A third grave bore
underneath the name and regiment the words, “_Auf Wiedersehen!_” To one
of the German graves a French rosary had found its way and hung on the
cross over the dead soldier’s helmet and two bunches of flowers. An
obelisk bore the inscription, “_A la mémoire des soldats morts pour la
Patrie. Armée Française 1870-71_,” together with a string of names.
Next von Behr and I drove to the flying station at ----, where six
_Gotha Tauben_ with Mércèdes motors were housed in large yellow tents.
One of the “doves” had a wing perforated with bullets. The holes had
been covered over with little patches. These patches are regarded
almost as medals for valour in the field. The more scars an airman has
on his machine, the more exposed he has been and the greater has been
his daring when above the enemy positions. I do not know which is the
more unpleasant feeling, to know that one has an enemy aviator right
above one’s head or to know that an anti-aircraft gun is planted right
underneath and taking aim!
Whilst we were at the station, two “doves” spread their wings for
flight. It is beautiful to watch their graceful, easy movements. Before
one can quite realise it, the slender wheels have left the ground and
the machine is slowly rising from the field and describes a little
circle over the tree-tops round about. It gradually rises in a circling
motion higher and higher and the two enormous iron crosses under its
wings gradually dwindle in size. It reminds one of the carrier pigeon
which first rises to a certain height to get a view of the surrounding
country and then darts off as straight as a die towards its goal. For
when our first Gotha “dove” had reached a sufficient height, she went
off at a tangent from her last spiral and flew straight south to the
French positions and to the rear of them. Once there, it was the duty
of the “observer,” who sits in front with map, note-book and glasses,
to make his observations and then to come back and report them--that
is assuming that he does not happen to be shot down on his journey.
When over the enemy lines, it is necessary to ascend to a height of
2000-2500 metres so as to be moderately safe from the shrapnel fire
from below. But even at 1600 metres the airman and his companion begin
to have a feeling of security. After a short while, the second _Taube_
ascended and followed the invisible track of its predecessor through
space.
[Illustration: FRENCH PRISONERS AT VOUZIERS]
On my return I looked in to see the French prisoners. Five of them,
from Bordeaux and Narbonne,[19] were seated round a tub peeling
potatoes for their own dinner. Whilst I was sketching them, we had a
chat on general topics. They were surprised at the kindly treatment
they received in German captivity. They had expected something quite
different. “One can’t expect more than a roof over one’s head, straw
to lie on and sufficient food to eat, and all that we get here. We are
on friendly terms with our German guards. They often offer us cigars
or chocolate. We should quite well be able to live on good neighbourly
terms with the Germans.” The Frenchmen further told me that they all
had wives and children at home who of course were anxious about their
fate. They wondered whether the war would last long, whether they
would be taken to the interior of Germany, and whether they would be
allowed to associate with their own countrymen in captivity so as not
to feel too lonely. I was able to give them comforting answers to
their questions. One of them said that he had seen quite fifty of his
comrades being killed at the spot where he was taken prisoner. Another
had lost an old school-fellow by his side, after they had long been
together in the trenches. The five prisoners from southern France were
calm, self-possessed and sensible men, whose views on the war had
sobered down considerably since the day they first heard the reveille
in Bordeaux and Narbonne. The glamour and the gloss had disappeared,
and the triumphant chant of the victory which they had dreamt of,
had died down to be succeeded by the naked, bleak reality. Now they
saw the tricolor but dimly, as through a haze, and the music of the
Marseillaise no longer sounded in their ears.
[19] From the 18th and 16th Army Corps or their reserves.
[Illustration: FIVE RESERVISTS FROM BORDEAUX AND NARBONNE WHO FOUGHT
IN ALSACE AND CHAMPAGNE AND WERE CAPTURED THE 26TH AND 27TH SEPTEMBER
SOUTH OF VOUZIERS. THEY ARE BUSY PEELING POTATOES. AT VOUZIERS THE
FRENCH PRISONERS WERE ALLOWED TO COOK THEIR SOUP THEMSELVES IN ORDER TO
GET THE PROPORTION OF MEAT AND VEGETABLES THAT THEY LIKED BEST]
[Illustration: SAISAC OF TOULOUSE, 11TH INFANTRY REGIMENT (33RD INF.
DIV. 17TH ARMY CORPS). PRISONER AT VOUZIERS]
We spent the evening in the mess together with about thirty officers.
