CHAPTER I_Passed by the censor

[Illustration: MYRON T. HERRICK

UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR TO FRANCE

From a hitherto unpublished drawing by Royer]

PASSED BY THE CENSOR

THE EXPERIENCE OF AN

AMERICAN NEWSPAPER MAN IN FRANCE

WYTHE WILLIAMS

PARIS CORRESPONDENT OF THE NEW YORK TIMES,

OFFICIALLY ACCREDITED TO THE FRENCH

ARMIES ON THE WESTERN FRONT

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

MYRON T. HERRICK

FORMER UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR TO FRANCE

NEW YORK

E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 FIFTH AVENUE

By E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

_TO VIOLA_

PREFACE

Special correspondents in great numbers have come from America into the

European "zone of military activity," and in almost equal numbers have

they gone out, to write their impressions, their descriptions, their

histories, their romances and songs.

Other correspondents who are not "special," but who by the grace of

the military authorities have been permitted to enter the forbidden

territory, and by the favor of the censor have been allowed to tell

what they saw there, have entered it again and again at regular

intervals.

These are the "regular" correspondents, who lived in Europe before war

was declared, and who during many idle hours speculated on what they

would do with that great arm of their vocation--the cable--when the

expected hour of conflict arrived.

Few of their plans worked out, and new ones were formed on the

minute--on the second. For the Germans did not cut the cable, as some

of the correspondents, in moments of despair, almost hoped they would

do, and the great American public clamored insistently for the "news"

with its breakfast.

It is a journalist's methods in covering the biggest, the hardest

"story" that newspapers were ever compelled to handle, that this book

attempts to describe.

Wythe Williams.

Paris, October, 1915.

AN ENDORSEMENT

By Georges Clemenceau

Former Premier of France.

"In the crowded picture which this American journalist has presented we

recognize our men as they are. And he pronounces such judgment as to

arouse our pride in our friends, our brothers and our children. Such

a people are the French of to-day. They must also be the French of

to-morrow. Through them France sees herself regenerate.

"Of our army, Mr. Wythe Williams says:

"'It seems to me to be invincible from the standpoints of power,

intelligence and humanity.'

"Is there not in that something like a judgment pronounced upon

France before the people of the world? Where I am particularly

surprised, I admit, is that the eye of a foreigner should have been so

penetrating, and that our friendly guest should have coupled the idea

of an 'invincible' army with the supreme ethical consideration of its

'humanity.'

"Mr. Wythe Williams is right to proclaim this, even though it is

something of a stroke of genius for a non-Frenchman to have discovered

it."--(From an editorial in _L'Homme Enchainé_.)

LETTER TO THE AUTHOR FROM SENATOR LAFAYETTE YOUNG

_My Dear Williams_:

I am glad to know that you are going to write about the war in book

form. In doing this you are discharging a plain duty. You have been

in the war from the start. You have studied the soldier in the

trench, and out. You have witnessed every phase of battle. The war

is in your system. You are full of it. Therefore, you can write

concerning it with inspiration and fervor.

I remember our long marches in and near the trenches in Northern

France in April and May, last. I know how deeply you are interested;

therefore, I know how well you will write.

A thousand historians will write books concerning the present great

conflict, but the real historians will be the honest, independent

observers such as you have been.

Newspaper reports will be the basis of every battle's history.

Take the battle of the Marne, for instance. Who knows so well

concerning it as men like yourself, who were in Paris or near it

during the seven days' conflict?

The passing years may bring dignified historians who will compose

sentences which shall sound well, but none of them will be so full of

real history as your volume if you write your own experiences.

I never knew a man freer from prejudice, and at the same time fuller

of enthusiasm than yourself. I want you to write your book with the

same free hand you write for the _New York Times_. Forget for the

time that you are writing a book.

I am pleased to know that you have been with the army several times

since I parted company with you. This, with your experience as an

ambulance driver, when the first hostilities were on, has certainly

made you a military writer worth while.

