The Movements in the North
Sunday night.
THE Germans are turning sharply south, descending diagonally on the
east of Paris. The country they held, or partially held, three days
ago, as far west as Compiègne, Gisors, and Pontoise, is now free of
all but isolated patrols. The brilliant cavalry action at Compiègne,
where the British lost six and recovered sixteen guns, may have been
but a feint to cover the alteration of direction. Amiens they still
hold, and the line due south of it. Our forces, keeping touch with the
enemy, have moved forward their covering line across and to the east of
Paris on the side of the Marne, with a curve south near Paris on their
left wing. What is the reason of the change? Is it merely a move in
the great chess game designed at Berlin; first the powerful "marching
column" striking directly at the more vulnerable north-west corner of
Paris, so as to draw out the French defence in that direction, thinning
its connecting links with the eastern army; then a swift change, and
a blow at the weakened centre, with the intention of cutting off and
surrounding the eastern army very near to fatal Sedan?
Is it an attempt to force a decisive action before attacking Paris,
since the Allies, in spite of their costly retreat, are still an
undefeated army, now safely established in a strong defensive position?
Is it this attempt, combined with the intention of joining forces
with the Rheims armies of von Buelow and Wurtemberg, and of cutting
communications behind the army opposing the Crown Prince?
Or has there really been some definite change of plan forced upon the
northern army of von Kluck? Has he recognised the danger of pressing
in upon Paris from the north and north-west between the scissors of
the armies in the Marne and of some other army in the west and north,
still unknown to us. The difficult change of line is, in that case,
to be made in order to secure a concentration of the armies, and a
later attack on Paris from the east. This I suggested as an explanation
yesterday. It is the more certain coup, if it can be brought off; and
it is less exposed during its operation to any threat from the north
than would be a diagonal blow at north-west Paris. A few days will
show; but I expect to hear shortly that the armies have been engaged on
the east side of the Oise, along the Marne.
I traversed to-day all the region from Paris to the north country,
passing through the subtle Paris entrenchments and over the nervous
Seine bridges, all ready to be dynamited.
The country, forest and field, was strikingly beautiful in really hot
sunshine. But empty. The picturesque white villages were deserted
and green-shuttered; the grey stone towns with only a few silent
soft-footed peasants, and solitary neglected children. Here and there
a few black-hooded women were hanging a wayside cross or shrine with
votive flowers. There was again the oppressive expectant feeling of
the country that is left open to the enemy, undefended. Under the
trees, or trekking aimlessly along the roads, knots and processions of
homeless peasants, with their high carts heaped with household goods.
Here and there a little drove of their cattle. All the folk, brown,
depressed but resigned. As the tide of Germans has passed south and
east, they have been creeping inevitably back, with a sort of homing
instinct. A few blue cavalry patrols, French, caused them succeeding
fear and reassurance. Magny, Mantes, Gisors, Gournay, Beauvais, back
and fro, we made certain that the tide was retreating; and followed on
the tail of our own advance close enough to get clear as to the general
position. The wayside refugees were from local villages, and we could
do little to relieve them except to help some of the more helpless on
their way.
At Pontoise, a French cavalry column was passing through eastward,
the direction of the new move. The women stood ready with bottles and
jugs, and ran beside the horses to receive back the glasses, cramming
cigarettes into the smiling troopers' hands. Several of the men, with
difficulty controlling their horses, plucked the red wool tassels from
their epaulettes, and gave them in return as souvenirs.
At Mantes we came upon a collection of motors, families flying from
Paris to the north on the safe western route. For miles together we ran
through entrenchments and fortified positions, prepared to meet the
expected stroke of the hammer at the west of Paris. Only a few troops
remained in the trenches, sparks of colour through the orchards on the
great rolling wooded uplands. The others have moved eastwards, to the
scene of the battle now imminent on the east of Paris.
We met a brown, battered company of our own men also. They were resting
from their exhausting retreat, and lined the roads, cheerfully greeting
columns of French who moved eastward past and through them.
