A GERMAN DESERTER'S WAR EXPERIENCE
[Illustration: Decoration]
TRANSLATED BY J. KOETTGEN
NEW YORK
B. W. HUEBSCH
MCMXVII
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
B. W. HUEBSCH
Published, April, 1917
Second printing, April, 1917
Third printing, June, 1917
Fourth printing, July, 1917
Fifth printing, August, 1917
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
The following narrative first appeared in German in the columns of the
_New Yorker Volkszeitung_, the principal organ of the German speaking
Socialists in the United States. Its author, who escaped from Germany
and military service after 14 months of fighting in France, is an
intelligent young miner. He does not wish to have his name made public,
fearing that those who will be offended by his frankness might vent
their wrath on his relatives. Since his arrival in this country his
friends and acquaintances have come to know him as an upright and
truthful man whose word can be relied upon.
The vivid description of the life of a common German soldier in the
present war aroused great interest when the story presented in these
pages to the English speaking reader was published in serial form. For
here was an historian of the war who had been through the horrors of the
carnage as one of the "Huns," one of the "Boches"; a soldier who had not
abdicated his reason; a warrior against his will, who nevertheless had
to conform to the etiquette of war; a hater of militarism for whom there
was no romance in war, but only butchery and brutality, grime and
vermin, inhuman toil and degradation. Moreover, he was found to be no
mean observer of men and things. His technical training at a school of
mining enabled him to obtain a much clearer understanding of the war of
position than the average soldier possesses.
Most soldiers who have been in the war and have written down their
experiences have done so in the customary way, never questioning for a
moment the moral justification of war. Not so our author. He could not
persuade his conscience to make a distinction between private and public
morality, and the angle from which he views the events he describes is
therefore entirely different from that of other actual observers of and
participators in war. His story also contains the first German
description of the retreat of the Teutonic armies after the battle of
the Marne. The chief value of this soldier's narrative lies, however, in
his destructive, annihilating criticism of the romance and fabled
virtues of war. If some of the incidents related in this book appear to
be treated too curtly it is solely due to this author's limited literary
powers. If, for instance, he does not dwell upon his inner experiences
during his terrible voyage to America in the coal bunker of a Dutch ship
it is because he is not a literary artist, but a simple workman.
The translator hopes that he has succeeded in reproducing faithfully the
substance and the spirit of the story, and that this little book will
contribute in combating one of the forces that make for war--popular
ignorance of war's realities. Let each individual fully grasp and
understand the misery, degradation, and destruction that await him in
war, and the barbarous ordeal by carnage will quickly become the most
unpopular institution on earth.
J. KOETTGEN.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE v
I MARCHING INTO BELGIUM 1
II FIGHTING IN BELGIUM 8
III SHOOTING CIVILIANS IN BELGIUM 23
IV GERMAN SOLDIERS AND BELGIAN CIVILIANS 32
V THE HORRORS OF STREET FIGHTING 38
VI CROSSING THE MEUSE 45
VII IN PURSUIT 49
VIII NEARLY BURIED ALIVE ON THE BATTLEFIELD 58
IX SOLDIERS SHOOTING THEIR OWN OFFICERS 65
X SACKING SUIPPES 73
XI MARCHING TO THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE--INTO
THE TRAP 82
XII AT THE MARNE--IN THE MAW OF DEATH 89
XIII THE ROUT OF THE MARNE 99
XIV THE FLIGHT FROM THE MARNE 108
XV AT THE END OF THE FLIGHT 120
XVI THE BEGINNING OF TRENCH WARFARE 130
XVII FRIENDLY RELATIONS WITH THE ENEMY 142
XVIII FIGHTING IN THE ARGONNES 148
XIX CHRISTMAS IN THE TRENCHES 156
XX THE "ITCH"--A SAVIOR 164
XXI IN THE HELL OF VAUQUOIS 172
XXII SENT ON FURLOUGH 178
XXIII THE FLIGHT TO HOLLAND 183
XXIV AMERICA AND SAFETY 189
A GERMAN DESERTER'S WAR EXPERIENCE
I
MARCHING INTO BELGIUM
At the end of July our garrison at Koblenz was feverishly agitated. Part
of our men were seized by an indescribable enthusiasm, others became
subject to a feeling of great depression. The declaration of war was in
the air. I belonged to those who were depressed. For I was doing my
second year of military service and was to leave the barracks in six
weeks' time. Instead of the long wished-for return home war was facing
me.