The discussion was of course about the events of the day and the hopes
of the morrow, and about the news brought by the latest newspapers from
all parts of the front. One of those present told us that 270 military
trains a day had passed through Kirn (between Kreuznach and Birkenfeld)
during the first days of mobilisation, whilst another mentioned that
when a regiment at Eiffel was told by its colonel that Britain had
declared war, they broke into frenzied cheering. These war pictures
were accompanied by the peaceful tones of a gramophone--which not long
ago must have had very different listeners! The mess was housed at the
residence of a French officer, and I had a look at the pleasing and
attractive family portraits in an album, with groups of cavalry
officers, amongst them a couple of Swedes, Counts Lewenhaupt and
Cronstedt, lieutenants respectively of the Dragoons and Hussars of the
Regiment of Life Guards.
[Illustration: OLIVE, 30 YEARS OLD. INFANTERIE COLONIALE, 24ÈME (2ND
COLONIAL INF. DIV.). NATIVE OF PERPIGNAN, EASTERN PYRENEES. PRISONER AT
VOUZIERS]
On the 1st of October we made an excursion to the troops, and had
the company of the delightful and plucky chief of the flying corps,
stationed just then at Vouziers, Captain H. von Chamier-Glisczinski. He
called for us in his car and we drove at a wild pace through the avenue
south-westward to Somme Py. Before however getting so far, we stopped
a moment at the flying station, where the Captain had some business to
attend to. Whilst we halted a _Taube_ came swooping down in a glorious
vol-plane. It descended at what appeared a terrific speed, with its
light graceful wings sharply silhouetted against the glorious blue sky.
It came to the ground quite close to us and I thought I should have
to step aside a bit not to be struck by one of the planes. When near
the ground, the machine made a slight movement as if intending to rise
again. But it was merely to lessen the shock on landing. Then it rolled
along a little way on its wheels and came quietly to a standstill.
[Illustration: GERMAN AIRMEN: CAPTAIN CHAMIER, LIEUTENANTS COUNT
RAMBALDI AND BÜRGER, AND A FOURTH. THE IRON CROSS CAN BE SEEN ON THE
UNDERSIDE OF THE LEFT PLANE]
The airman and his companion accompanied us a little distance on our
way. Once more the many phases of the active life in the rear of the
fighting troops unfolded themselves before our eyes. It was not so
difficult to advance as I expected, for nowadays it is the custom to
keep still and under cover during daylight. Here and there little fires
were burning in the shadow of trees. Cooking was going on, and the
soldiers were contentedly drinking their coffee, smoking their pipes
or taking sun-baths on overthrown wheat-sheaves. The food wagons with
their white and yellow arched awnings were as usual covered with leafy
branches in order not to attract more than necessary the attention of
the French airmen.
Somme Py was not much of a place to stop for, nearly the whole village
is burnt and destroyed, leaving nothing but naked walls with sides
blackened by the soot of flames. We proceeded on our way. Now and again
we catch a glimpse of an ambulance section with doctors and stretcher
bearers and vehicles, or of the fighting train of some infantry
regiment. We recognise our old friends the foliage-shrouded kitchen
wagons, the yellow ambulance wagons, surrounded by stretcher bearers
with their white bands round the arm, and rows of grey ammunition
wagons, all harnessed up with a team of two horses.
At length we reach a point in the road where four light field howitzers
are posted in a strong position by the wayside. Captain Chamier tells
the chauffeur to stop and to hide the car well in the shadow of a
tree. It is not considered advisable to proceed further, as the car
may attract the attention of the French observers. We therefore alight
and take a little turn round the battery, which happens to be at
work. A salvo has just been fired, and the reloading is proceeding. I
seize the opportunity of taking a couple of pictures. The guns, like
the ammunition wagons, were well masked and were either dug in or
surrounded by a rampart consisting of stone and sandbags covered over
with earth. The target for the day was the village of Souain, 4050
metres distant. I was told it was practically in ruins and that what
remained was in flames. The firing of the battery was directed from the
_Beobachtungsstand_ or observation post which we visited later on, and
from which the effect of the shells could be discerned through good
field-glasses.
[Illustration: A BATTERY OF LIGHT FIELD HOWITZERS IN POSITION]
When a shell strikes a house or other object, a dark column of
smoke composed of gases, dust and earth, rises from the spot, and
flames mingling with the smoke soon reveal the fact that combustible
substances have been ignited. When unaccustomed to these weapons, one
cannot but regard them with a certain amount of awe. This awe is no
doubt still further increased with experience. The officers themselves
appear perfectly unmoved, but I think this is mostly due to the
exercise of self-control. A commander must not betray emotion before
his men. He must be perfectly calm. But it _must_ nevertheless tell
upon the strongest nerves to remain for long under fire. This battery
had occupied the same spot for eighteen days without being discovered
by the French aviators.