I count you to be one of the three best and most truthful American

correspondents who have been in the war from the start.

I am hoping the time will come when these wars shall end, when bright

men like yourself shall return to the work of journalism in America.

With greatest affection, I subscribe myself,

Lafayette Young.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

Introduction by Myron T. Herrick xiii

PART ONE

THE HECTIC WEEK

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Day 1

II The Night 9

III Herrick 19

IV Les Américains 31

V War 39

PART TWO

THE GREATEST STORY

VI The Actuality 49

VII The Field of Glory 55

PART THREE

THE ARM OF MILITARY AUTHORITY

VIII The Field of Battle 73

(A) Sentries in the Dark

(B) The Wounded Who Could Walk

IX "Detained" by the Colonel 94

X The Cherche Midi 110

XI Under the Croix Rouge 120

(A) Trevelyan

(B) The Rue Jeanne d'Arc

PART FOUR

WAR-CORRESPONDING DE LUXE

XII Out with Captain Blank 145

XIII Joffre 157

XIV The Man of the Marne and the Yser 172

XV The Battle of the Labyrinth 184

XVI "With the Honors of War" 193

XVII Sister Julie, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor 209

XVIII The Silent Cannon 226

XIX D'Artagnan and the Soul of France 230

PART FIVE

THREE CHAPTERS IN CONCLUSION

XX A Rearpost of War 245

XXI Myths 256

XXII When Chenal Sings the "Marseillaise" 264

AN INTRODUCTION

By Myron T. Herrick,

Former United States Ambassador to France.

The rigid censorship placed on journalism upon the declaration of

war in Europe brought the representatives of the American press into

close relationship with the Embassy. The news which they brought to

the Embassy and such news as they received there, required unusual

discretion, frankness and confidence on the part of all concerned in

order that the American public should receive accurate information,

while avoiding the commission of any improprieties against the

countries involved in the great conflict.

In this supreme test the American newspaper representatives appreciated

that they were something more than mere purveyors of news; they

arose to the full comprehension of their responsibility, and were of

invaluable assistance to the Embassy, and through it to the nation.

While there has been no opportunity to read the advance sheets of

this book, my confidence in the character and ability of the author,

begotten in those days when real merit, and demerit as well, were

revealed, makes it a pleasure to write this foreword, and to commend

this volume unseen.

(Signed)

[Illustration]

Cleveland, Ohio, October 19th, 1915.

A FOREWORD

At the outbreak of the European war, the author, who was then stationed

in Paris as the correspondent of the _New York Times_, was refused,

with all other correspondents, any credentials permitting him to

enter the fighting area. He entered it later, immediately after the

battle of the Marne, with what were in Paris considered sufficient

credentials. But he was arrested, returned to Paris as a prisoner of

war and lodged in the Cherche Midi prison, the famous military prison,

where Dreyfus was confined. He was released upon the intervention

of Ambassador Herrick, but still baffled in getting to the front as

a war correspondent, he volunteered for service in the Red Cross as

an orderly on a motor ambulance. A few of the descriptions in the

following pages are written from notes made during the two months he

remained in that service.

At the beginning of 1915, the author was officially accredited as a

correspondent attached to the French army, and at the beginning of

February sent to his paper the longest cable despatch permitted to

pass the censor since the beginning of the war, and the first authentic

detailed description of the French forces after the battle of the Marne.

The following spring, at the height of the first great French offensive

north of Arras, the famous ground, every yard of which is stained with

both French and German blood, the author was selected by the French

Ministry of War as the only neutral correspondent permitted there. The

first description given to America of the battle of the Labyrinth was

the result.

Since then the author has made a number of trips to the front, always

under the escort of an officer of the Great General Headquarters Staff,

and has seen practically the entire line of the French trenches, up

to the moment of the autumn offensive in Champagne. He was the first

American correspondent to foreshadow this offensive in a long cable to

his paper at the end of August, in which he asserted that the attack

would commence "before the leaves are red," that being the only wording

of the facts permitted by the censor, but which exactly timed the date

of the action. A few of the following chapters have been rewritten

from the author's article published in the _New York Times_, to which

acknowledgment is made for permission to use such material. The author

however wishes alone to stand sponsor for the sentiments and opinions

expressed throughout the volume.