Also during my military service I had remained the anti-militarist I had
been before. I could not imagine what interest I could have in the mass
murder, and I also pointed out to my comrades that under all
circumstances war was the greatest misfortune that could happen to
humanity.
Our sapper battalion, No. 30, had been in feverish activity five days
before the mobilization; work was being pushed on day and night so that
we were fully prepared for war already on the 23rd of July, and on the
30th of July there was no person in our barracks who doubted that war
would break out. Moreover, there was the suspicious amiability of the
officers and sergeants, which excluded any doubt that any one might
still have had. Officers who had never before replied to the salute of a
private soldier now did so with the utmost attention. Cigars and beer
were distributed in those days by the officers with great, uncommon
liberality, so that it was not surprising that many soldiers were
scarcely ever sober and did not realize the seriousness of the
situation. But there were also others. There were soldiers who also in
those times of good-humor and the grinning comradeship of officer and
soldier could not forget that in military service they had often been
degraded to the level of brutes, and who now thought with bitter
feelings that an opportunity might perhaps be offered in order to settle
accounts.
The order of mobilization became known on the 1st of August, and the
following day was decided upon as the real day of mobilization. But
without awaiting the arrival of the reserves we left our garrison town
on August 1st. Who was to be our "enemy" we did not know; Russia was for
the present the only country against which war had been declared.
We marched through the streets of the town to the station between crowds
of people numbering many thousands. Flowers were thrown at us from every
window; everybody wanted to shake hands with the departing soldiers. All
the people, even soldiers, were weeping. Many marched arm in arm with
their wife or sweetheart. The music played songs of leave-taking. People
cried and sang at the same time. Entire strangers, men and women,
embraced and kissed each other; men embraced men and kissed each other.
It was a real witches' sabbath of emotion; like a wild torrent, that
emotion carried away the whole assembled humanity. Nobody, not even the
strongest and most determined spirit, could resist that ebullition of
feeling.
But all that was surpassed by the taking leave at the station, which we
reached after a short march. Here final adieus had to be said, here the
separation had to take place. I shall never forget that leave-taking,
however old I may grow to be. Desperately many women clung to their men;
some had to be removed by force. Just as if they had suddenly had a
vision of the fate of their beloved ones, as if they were beholding the
silent graves in foreign lands in which those poor nameless ones were to
be buried, they sought to cling fast to their possession, to retain what
already no longer belonged to them.
Finally that, too, was over. We had entered a train that had been kept
ready, and had made ourselves comfortable in our cattle-trucks. Darkness
had come, and we had no light in our comfortable sixth-class carriages.
The train moved slowly down the Rhine, it went along without any great
shaking, and some of us were seized by a worn-out feeling after those
days of great excitement. Most of the soldiers lay with their heads on
their knapsacks and slept. Others again tried to pierce the darkness as
if attempting to look into the future; still others drew stealthily a
photo out of their breast-pocket, and only a very small number of us
spent the time by debating our point of destination. Where are we going
to? Well, where? Nobody knew it. At last, after long, infinitely long
hours the train came to a stop. After a night of quiet, slow riding we
were at--Aix-la-Chapelle! At Aix-la-Chapelle! What were we doing at
Aix-la-Chapelle? We did not know, and the officers only shrugged their
shoulders when we asked them.