[Illustration: A SALVO HAS JUST BEEN FIRED. THE GUNS ARE NOW BEING
RELOADED]
From the battery we proceeded on foot in open order through an avenue
of trees, taking care to keep in the shade. Of course our security
was not absolute, for here and there the trees had been cut in two
by the French fire. We walked some five hundred metres southward to
the observation post referred to, from which the fire was directed by
telephone, and from which the foremost French positions could be kept
under observation. The first thing that attracted our attention on
approaching this very interesting point was something resembling a
tree, rising above the young growth of the wood. On further inspection
we found it to be a mast of the thickness and height of a telegraph
pole, provided with a ladder, a little platform and a seat for an
observer. A pair of glasses were left there permanently, and the
observer was masked by leafy branches.
On reaching the spot we were received by not less than three colonels,
of whom, however, two were accidental guests, and by a couple of other
officers. Colonel Fischer, Brigade Commander of the Field Artillery,
a most genial and amusing man, was full of talk about Asia and more
especially India, where he had travelled very extensively. We had thus
many memories and friends in common, and I am afraid that on this
occasion Asia took precedence over the Franco-German war.
[Illustration: COLONEL FISCHER AT HIS TRIPOD TELESCOPE]
However, I could not go away without seeing the underground abode of
these officers, for they live there day and night, and as the spot is
exposed to the French fire, they have to take certain precautions. A
stairway, the steps of which had been cut out of the soil, leads to
a cave dwelling of two rooms, small and dark, faintly lighted by a
paraffin lamp and heated by a little tin stove, now burning brightly.
A table, let into the wall, made of half a plank, is laden with
toilet articles, glasses, maps, instruments and pistols in delightful
confusion. In the sleeping apartment the beds are laid on the floor
close together. I could not suppress a pious wish that the inmates
would be preserved from death by asphyxiation in this subterranean
cavern. One must not suffer from a horror of confined spaces if one
is to sleep comfortably in these holes. But nevertheless it must be
a great comfort to have this haven of refuge if and when the spot is
bombarded. I was told that the cave was not quite proof against common
shells, but that there was no danger from shrapnel. The officers’ meals
are usually taken in the cave, so that they may at least eat in peace.
A few steps further on we visited a telephone station installed in
the masonried cellar of a wrecked house. This cellar was thus a
subterranean chamber, to the walls of which a number of telephone
appliances had been fastened. Below them several officers and privates
were seated on benches let into the walls. Whilst I was there several
telephones kept ringing simultaneously. Constant attention was
therefore indispensable. Besides being in permanent communication
with its own division, this station was in touch with the whole of
the 4th Army through its Chief Command, and with Main Headquarters.
There was, in fact, nothing to prevent its occupants from ringing up
Germany, except of course that private conversations are forbidden.
Two airmen, Lieutenants Count Rambaldi and Bürger, had just arrived at
the observation post after a reconnaissance over the French positions.
It was wonderful to hear how clearly and concisely they reported what
they had seen. Rambaldi stood for a long while with the telephone
receiver in one hand and in the other the map on which he had traced
his observations. He was speaking to some member of the General Staff
of his Army, with the same map before him and doubtless also with
a pencil and note-book. The Lieutenant would, for instance, report
something like this: 550 metres north-west of the village of X I
observed artillery in position, but probably only 2 guns. On the road
leading from the west to the village Y I saw a stationary column of
eight vehicles. I could not make out whether it was an ammunition or
food train. The battery which yesterday was posted in the hollow south
of the village Z has to-day been removed, but it is impossible to tell
at present where it has gone.
Information thus gained--especially if it is of the kind indicated in
the above example--assists in the first place the direction of the
artillery fire. But that is not all. The air scouting--as I have made
clear above--is primarily at the disposal of the Chief Command in
order to discover in time the grouping and shifting of the opposing
forces. Movements of troops, in order to avoid observation from above,
therefore now take place during the night. This is why between four and
five in the morning one always encounters troops of every description
on the march, whilst in daylight they are seldom to be seen--at least
not the infantry--barring an occasional body of Landwehr or Landsturm.