PART ONE

THE HECTIC WEEK

PASSED BY THE CENSOR

CHAPTER I

THE DAY

A member of the Garde Republicaine, whose duty was to keep order in

the court, was creating great disorder by climbing over the shoulders

of the mob in the press section. He ousted friends of the white-faced

prisoner in the dock, to make room for a fat reporter from _Petit

Parisien_, who ordinarily did finance but was now relieving a confrère

at the lunch hour. The case in court was that of the famous affaire

Caillaux and all the world was reading bulletins concerning its

progress as fast as special editions could supply them.

I was sitting in the last of the over-crowded rows allotted to the

press, but filled with whoever got there first. I was one of the few

Americans permitted to cover this important "story" first hand, instead

of having to write my nightly cables from reports in the evening

papers.

As the _Petit Parisien_ man wheezed and jostled his way to a seat on

the bench just in front of me, I caught some words he flung to a friend

in passing. Maitre Labori was proclaiming the innocence of the prisoner

with all the fervor for which he is celebrated, and I was wondering how

soon an adjournment would let us escape from the stifling heat of the

room. It was the latter part of July, 1914; and true to French custom

all of the windows were shut tight.

The words of the fat reporter pricked my flagging attention, "There is

a panic on the Bourse."

The words caused a buzz of comment all around me. One English

journalist, monocled and superior, even stopped his writing, and the

financial reporter, his fat body half crowded into his seat, paused

midway to add: "The Austrian note to Serbia that has got them all

scared."

Another French newspaperman some seats away overheard the talk and

joined in loudly. It did not matter how much we talked during the

proceedings of the affaire Caillaux. Everybody talked. Often everybody

talked at the same moment. This journalist prefaced his remarks by a

derisive laugh.

"They are crazy on the Bourse," he said. "You may be sure that nothing

matters now in France but this trial. No panic, or Austrian note, or

Russian note or anything, will rival it as a newspaper story, I am

certain."

The fat reporter again wheezed into speech.

"I do not know very much concerning this affaire Caillaux," he replied,

"but I will bet you money that the verdict will not get a top headline."

"Why?" cried some of us, mocking and incredulous.

"Because of what I've told you. There is a panic on the Bourse."

The presiding judge announced the luncheon adjournment; we trooped

to the basement restaurant of the Palais de Justice. I found myself

sitting at a table with the superior Englishman. We discussed the

qualities of French cuisine for a moment; then he said:

"It will be jolly annoying if this Bourse business develops into war,

you know."

This was the first mention that I remember of the word "war" in

connection with the events that followed so fast for the next few

weeks, that now as I look back upon them, they do not seem real at all.

One week to the day following this luncheon, I remember saying to a

fellow newspaper correspondent, "Is it a week, or is it a year, since

we had Peace in the world?" But at the first mention of the word--the

first premonition of the nearness of the tragedy that was descending

upon Europe--I remember signaling somewhat abstractedly to a waiter,

and giving him an order for food.

Every one of the Americans who covered that session of the Caillaux

trial had lived in Europe for years; and the majority were to remain as

onlookers of the great war that had been so long predicted. But on this

day none of us realized, and none of us knew; and that was the greater

part of all our troubles.

I remember a conversation only a few weeks before all this happened,

with Mr. Charles R. Miller, the editor of the _New York Times_, who was

passing through Paris on his return to New York from Carlsbad. He asked

me when I intended going home, and I replied to him as I had to many

others:

"Not until they pull off this war over here. I have been in the

newspaper game ever since I left college, but I have never been lucky

enough to cover a war. So I do not propose to miss this one."

Then came the invariable question:

"When do you think it will come?"