After a short interval the journey proceeded, and on the evening of the
2nd of August we reached a farm in the neighborhood of the German and
Belgian frontier, near Herbesthal. Here our company was quartered in a
barn. Nobody knew what our business was at the Belgian frontier. In the
afternoon of the 3rd of August reservists arrived, and our company was
brought to its war strength. We had still no idea concerning the purpose
of our being sent to the Belgian frontier, and that evening we lay down
on our bed of straw with a forced tranquillity of mind. Something was
sure to happen soon, to deliver us from that oppressive uncertainty. How
few of us thought that for many it would be the last night to spend on
German soil!
A subdued signal of alarm fetched us out of our "beds" at 3 o'clock in
the morning. The company assembled, and the captain explained to us the
war situation. He informed us that we had to keep ready to march, that
he himself was not yet informed about the direction. Scarcely half an
hour later fifty large traction motors arrived and stopped in the road
before our quarters. But the drivers of these wagons, too, knew no
particulars and had to wait for orders. The debate about our nearest
goal was resumed. The orderlies, who had snapped up many remarks of the
officers, ventured the opinion that we would march into Belgium the very
same day; others contradicted them. None of us could know anything for
certain. But the order to march did not arrive, and in the evening all
of us could lie down again on our straw. But it was a short rest. At 1
o'clock in the morning an alarm aroused us again, and the captain
honored us with an address. He told us we were at war with Belgium, that
we should acquit ourselves as brave soldiers, earn iron crosses, and do
honor to our German name. Then he continued somewhat as follows: "We
are making war only against the armed forces, that is the Belgium army.
The lives and property of civilians are under the protection of
international treaties, international law, but you soldiers must not
forget that it is your duty to defend your lives as long as possible for
the protection of your Fatherland, and to sell them as dearly as
possible. We want to prevent useless shedding of blood as far as the
civilians are concerned, but I want to remind you that a too great
considerateness borders on cowardice, and cowardice in face of the enemy
is punished very severely."
After that "humane" speech by our captain we were "laden" into the
automobiles, and crossed the Belgian frontier on the morning of August
5th. In order to give special solemnity to that "historical" moment we
had to give three cheers.
At no other moments the fruits of military education have presented
themselves more clearly before my mind. The soldier is told, "The
Belgian is your enemy," and he has to believe it. The soldier, the
workman in uniform, had not known till then who was his enemy. If they
had told us, "The Hollander is your enemy," we would have believed that,
too; we would have been compelled to believe it, and would have shot him
by order. We, the "German citizens in uniform," must not have an opinion
of our own, must have no thoughts of our own, for they give us our enemy
and our friend according to requirements, according to the requirements
of their own interests. The Frenchman, the Belgian, the Italian, is your
enemy. Never mind, shoot as we order, and do not bother your head about
it. You have duties to perform, perform them, and for the rest--cut it
out!
Those were the thoughts that tormented my brain when crossing the
Belgian frontier. And to console myself, and so as to justify before my
own conscience the murderous trade that had been thrust upon me, I tried
to persuade myself that though I had no Fatherland to defend, I had to
defend a home and protect it from devastation. But it was a weak
consolation, and did not even outlast the first few days.
Traveling in the fairly quick motor-cars we reached, towards 8 o'clock
in the morning, our preliminary destination, a small but pretty village.
The inhabitants of the villages which we had passed stared at us in
speechless astonishment, so that we all had the impression that those
peasants for the most part did not know why we had come to Belgium. They
had been roused from their sleep and, half-dressed, they gazed from
their windows after our automobiles. After we had stopped and alighted,
the peasants of that village came up to us without any reluctance,
offered us food, and brought us coffee, bread, meat, etc. As the
field-kitchen had not arrived we were glad to receive those kindly gifts
of the "enemy," the more so because those fine fellows absolutely
refused any payment. They told us the Belgian soldiers had left, for
where they did not know.
After a short rest we continued our march and the motor-cars went back.