Later, the shuttle was weaving in different fashion. Here, on road
and train, our troops in their turn--but this time fresh-complexioned
reinforcements--were pouring eastward; while the worn-looking French
soldiers stood aside, or lay resting to let them pass, with hearty
jokes and salutes.
Then we ran out north into open undefended territory. Again deserted
villages. Now and then a sharp contrast, when we hit some level
crossing, and a line of trains passed us, pouring continually south
with crowded carriages and trucks of ever fresh reinforcements.
Beauvais is unoccupied by either side, but it remains a funereal town.
A few women in black, a few inhabitants creeping back. Silent clusters
on the Cathedral steps.
Here an incident occurred, illustrative of the interpenetration of the
armies in these "open" districts.
We were sitting at coffee in the square. A car, blowing a continuous
blast, rushed through. In it were two grey figures, German officers,
with a grey-tunicked driver. They flashed through, sitting very
low. Immediately there was a quick, quiet rush of women and boys to
the shelter of the Mairie and the Cathedral. The movement seemed
instinctive. Their faces remained expressionless, almost apathetic.
Ten minutes later we were carefully leaving the town. When the German
patrols take to motors, one cannot count upon the start we had in
Belgium against the customary Uhlan horse. Another motor dashed quickly
past. In it were two other grey-tunicked German cavalrymen. But these
were prisoners, being run through south from near Amiens. Supposing
these two cars had met, what would have happened?
I have asked a number of questions, to some of which we know the
answers. I will venture one more. Why have the valuable little
sea-ports been left absolutely unguarded against the small raiding
German patrols that alone at present threaten all the coast? Not an
army of occupation, but a few hardened men landed, would be sufficient
to protect much that is valuable, but which now lies open to any chance
three men with arms. And time allows the Germans to spare little more.
Monday.
The great battle on the new front has begun. This is the third day of
the fighting. The German left, pushing south past Ourcq, got as far as
Coulommiers, at the same time pressing upon Paris from the east. They
have retired again upon Meaux, in this quarter. Of the fortunes further
east there is no news. The British troops are holding a vital point in
the defensive against the double move, the direct blow south and the
eastern attack upon the city.
The countermove of the Allied left wing to meet the German change of
front has been carried out with remarkable rapidity. The alternate
passing of our own and the French troops through each other's positions
in taking up their fresh lines was an interesting time of intricate
manœuvre to watch. Paris has become a pivot; no longer the direct
object of defence or attack. Any victory of the German right outside
the eastern line of defence, would have the advantage for the Germans
of sending both armies intermingled back upon and through the forts,
impeding their fire. The new move thus places Paris in the position of
the prize of the battle.
The north is clear of both armies. Amiens is the most westerly town
occupied by the enemy. The new position of the Allies has led to an
abandonment of all the sea-ports. The inhabitants have been ordered to
disarm, and the bases and stores have been removed.
The recent moves of the Allies have suggested, in their mass,
remarkable mobility and promptitude. They have worked with a precision
and simplicity that have made them seem the product of very cool
design, and even of long anticipation. The Germans would seem to have
made the mistake of considering our army out of the game. They have
advanced heedlessly across it, unaware of its elastic recovery and of
its reinforcement.
The very complexity of the few moves met with in detail during the last
few days has given considerable reassurance. Their very disconnection
from the course of apparent events, engagements already officially
acknowledged, shows them to be no expedient of the moment, but part of
a prepared scheme, played now on the chosen field, and with the moves
following an expected order.
I have been spending most of the day witnessing the development of
one of the expected moves. The sunlit fields were alive with marching
troops. The headquarters, at Rouen, were crowded with staff officers.
Several nationalities and all arms were represented. There was the
quivering suspicious atmosphere that accompanies an action in near
prospect. Beyond certain boundaries, Evreux, Les Andelys, Gisors, I
was told I should go in "peril of life," "at my own risk." Long before
I had traversed them sufficiently to be satisfied of the positions,
through the orderly, coloured confusion of an army in the field, the
risk had been sufficient, without crossing the bounds to find the
enemy. There was anxiety, strain, but there was the new excitement of
men on the offensive. We are assured of our defensive lines. We can
afford to take the initiative.