I had my reply ready. All of us had made it many times.

"Oh, perhaps in a few years. Perhaps it will not be so very long."

The next remark of at least half the persons with whom I discussed

the question was, "Pooh, pooh, there'll never be a European war." Mr.

Miller only said, "What will you do when it comes?"

Again the reply was pat to hand, but how vague it seems now, in the

light of then fast approaching events! It was:

"There will be warning enough to make our plans for beating the censor,

I am certain."

It is easy enough to look back now and declare that incidents such

as Agadir, the Balkan war and Sarejebo should have been sufficient

handwriting on the wall. All those affairs were exactly that, but we

simply could not grasp the idea, that actual Armageddon could come

without at least months of announcement--time enough for all of us to

make our plans. In this I do not think we should be blamed, for we

followed so exactly the fatuous beliefs of even foreign ministries.

That the great moment should come in a week never entered our

imaginations.

We filed back to the court room on that afternoon of the Caillaux

trial and fought for the last time the twice daily battle for our

seats. I sat beside the superior Englishman. We listened idly to famous

politicians and famous doctors and famous lawyers garbling as best

they could the dead question of the murder of Gaston Calmette, and the

more burning though irrelevant one as to whether Joseph Caillaux was a

traitor.

My companion and I discovered that our arrangements for a summer

vacation included the same tiny Brittany hamlet by the sea. We passed

a portion of the afternoon making mutual plans for the coming month,

and at the adjournment drove away from the ancient building on the

banks of the Seine in the same fiacre, both trying to align the chief

features of the day's sitting, and planning the writing of our night's

despatches.

After an hour at my desk that evening, I remember turning to Mr. Walter

Duranty, my chief assistant, and saying, "It is about two thousand

words to-night. With all the direct testimony that the Associated Press

is sending, it ought to lead the paper to-morrow morning. Mark it

'rush.'"

"But about this panic on the Bourse story! Don't you think we should

send a special on that?" Mr. Duranty asked.

"Why?" I questioned.

"Because there is an Austrian brokerage firm that has been selling like

mad--started all the trouble; it is the identical firm that two years

ago--" His voice broke off suddenly. "Listen!" he then shouted. We made

a rush to the front windows looking upon the Boulevard des Italiens

near the Opera.

The street was seething, which signified exactly nothing, for the

Caillaux case had kept the boulevards stirred up for days.

"They are yelling, 'Down with Caillaux!'" I said, as we tore open the

window sashes.

"No--it's something else."

We leaned far out. Under the lights moved thousands of heads. Hundreds

were reading the latest editions, but in the middle of the road a mob

was surging, and we heard a monotonous cry. It was a cry heard that

night in Paris for the first time in forty-four years.

The mob was shouting, "To Berlin!"

I slammed shut the window. "Cut that Caillaux cable to a thousand

words," I yelled, as I seized my hat, ran down the stairs, and plunged

into the crowd, snatching the latest editions as I ran.

The Austro-Serb and Russian news had become worse within a few hours,

and there were already rumors of Franco-German frontier incidents. I

hurried along the boulevards, calling at the offices of the _Matin_ and

the _London Daily Mail_, but could get no inside information; nothing

but official announcements which would be cabled by the news agencies,

and did not interest me, the correspondent of a paper receiving all

agency matter.

Later I returned to my office, cabled a story that pictured the scene

in the boulevards and gave some details concerning the Austrian

brokerage firm that had precipitated the trouble on the Bourse by

its selling orders. My paper alone carried the next morning the

significant information that this same Austrian house, with high Vienna

connections, had made an enormous fortune just two years before, when

it had accurate and precise information concerning the hour that the

conflict in the Balkans would begin.

This story was a "beat"--probably it was the first "beat" of the

European war, but it was almost lost in the mass of heavy despatches

that on that night began crowding the cables from every capital in

Europe. The next morning probably every newspaper in the world led its

columns with the subject of war. Even in Paris the affaire Caillaux was

relegated to the second page.