Ministers were in conclave at the Elysée. I acted immediately on the
first hint I received, and with great difficulty made my way across the
Place. I found myself almost at once wedged in anew, this time in a
streaming current which set steadily towards the Elysée. The crowd grew
vaster every moment, for by this time all Paris seemed to have been
drawn to that quarter of the town. For a long time there was silence, or
what seemed like it after the torrent of noise which had roared so long
in all ears, but at last the babble of excited tongues began again, and
was intermixed with occasional cries of impatience. These grew in a
steady crescendo, until no single voice was audible. But before things
reached that point I had heard a hundred excited conjectures as to the
course which would be adopted by England at this crisis. By seven
o’clock the patience of the mob was quite outworn. The building, so far
as could be seen from the outside, was in complete darkness, and the
rumour of the meeting of the Ministers seemed likely to be practically
denied. At length, however, a sudden swell in the storm of sound greeted
the appearance of light at three windows, and certain ill-defined
shadows were seen moving on the blinds. One profile was distinct and
stationary for a moment, and there was a roar of ‘Ribot!’ A minute later
the blind of the centre window was drawn up, the window itself was
thrown open, and the figure of M. Ribot, Minister of Foreign Affairs,
was seen. This apparition was the signal for a new outburst in which
only the name of the President of the Republic could be distinguished.
The air rang with shouts of ‘Carnot! Carnot!’ and M. Ribot having braved
this incredible tempest for a few seconds only, bowed and retired. A
minute later the President himself appeared. From where I stood his
features were invisible, but his attitude was erect, and he stretched
out his right hand with an impressive gesture to command silence. It was
some time before this injunction was obeyed, but when he was allowed to
speak his voice was firm and unusually clear. His words were few and to
the point. ‘Citizens! Germany has declared war upon the ally of France.
Those gentlemen whom you have appointed as the guardians of the national
honour have debated the serious intelligence which has to-day awakened
the heart of Paris. It is my duty to tell you that there is no
dissentient voice amongst them. France will fulfil her pledges!’ At this
point M. Carnot was interrupted by a unanimous outburst of applause,
which made speech impossible for a space of at least five minutes. Again
and again, when it seemed about to quiet down, it was taken up from
distant quarters, and came rolling along like a wave, again to subside
and again to be renewed. When order was once more restored the President
continued: ‘France speaks to-night, and demands of her neighbour that
the menace against her ally shall be withdrawn. She couples with that a
demand for the surrender of those provinces which were torn from her
twenty years ago!’
There was at this more cheering, and yet more. The President retired,
and a great deluge of rain which had been threatening to fall all day
speedily cleared the streets. The latest and most important of the day’s
events is yet hardly an hour old, but we seem now to be living in a city
of the dumb. Everybody is hoarse with four hours’ almost continuous
shouting, but the popular excitement is as great as ever.
The house of M. Ferry has been guarded by the military, and only the
_entente cordiale_ existing between the troops and the populace has
saved it from attack. At the moment of writing the Boulevards are again
crowded. The reply of Germany is, of course, a foregone conclusion, but
it is awaited with intense eagerness.
DECLARATION OF WAR BY FRANCE.
DRAMATIC RECEPTION OF THE NEWS BY THE GERMAN EMPEROR.
(_By Telegraph from our Special Correspondent, Mr. Charles Lowe._)
THORN, _May 1_.
For this morning the Emperor had ordered a review of all the troops,
amounting to about 60,000 men concentrated hereabouts—the scene of the
parade being a long sweep of meadow-land, not unlike the Champ de Mars
at Paris, on the right bank of the Vistula. His Majesty and his Staff
took their stand on a convenient knoll commanding all the ground, and
scarcely had the serried battalions of the 3d Corps, with their
bristling bayonets glittering in the bright sun, begun to stride along
in all their martial and magnificent array, when the march past was
interrupted by a most dramatic and thrilling incident.
I was standing on the outside fringe of the brilliant circle of His
Majesty’s suite, quietly chatting to Dr. von Leuthold, the Emperor’s
body physician, when suddenly we saw an orderly officer dash up to his
Majesty and deliver a message, which we could discern from the colour of
the envelope to be a telegram. The Emperor tore it open, glanced through
the contents, then looked up, and let his eye wander all round the
circle of his suite, as if to note the impression produced upon their
minds by the news which His Majesty felt had already been intuitively
divined by those about him. ‘_Ja, meine Herren_,’ he at last said; ‘it
is just as we all expected. This is a telegram from General von Caprivi;
France has declared war against us’ (_Frankreich hat Uns den Krieg
erklärt_.) There was a moment’s pause, each man looking at his neighbour
to study the effect of this terrible announcement, and then all eyes
were again turned on the Emperor, who looked a shade paler than before,
but not a whit less calm and resolute.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said at last, ‘this is a serious moment for us all, but
the news dismays just as little as it surprises us. Yet I must now leave
you, for the danger to the Fatherland is much greater on its western
than on its eastern frontier; and where the danger to the Fatherland is
greatest, there also must Germany’s Kaiser be.