From this observation post it was about two kilometres to the foremost
German infantry positions, which in turn were from three hundred to
five hundred metres from the French trenches. Sometimes, when the
country is very open and affords no cover whatever, it may not be
possible to get closer to the enemy than one thousand metres. In these
advanced positions there is never any relaxation of tension. A
moment of quiet can never be relied upon. Of course the occupants of
a trench need not all be on the alert at the same time. If this were
so, exhaustion would soon set in. But in every unit a certain number
of men are always told off to watch the enemy whilst the others are
“resting.” Glasses are always in use as long as daylight lasts. When
it is dark, patrols are pushed forward to signal immediately in some
way or other if there is any sign of approach on the part of the
enemy. It is a dog’s life. If one pokes one’s nose over the edge, one
becomes immediately the target of unwelcome attentions, and bullets
start whizzing round one’s ears. The previous morning at ten o’clock
it had been discovered that the French were proceeding to an attack on
a part of the German position in front of us (north of Souain). One
could see how, from a little wood at ----, they tried to creep forward
under cover of the folds and creases of the ground. Two volleys of
shrapnel were at once poured over them, 150 men fell and the others
retired. But the French pay back in the same coin whenever they have
an opportunity, and they fire with great skill from their excellent
field artillery. Their ammunition, on the other hand, is said to be
less good. Yesterday, for instance, only seven shells had burst out of
thirty-six.
The German soldiers retain their good humour in the face of great
danger. Sometimes, for the fun of the thing, they place a helmet which
has lost its owner on a stick and move it with a nodding motion along
the edge of the trench. In a trice the French bullets begin to rain
around it and the soldiers bet as to the number of hits.
I am told there is no exaggerated cleanliness in these trenches,
although one does what one can to remove anything that does not belong
there. In these parts, I am told, the opposing troops have come to a
mutual understanding, according to which, on certain solemn occasions,
they are allowed to climb out of their trenches and walk one at a time
and unarmed in the direction of the enemy. A soldier leaving some
project of that kind need only raise his spade over the parapet and
swing it three times backwards and forwards. After the signal he may
confidently proceed on his errand and when completed return to his
trench.
On one occasion two grazing cows happened to find their way to the
space between two infantry positions facing one another at a short
distance. How it came about it is difficult to tell, but by the
mysterious code of soldierly freemasonry it was agreed that a French
soldier should milk one cow and a German soldier the other. When the
job was done, they returned quite placidly to their trenches. All this
shows that the French soldiers also are not wanting in humour and high
spirits, even though day and night death is like the breath in their
nostrils.
The different infantry forces, large and small, are also in telephone
communication with our observation post. One of my hosts asked if I
would like to hear how the battalion in the most advanced position of
all was getting on. Why of course I should, I said. I was handed one
receiver and was at once ceremoniously introduced to the commanding
officer of the battalion, who himself answered the call.
“How are things going, Major?”
“Thank you, very well.”
“Have you anything special to report?”
“Yes, there was some firing in the night, but no losses.”
“In what sort of spirits are the men?”
“Excellent, as usual.”
“Have you received the eight machine guns that were to be sent you last
night?”
“Yes, they have arrived and are already in position, but one of them
has no shield. However, we will manage with an earth parapet for the
present.”
“Have you any other wishes?”
“No, thanks, everything else is all right.”
The Major’s voice sounded calm and confident, but I could detect an
undercurrent of solemnity in his answers.
That part of the observation post which lay above ground had been
transformed into a pleasant little arbour or enclosure among the young
trees, visited now and again by cycle and other orderlies. A telescope,
well protected and concealed, stood ready on its tripod. Another had
been mounted in the road outside the arbour. With these glasses one
can see almost everything, right away to the horizon. Thanks to the
vertical position of the tubes, the observer’s head can be protected
altogether by an armoured shield or a wall. From our commanding
position we had an excellent view of the nearest infantry positions.
Colonel Fischer explained everything to me. He focussed the horizontal
cross line on a German trench. I saw it very clearly, it appeared
like a somewhat uneven dark line. I could even see a man getting up
out of the trench, probably after having waved his spade backwards and
forwards the regulation number of times.
Thereupon the telescope was focussed on one of the French infantry
lines. This was not quite plainly discernible, but yet fairly clear.
Still further to the south, about 3550 metres from the point where we
were standing, we saw the burning village of Souain and a few clumps of
trees, behind which we had reason to suspect the presence of cleverly
masked artillery positions.
In the east-south-east, between Souain and Perthes, we could clearly
see a French battery of four field guns and a little nearer towards us
a few abandoned gun ramparts.
Suddenly the Colonel shouts, “_Deckung!_” A French aeroplane, a
Blériot, is approaching. We hurry under the trees so as not to attract
its attention. A few orderly mounts, tethered in a hollow, are likewise
moved to a place offering better concealment. The airman comes nearer.
We hear faintly but distinctly the drone of his motor. He is sailing
along right over our heads. Is he going to drop bombs or smother us in
a shower of arrows? It would be a useful day’s work for him to destroy
an observation post from which the fire is directed and where the
telephone wires of the neighbourhood run together. Some civilian spy
may have conveyed a signal. But the alarm seems needless, the aviator
flies past and there are no explosions. With a feeling of satisfaction
we see the great bird disappear. He is seeking some other target for
his bombs.