There was plenty of personal incident--a conversation with a fierce
general in a shady, deserted château, agreeable in process and
issue; arrest and escort by a clattering Lancer patrol; the sight of
dismounted cavalrymen making embrasures in the walls of an orchard,
with momentarily turned, scowling faces.
In general purport the hours with this elusive force were more
interesting than the sight of an actual engagement--that is, all the
spectator can see of one.
Later in the day, in the course of a wide circle, I came down from
the north on the rear of the German right flank. This country was
supposed to be deserted. But the German army is well in touch with
the chess-board in the north and west. The peasants told me of the
proximity of two hundred Uhlans and a battery of guns. But it was
impossible to find any trace of a further German advance westward.
The check to the Germans near Coulommiers is promising. Their right
wing seems to have recognised that the forces opposed are too strong,
for several reasons, for their congenial fashion of attack, and is
falling back. Their combined armies have withdrawn too far south-east
to attack Paris again by any surprise move. They have been moving to
break the line of our armies opposed to them directly south, and to cut
through them well east of Paris, towards Sézanne. There is a general
atmosphere of reassurance among our troops to-day. The tide has turned,
and I date the turn from _September 6th_.
Tuesday.
There is a very satisfactory development of the position beginning
on the west of Paris. Much of the north-west region, which for a
time was left unoccupied (including the sea-ports), is again in
process of resumption. The rapidity of the German hammer-attack made
a concentration of our troops necessary outside the weaker defences
of the city. It was remarkable, the pace and precision with which the
Allied Armies, after ten days of continuous fighting, and their hurry
of difficult retreat across France, took up position on their new base
at Paris. They converted a widespread movement of defensive retreat,
over an infinite number of small tactical points, into a finely
consolidated, new strategic position. But they could do no more for
the moment in the north than hold the railway lines through which the
reinforcements were being poured.
Then came the German new front to the south. The Allies' reinforcements
had to swing to meet them, or rather to pour men across to adjust
the balance at the threatened points. To this the fresh British
reinforcements were specially devoted; again to hold the key, and more
than one key, of the new lines of defence.
The movement is complete. Strengthened at the weak link, the French
have been able again to set their grasp upon the "open" country of
the line north of the Seine. The boundaries of the extension, and the
ultimate intention of the movement may be best left to the intelligent
to surmise. Its significance for us is its reassurance as to the
confidence of our armies in the strength of their eastern line of
defence, its evidence that they are now strong enough to attempt in
turn offensive movements and resume their connections, only briefly
threatened and never entirely interrupted, with their north-western
sea-bases.
The last two days have been spent in following this movement in far
more detail than can yet be written. Its interest has been due to its
moral effect as much as to its strategical importance. The great issue
is being fought out, for the present, on the east of Paris.
After leaving our new headquarters to-day we swung across to the east.
The country--Forges, Gournay, Gisors, Clermont--is still unoccupied.
The beautiful brown and grey stone villages with faint-red roofs
and dark mediæval gateways are shuttered and empty. A few noiseless
children, a woman or two, a hungry couple of curs on the dusty cobbles.
The roads are clear of refugees, wandered further afield in their
high-wheeled laden carts. Only here and there a few stolid, hardy or
resigned village folk cling on, and form clusters before a solitary
open restaurant, headed by some sturdy Maire. The restaurant has still
good bread and wine, nothing more.
The fields are almost deserted; miles of rich meadow and crops in the
white sunshine. One or two farmers or women with stout little sons at
work in the crops, make rare and startling breaks in the passing lonely
landscape.
But there was a change to-day. Every now and then in remote places
a scouting car with a splash of uniforms, or a vicious-looking
mitrailleuse car with helmets cloaked in linen, threatening over its
grey edges, met us in the miles of shaded lanes.