‘_Meine Herren_, my place as Commander-in-Chief of our armies here will
now be taken by that tried and gallant soldier, my dear friend and
brother, the King of Saxony, who will, I am sure, bring honour and
victory to our arms. One foe at a time is quite enough, and the sooner
we can help our allies to dispose of their invader, the sooner shall we
be able to concentrate all our forces and inflict a crushing blow on our
hereditary enemy (_Erbfeind_), who has again, in the most wanton manner,
broken loose against us.
‘Gentlemen, this is no time for words, when the call to action is
tingling through all our veins, so I will only invoke the blessing of
God upon the course of our arms in this quarter, and hasten myself to
where the peril of our Fatherland is sorest. Adieu, and may each and all
of us do his duty throughout the coming period of grievous trial and
tribulation!’
So saying, the Emperor put spurs to his steed and, accompanied only by
his immediate suite, galloped off back to Thorn, receiving as he went
three enthusiastic ‘hochs.’
Just as I am closing this despatch information reaches us from Berlin of
a naval engagement in the Baltic between our fleet and some Russian
ships; but you, in London, will probably hear all the details before
they reach us here.
WITH THE GERMAN FLEET IN THE BALTIC.
We have been favoured with the following letter, under date April 30,
from Rear-Admiral Philip Colomb, who has been an eye-witness of the
naval operations in the Baltic:—
I was at Kiel with my yacht when the news of the attempt on Prince
Ferdinand’s life reached us. The successive telegrams and published news
created the greatest excitement among all classes, but especially
amongst those connected with the navy. Simultaneously with the news that
Russia had crossed the Austrian frontier, several German cruisers went
to sea, and in a day or two a regular fleet began to assemble in the
port. I don’t understand German, but my wife does, and she told me
whenever we met an eager crowd discussing, that it was all about whether
the fleet would not be kept to defend the place, and the danger of an
attack by the Russian Fleet if the German Fleet did not remain.
I thought I had better get out of it, as if such an attack were made it
might be awkward for me. I think my wife was so excited about it that
she wanted to stay where we were and see it all; but I thought we might
see all there was to be seen in greater safety from the seaside. And
then from the conversation of some German naval officers which my wife
overheard, I gathered that the navy, at least, believe that it would try
to carry war into the enemy’s country. There were, however, great
discussions about some German coast defence vessels that had not coal
supply enough to go up the Baltic, and great arguments as to what ships
would go and what would stay. As every day more heavy ships arrived and
stayed, while only small ones came and went, I began to think that after
all it was most likely that the Germans would not stay quiet to let the
Russians ravage their coasts. Then, by the time that nine or ten large
turret-ships and others, besides several smaller ones, had assembled, I
understood that the German armies were about attacking Russia by way of
Königsberg, as well as to the south. I thereupon made sure that the
German fleet would go up in support, even if they were not ready to do
more.
So the end of it was that I waited till ten big ships and five or six
smaller ones got under way, and then I did ditto, and steamed out with
them. I was afraid I might be left behind, as my coal supply did not
allow me to go at any speed; but I found the Germans, after putting
their big ships into two lines a good distance apart, with some of the
smaller ones close at hand on each side, and two or three others a long
way in front, steamed quite slowly along, not more than five or six
knots. I went inshore of them, and kept them in sight a couple of miles
off.
We passed close to Rügen Island the afternoon succeeding our departure,
and the south end of Bornholm in the night. I made out that we were
steering straight, for Libau, which is about 450 miles from Kiel. We
scarcely had seen anything in the shape of a ship except a couple of
homeward-bound English trading steamers; but on the second morning at
daybreak I noticed all the German ships had been stoking up, and were
making an immense amount of smoke. There was a good deal of signalling
going on between the German flagships—there were two of these yesterday,
one at the head of each line—and one or two of the cruisers, which sped
away nearly out of sight, and then came slowly back, signalling as they
came. The same sort of thing went on on the third morning, when we had
got beyond Dantzig, with the difference that two German cruisers were
seen steaming up, one from the southward, and one from the
south-westward. The fleet stopped, and a boat from each of these went to
the flagship and returned, after which there was more signalling, and a
boat from every ship went on board the flagship. I suppose the other
Admiral and the captains were in them, but I was too far off to make
certain.