Although it was combined with a certain risk, we walked a couple of
hundred metres closer to the infantry positions. The ground sloped
slightly downward in this direction. We follow the road in open order,
keeping to the shadow of the trees, and where there are shrubs we keep
close to them. If we are caught sight of from some French observation
post, the enemy guns will immediately be trained upon us. However, we
safely reach an infantry reserve unit. In this war, where one lies for
weeks and months at practically the same spot, the former open fighting
has gradually given place to a sort of siege war, with its attendant
methods and customs. I here found that every infantry unit was divided
into a number of shifts. The “changing of the guard” usually took place
at about six every morning. A battalion which for twenty-four hours
has occupied the area entrusted to the defence of its regiment, may
then return to the rear after a fresh battalion has moved up into the
position in question.
But even at the point where the reserves are posted it is necessary to
dig oneself in, and above all to be well screened from observation.
These shelters usually take the form of niches or “dug-outs” in the
soil. The openings are covered over with a slender roof of sticks,
twigs and hay. We looked into one or two of these “caves” and saw the
soldiers fast asleep and apparently not lacking anything. I noticed
that all the men were wrapped up in their canvas tent sections. In this
case we had happened to come across a detachment which had arrived
from the firing line in the morning and was now to sleep till midday.
Afterwards there was to be exercise--_drill_. As darkness comes on,
the kitchen wagons are brought up with their comforting hot food. Such
was the life in the German reserve positions on the north side of the
wooded country north of Souain. Nobody cared to advise us to continue
from this point, as in that case we should certainly have been visible
from the French observation posts and should have been exposed to a
murderous fire. Even a kitchen wagon, which does not travel far except
under cover of darkness, was hit the other day by a shell and had four
men killed. Some light or other had probably been seen by the enemy,
and as he had the range to a nicety, he fired a volley. But now it
was day-time and we had open ground before us. I was told on this
occasion--in connection with the advice not to proceed further--a story
of an attack made from the German side a few days previously in order
to capture an advanced French position in the neighbourhood of Souain.
The attack was launched at dusk, but failed. Several Germans remained
on the ground. The lightly wounded were taken prisoners by the French,
but three men had been so badly hurt that they were not considered
worth taking, and were left on the ground. The nearest French soldiers
took pity on them and went out each night in the dark to take them food
and water, and even cigarettes. One fine day a plucky German doctor
with a few stretcher bearers came forward from the German line. They
had brought a Red Cross flag, carried high on its pole. At first a few
shots were heard from the French lines, but as soon as the Frenchmen
realised what was up, they ceased fire, as nobody wanted to interfere
with the rescue work. Thus the doctor was able to carry his charges
into safety.
[Illustration: OBSERVER MASKED BY TWIGS AND BRANCHES]
[Illustration: SCENE ON THE ROAD IN FRONT OF THE OBSERVATION POST]
At another reserve position we chatted awhile with the grey-coats, who
had recently lost a Lieutenant Johannes. The mound which covered his
remains was surrounded by a perfect battery of shells, standing like a
set of nine-pins with the cross for its centre. Young pines had also
been planted as sentries round his grave.
After a couple of hours with these friendly, merry, brave and manly
fellows, we started out on the return journey to the flying station,
where the guard delivered his report to Captain Chamier, adding: “It
was lucky you did not arrive a quarter of an hour ago, for just then an
aviator passed over the station and dropped a bomb which burst close by
here but without doing any damage.” As a memento I was given a splinter
of the bomb, which it was pleasanter to have in one’s pocket than in
one’s body.
From Somme Py we proceeded south-east to Tahure and passed on the way
an ammunition column perched on the fringe of the wood by the side of
its little cooking-pits. Inside the wood we caught sight of numberless
items making up a transport train, such as infantry ammunition wagons,
ambulance wagons, kitchen wagons and spare horses.
In the yards and alleys of the little village there was an incessant
bustle, and it took us some time to thread our way through. A little
way beyond Tahure we left the car once more and proceeded on foot to
another observation post, a little less important than the previous
one, but otherwise on the same lines. We had hardly got there before
shrapnel began to burst around and over us. An officer advised us to
seek cover in a little trench, which, however, had no roof. For my part
I was quite willing to follow his suggestion, and was glad to stop in
the hole until the fire had died away. A few moments later another of
those winged monsters of the air, known by the name of war aeroplanes,
passed over us, without however showing signs of wanting to harm us.