Some of the small towns had again guards, military or civic, who gave
us pause; while each protested that the new military control had
made some different kind of "pass" necessary. Some wanted a red one,
some a blue. Some wanted a "visé" from the local Maire. Fortunately
during most of the hot day, the Maires were absent or asleep, and it
was agreed to be better to wake the one at the next village. The next
village was generally also asserted to be a regimental headquarters. In
these cases it usually proved to be utterly deserted.
In one little town, near Clermont, we came in for a strange echo of the
war. A woman in a high cart drove past quickly, while we were talking
with the Maire and the woman of the inn. There was a sudden silence.
Then a dramatic, passionate outburst from the handsome, sibyl-faced
hostess, who had two sons at the war:
"Think of it: that woman! There were three of our soldiers chased from
the fight at Creil. They took refuge with her. She is rich and has
a garden. She hid them in the hayloft; threw their uniforms in the
garden. The Germans came. They slept in her house. They said: 'We are
forced to fight; it is not of our seeking: the French attacked us.'
They found the uniforms. They put a pistol to her breast: 'We will
shoot you if you do not say where are those soldiers.' She cried:'In
the loft.' They shot them; all three. The traitress!--and it would have
been so easy for a woman to lie!"
A village near Creil itself gave us another echo. A German field-cap
hung over the forge. The old smith, one of the last men now left in
the village, explained it had fallen from the head of one of three or
four German soldiers who had been chased through the street a few days
before. "It shall hang there till the owner returns for it," he added
grimly, "May my great-grandchildren see it still hanging so!"
And yet one more, and this within sound of the guns, that have been
echoing nearer or fainter these last days. A woman ran out of the door
of a solitary cottage towards Senlis, waving her arm. One stops quickly
these days. A man was dying inside. She had burned his uniform; but I
knew at once he was a German. He had been shot while scouting; had hid
himself, and crawled to her house. We did what we could for him. From
him I learned that the Germans are already reinforcing to meet the
western move, and of many things that are hidden from us--no doubt, for
our good--or vaguely guessed at. It was no matter of "communication
with the enemy"; he was already past the line that divides small
irritable tribal mortals; he was joining issue with the last great
common foe.
We left him to die in the care of the woman who had not "passed by on
the other side." Her son would visit her shortly--she had refused to
leave her cottage--and would bury him in the field. No one else was to
know.
This is the meaning of the machine of war: The man joins the machine
for the honour of the nation. The machine drives him, one of a nameless
herd, for a few days, beyond his strength, to his death, for the honour
of the machine. And yet the nation is made up of the men; and the
machine is made up of the men; and the men die. But for such machines
we should know better what is the honour of the nation--that is, of the
men--for the men would judge of it, as men, for themselves.
We approached as near as we could venture--for we were behind the
enemy--north of Betz and close to the sound of the guns. We saw as
much as anyone is likely to see of the fighting in such warfare: the
distant sight of greeny-white smoke-balls bursting over trees on a far
hill; the slight movement, round the edges of distant woods that sloped
towards us, of small grey dots, that were assumed to be the enemy.
Returning across the north of Paris by circuitous ways, we came round
by the west, through the entrenched positions. During the day, we
passed over five bridges already mined with dynamite, and one wooden
bridge with the props half cut through. It is a stimulating experience
to crawl over bridges, like Kew Bridge for size and sunny situation,
with the warning from armed soldiers at either end that too much
vibration may send them exploding into the air, or dropping into the
river. We are warned to avoid even the comfort of a cigarette; and
there are other impediments to make the passage tortuous and exciting.
The one relief on nearing Paris is the infection of its unconquerable
gaiety. After days in the terrible "war atmosphere," every face
suspicious, every mile a wrestle with the shadow of puzzled mistrust,
it was a lightening of the whole evening when two veteran "grey
moustaches" levelled their muskets on a bridge, and threatened to shoot
us with a twinkle in their blue eyes--the first smile of the day.
And this is only one day on the fringe of the great struggle of whose
incident, triumph, and lonely death there shall be small record.