After a couple of hours we all went on again slowly as before, but
electric and other lights were flashing about all night, so that we were
very excited, and made sure that something was in the wind. As a
consequence, long before daylight on the fourth morning we were on deck
looking out in all directions, and with a good head of steam so as to
get out of the way in case of accidents. Sure enough at daybreak there
was a great bank of smoke to the northward, and presently I could make
out a mast or two sticking up. The two German cruisers, which were five
or six miles in front, at once became very busy with their signals, and
soon afterwards the whole fleet formed into a single line and turned to
the westward, not steaming any faster, but making such clouds of black
smoke that they almost hid themselves from me. It did not seem that the
Russian Fleet—I was not sure whether it was or not—was closing much, but
one or two ships appeared to draw more in front as if to close the two
German cruisers. Presently the other cruisers that had kept closer to
the fleet also drew out in front, but none of them seemed more inclined
to close the strangers than the strangers were to close them.
I could not make it out at all. I had always understood that in a modern
naval battle, everybody would immediately run at everybody else, and
this looked so little like the sort of thing that I was inclined to
think that what I saw was only an advance guard of the Russian Fleet.
Yet it looked too large a mass for that, and my doubts were presently
set at rest.
Signals were made to one of the German cruisers that had come to us the
day before, and she presently turned and slowly steamed to the
southward. She passed us so very close that I took heart of grace to
call out—
‘Is that the Russian Fleet?’
And the answer came back—
‘Oh! ye-es, zat is ze Russians—ve sall fight zem! So!’ and the steamer
went on her way.
I began to have some sort of an idea that, perhaps, neither fleet was
able to make out the force of the other, and was, therefore, not in a
hurry to bring it to action. And this might easily be so. Though the sky
was clear overhead and the water quite smooth, it was misty round the
horizon, and so far as the Russian Fleet was concerned, it seemed to me
very likely that even the advanced German cruisers were not able to
discover more than I could, between the mist and the smoke.
But as I puzzled myself over this, I also thought that, perhaps, as the
main attack of Germany was going on by land, it might be her game merely
to watch the Russian Fleet. For if the Germans were badly beaten at sea,
Russia might be left free to land and cut their communications. I had
never thought of this kind of thing before, and I quite woke up with a
new sort of idea, for I saw quite well that the Russian Fleet could not
do anything unless they first thoroughly beat the Germans.
ENGAGEMENT OFF DANTZIG—SINKING OF A RUSSIAN TORPEDO-BOAT.
I was so keen on my new ideas that I wanted to know more about it, and
so steamed well to the N.E. to see what the Russian Fleet was like. Just
as I did so, I saw a very small Russian steaming away to the
south-eastward as if to get the look at the German Fleet which I was
going to get at the Russian. She was stoking up tremendously, and
evidently going at great speed. Two of the German cruisers in front
immediately turned to the eastward to cut her off, but the plucky little
Russian did not seem to mind; they closed one another very rapidly, and
some puffs of smoke, followed by distant bangs, showed a little game of
long balls. The Russian had evidently much greater speed than the
others, and was drawing them astern, but quite away from her own fleet
or supports of any kind. All of a sudden I saw she was blowing off steam
furiously, and that her speed had slackened, if not dropped altogether.
She began to fire more rapidly, and so did the Germans. All three were
hidden by the cloud of smoke they raised. My engineer was frightfully
excited; he said, ‘It was one of them new boilers a-priming,’ and that
it was all up with the Russian. Sure enough it was, for all three ships
presently came out of the smoke, the little Russian with the German flag
flying over her own.
[Illustration:
THE NAVAL BATTLE OFF DANTZIG—THE SINKING OF A RUSSIAN TORPEDO BOAT AND
RESCUE OF THE CREW BY AN ENGLISH YACHT.
]
I had got far enough now to see that the Russian Fleet was much more
numerous than the German, but I could only make out six or seven really
big ships. But there were a crowd of small ones, and behind, eight or
nine little things like those we had seen taking the _Excellent’s_ men
for training. I thought it might be dangerous to get mixed up with such
a crowd, so I returned to the southward and eastward of the German
Fleet. I had noticed that the Russians were steering slowly parallel to
the position of the Germans, and night closed, leaving all things in
this position. Both sides never left off flashing their electric lights
up into the sky and all over the sea, and it really seemed to me as if
they must all be a good deal confused by such things.
