THE SILENT CANNON
On a hill commanding a valley stretching away toward the Rhine is a
dense pine forest. From its edge I looked far across the frontier of
Germany.
In a little clearing a French artillery Major came to meet me and my
guide. Then we walked for miles, it seemed, through dense shade over
paths thick with needles, until we came upon an artillery encampment.
From the conversation between my guide--a Captain of the General
Staff--and the artillery Major I learned that we were about to see
something new in cannon.
I am always eager to see something new in cannon. Since my visit to
the great factories at Le Creusot, when I was permitted to cable
carefully censored descriptions of the new giant guns France was
preparing against Germany, I have always been looking for these guns
in operation. So, when I saw that here was no ordinary battery, I
began the molding of phrases to use in cabling my impressions. I did
not realize then that I was to have the most poignant illustration
since the war began of the mighty fundamental differences between the
Teutonic and Latin civilizations.
On a gentle slope, where the tops of pine trees below came up level
with the brow of the hill, there was a great excavation, such as
might have been dug for the foundations of a château. The front part,
facing the valley, was all screened with barricades and covered with
evergreens.
We entered the excavation from the rear, down winding steps lined on
either side with towering trees. These steps were all concrete, as was
also the entire bottom of the excavation. The air was very fresh and
cool as we descended. Up above the breeze gently swayed the trees,
which closed over us so densely, dimming the daylight. I was reminded
of a dairy I knew on an up-State farm in New York. I almost looked for
jars of butter in the dim recess of the cool concrete cellar. I could
almost catch the odor of fresh milk.
But in the center of our cavern was a huge piece of mechanism that I
recognized as the "something new in cannon." Above the great steel
base the long, ugly barrel stretched many yards through an aperture in
front, and was covered over with evergreens. The Major described the
gun in detail--its size, range and weight of its projectiles.
I walked to the front of the aperture to look at the barrel lying
horizontally on the tops of the pine trees growing on the slope below.
The branches had been carefully cut from the higher trees to give a
view over the valley. I got out my field glasses and fixed them on the
horizon many miles away--just how many miles away I am also not allowed
to say. For a long time I studied that horizon just where it melted
into mist. Then the sun's rays brightened it, and I could see more
clearly.
"Looks like a city out there," I said aloud.
"It is," said the artillery Major behind me.
I looked again and could dimly make out what appeared to be the spires
of churches.
"Look a little to the right; you can see a much larger building over
there," the Major said.
I looked, and a huge gray mass loomed out of the mist.
"That's a cathedral," he said.
I put the glasses down and walked around to the open breech of the
giant cannon, the mechanism of which another officer was explaining. He
gave a lever a twist, and the huge barrel slowly moved from right to
left over the tops of the pine trees.
The officer was saying in answer to a question:
"No, we are quiet now. We are just waiting."
"Waiting for what?" I asked.
"Oh, just waiting until everything is ready."
"Then what will you do?"
"Oh, destroy the forts, I hope. This fellow ought to account for
several," and he patted the side of the barrel.
"Will you destroy the city?" I asked.
"What for?" he asked. "What good would that do? If we expect to
occupy a city we do not want it destroyed. Besides,"--he shrugged his
shoulders expressively--"we are not Germans."
I walked up to the gun and stared into the breech. I adjusted my
glasses again and through them looked down the barrel. Out on the
horizon I could see the huge gray mass that the Major said was a
cathedral. The gun was trained directly upon it--this silent gun.
"It could hit that cathedral now," I thought to myself. Then I thought
of the Cathedral of Rheims. Again I stared through the glasses into the
barrel of the gun. The light was better now, and the tops of the spires
were visible above the bulky gray mass.
It was the Cathedral of Metz.