So matters went on till eleven o’clock, when I made my wife go below,
while I lay down for a sleep on deck. I was awoke at one o’clock by such
a row as never was, the whole German Fleet was a blaze and a roar of
artillery. I supposed, of course, a Russian torpedo-boat attack, but it
was impossible to tell what had happened,—all one knew was that an
attack of some kind had been made. After a very few minutes the fire
began to slacken, and some of it I noticed, with an unpleasant
sensation, was coming my way. But that, too, soon came to an end. My
wife was at that moment beside me again, and she suddenly cried out,
‘Hark! what’s that?’ I could hear a rushing and a panting sound drawing
close to us, and then the ball of white foam that I had seen one night
from a torpedo boat. The panting suddenly stopped, and the rushing
became fainter and fainter until out of the dark came a torpedo-boat
evidently making for the yacht, but very slowly. Just as she was coming
alongside there was a sort of wild cry, and I saw she had suddenly gone
to the bottom. Our little boat was down in an instant, and I got hold of
somebody floating at once, while the men helped in two Russian sailors.
I found I had hold of a Russian officer, but he was evidently unable to
help himself. I could not get him in but we drew him alongside and the
men carried him up. I then saw that the poor chap was badly wounded in
the shoulder. No one on board could speak Russian, but we laid him down
on the deck, and my wife threw herself down beside him with her scissors
and began to cut away his dress, while she cried to her maid to bring
her water and linen. It was of no use, however. The poor fellow was
quite unconscious and bleeding to death. It was all over in ten minutes,
and we could do nothing but reverently commit the body to the deep. Our
other two Russians were unwounded, but could not make us understand
anything. We put them next day into an English vessel bound to Revel.
[Illustration:
THE NAVAL BATTLE OFF DANTZIG—WOUNDED RUSSIANS ON BOARD THE ENGLISH
YACHT.
]
We were eager enough in the morning to see what had happened, but there
seemed to be no ships absent. One of the battleships was, however,
evidently very much down by the head, and in the course of the morning
we saw her quit the fleet for the southward. Everything else was, in
fact, in the same position on both sides, and it was evident that a
regular battle was no nearer.
I presently saw a vessel—I think it must have been one of the German
Emperor’s yachts, from the look of her—coming up fast from the
southward, and as soon as she got near enough, she began making a long
signal. Almost directly, the German ships all turned towards her. They
stopped when she reached them, and after she had sent a boat to the
flagship, the whole fleet put on good speed, and stood nearly due west,
as if for Kiel again. I could not keep up with them, so I am going to
Colberg to post this and hear the news.
_P.S._—I have learnt at Colberg that the Emperor’s yacht brought news of
the declaration of war by France, and orders for the whole German fleet
to return to the Jahde at full speed, to avoid being caught between the
Russian and French fleets. The Germans say they sank several of the
Russian torpedo-boats, and that they had their broadside nets out. Only
the _Oldenburg_ was struck by a torpedo, the one I saw. She got into
Kiel all right, but was badly damaged. It is said that the Russians are
spread along the whole German Baltic coast, and descents are expected.
THE GERMAN PLAN OF CAMPAIGN.
PROPOSED LINE OF INVASION THROUGH BELGIUM.
LONDON, _May 3_.
The declaration of war by France was the inevitable result of the action
of Germany in regard to Russia. Events, indeed, have marched with a
ruthless and tragical directness ever since the day, barely four weeks
since, when Prince Ferdinand narrowly escaped death from Russian
intrigue. In Germany, least of all, can there have been any doubt as to
the course France would take. The experience of 1870 must have made
abundantly clear to her what would be the outcome of the scenes on the
Paris boulevards which our Correspondent has so graphically described.
With powerful enemies on either flank, Germany cannot afford to adhere
to punctilio. With the double contest on her hands she cannot now hope
to bring into the battle-fields superior numbers, as in the wars of 1866
and 1870–71; prospects of success, as her chiefs well know, lie for her
in promptitude of action, in blows struck in unexpected places, in
carefully planned efforts to bewilder and divide the forces opposed to
her.
To strike anywhere at the eastern frontier of the French adversary,
barred as it is with almost continuous fortresses from Verdun to
Belfort, must necessarily involve prolonged delay, even if the heavy
siege-work which is inevitable should be ultimately successful. True,
Germany will no doubt be able to foil any offensive on the part of
France from the base of the fortified eastern frontier, but merely to do
this would be to confine herself to that defensive which is intensely
repugnant to her military character. Yet her only opening for the
offensive, unless she were to force or obtain by diplomacy a right of
way for her armies through neutral territory, of necessity must be by
that eastern frontier of France which is coterminous with her own
territory, and through or over the chain of fortresses which loom out
sullenly from behind that frontier line.
The ideal line of invasion of France by Germany obviously lies through
Belgium. It would turn and negative the chain of French fortresses on
the eastern frontier, and give the shortest route through hostile
territory to the French capital. Belgium is neutral ground; her
neutrality guaranteed by the Great Powers; but how vain a pretence is
this guarantee is already proved by the latest news from our Berlin
Correspondent. It is believed (he states on credible authority), that
Germany has been successful in exacting or obtaining from Belgium a
secret Convention, whereby the armies of the Empire shall be free to
traverse the former State, and to utilise for their purposes the Belgian
railway system. The advantages of this arrangement may be said to fairly
compensate Germany for the numerical superiority of the French forces
over those which she herself is able to bring into the field.
The German plan of campaign, as explained by our Berlin Correspondent,
is as follows:—Seven of the twenty Army Corps are engaged on the Russian
frontier under the King of Saxony. To cope with France there remain
thirteen corps, with a proportionate number of independent cavalry
brigades. The First Army, under the command of Prince Albrecht of
Prussia, is to advance through Belgium by Verviers, Liége, Namur, and
Charleroi, and cross the northern frontier of France between Maubeuge
and Rocroy, at and about Hirson. The fortresses on the French northern
frontier east of Maubeuge are of little account, and there are none on
the section specified. The Ardennes and Eifel districts are regarded as
affording considerable protection to the line of communication as far as
the frontier, and a further protection will presently be mentioned. It
is unfortunate that between Aix and Liége there is available but one
line of railway, but the accommodation is copious on either side of this
section, several lines being serviceable right to the frontier.
This First Army is to consist of six Army Corps, the Guards, 7th, 8th,
10th, 11th, and 16th being those whose respective provinces are nearest
to the region of concentration west of Cologne. Among its
Corps-commanders are such men as Generals Meerscheidt-Hullessem, Von der
Burg, Von Versen, Albedyll, Von Loë, all distinguished names in the war
of 1870–71. The Emperor himself, who of course is Commander-in-Chief of
all the German forces in both fields of operations, accompanies this
army, after leaving the eastern frontier with General von Schlieffen,
the Chief of the great General Staff, and a number of the German
princes. The cavalry commander is General the Grand Duke Frederick of
Baden.
The Second Army is to consist of the 9th, 14th, and 15th Army Corps. The
course of action prescribed for this is to advance from Trèves through
Luxembourg, with the consent of the Grand Duke, following the
Trèves-Brussels railway as far as Arlon, whence it is to approach the
French frontier between the fortress of Montmedy and Sedan, and in this
vicinity, while covering the communications of the main army, draw on
itself the attention of the French field army presumably lying behind
the northern section of the French frontier fortresses from about Verdun
southward, so hindering it from marching westward to swell the forces
opposing themselves to the main German army moving by Namur and
Charleroi. Having accomplished this ‘holding’ operation, whether with or
without a battle, it is to disengage, move westward below Mezieres, and
approach that army after it has crossed the frontier. In performing this
arduous task the Second Army will have to encounter the physical
difficulties of the Eastern Ardennes, and protect its line of
communication running perilously near the frontier. To aid in this work,
severe at once, and delicate, it is to be furnished with a strong
cavalry force, under the command of Lieutenant-General von Kleist.
If from behind the curtain of their eastern frontier fortresses the
French are bent on taking the offensive, German strategists, says our
Correspondent, freely recognise the impossibility, owing to the
diversion through Belgium of the bulk of the German force, of hindering
them from over-running Alsace and Lorraine up toward the left bank of
the Upper Rhine, where the German fortresses would give them halt. Yet
such an advance, if attempted, they will not find quite an unchequered
promenade. In Lorraine, Metz, for instance, will somewhat interfere with
free transport by rail. In the chain of frontier forts the French
engineers have designedly left between Toul and Epinal an undefended gap
or _trouée_ of considerable breadth. Because of the fortifications of
the second line of defence this specious interval is greatly in the
nature of a trap, but its debouche toward France nevertheless needs to
be watched by a strong field force on either flank.