We had scarcely marched for an hour when cavalry, dragoons and huzzars,
overtook us and informed us that the Germans were marching forward in
the whole neighborhood, and that cyclist companies were close on our
heels. That was comforting news, for we no longer felt lonely and
isolated in this strange country. Soon after the troop of cyclists
really came along. It passed us quickly and left us by ourselves again.
Words of anger were to be heard now; all the others were able to ride,
but we had to walk. What we always had considered as a matter of course
was now suddenly felt by us to be a great injustice. And though our
scolding and anger did not help us in the least, it turned our thoughts
from the heaviness of the "monkey" (knapsack) which rested like a leaden
weight on our backs.
The heat was oppressive, the perspiration issued from every pore; the
new and hard leather straps, the new stiff uniforms rubbed against many
parts of the body and made them sore, especially round the waist. With
great joy we therefore hailed the order that came at 2 o'clock in the
afternoon, to halt before an isolated farm and rest in the grass.
II
FIGHTING IN BELGIUM
About ten minutes we might have lain in the grass when we suddenly heard
rifle shots in front of us. Electrified, all of us jumped up and
hastened to our rifles. Then the firing of rifles that was going on at a
distance of about a mile or a mile and a half began steadily to increase
in volume. We set in motion immediately.
The expression and the behavior of the soldiers betrayed that something
was agitating their mind, that an emotion had taken possession of them
which they could not master and had never experienced before. On myself
I could observe a great restlessness. Fear and curiosity threw my
thoughts into a wild jumble; my head was swimming, and everything seemed
to press upon my heart. But I wished to conceal my fears from my
comrades. I know I tried to with a will, but whether I succeeded better
than my comrades, whose uneasiness I could read in their faces, I doubt
very much.
Though I was aware that we should be in the firing line within half an
hour, I endeavored to convince myself that our participation in the
fight would no longer be necessary. I clung obstinately, nay, almost
convulsively to every idea that could strengthen that hope or give me
consolation. That not every bullet finds its billet; that, as we had
been told, most wounds in modern wars were afflicted by grazing shots
which caused slight flesh-wounds; those were some of the reiterated
self-deceptions indulged in against my better knowledge. And they proved
effective. It was not only that they made me in fact feel more easy;
deeply engaged in those thoughts I had scarcely observed that we were
already quite near the firing line.
The bicycles at the side of the road revealed to us that the cyclist
corps were engaged by the enemy. We did not know, of course, the
strength of our opponents as we approached the firing line in leaps. In
leaping forward every one bent down instinctively, whilst to our right
and left and behind us the enemy's bullets could be heard striking; yet
we reached the firing line without any casualties and were heartily
welcomed by our hard-pressed friends. The cyclists, too, had not yet
suffered any losses; some, it is true, had already been slightly
wounded, but they could continue to participate in the fight.
We were lying flat on the ground, and fired in the direction indicated
to us as fast as our rifles would allow. So far we had not seen our
opponents. That, it seemed, was too little interesting to some of our
soldiers; so they rose partly, and fired in a kneeling position. Two men
of my company had to pay their curiosity with their lives. Almost at one
and the same time they were shot through the head. The first victim of
our group fell down forward without uttering a sound; the second threw
up his arms and fell on his back. Both of them were dead instantly.
Who could describe the feelings that overcome a man in the first real
hail of bullets he is in? When we were leaping forward to reach the
firing line I felt no longer any fear and seemed only to try to reach
the line as quickly as possible. But when looking at the first dead man
I was seized by a terrible horror. For minutes I was perfectly
stupefied, had completely lost command over myself and was absolutely
incapable to think or act. I pressed my face and hands firmly against
the ground, and then suddenly I was seized by an irrepressible
excitement, took hold of my gun, and began to fire away blindly. Little
after little I quieted down again somewhat, nay, I became almost quite
confident as if everything was normal. Suddenly I found myself content
with myself and my surroundings, and when a little later the whole line
was commanded, "Leap forward! March, march!" I ran forward demented like
the others, as if things could not be other than what they were. The
order, "Position!" followed, and we flopped down like wet bags. Firing
had begun again.
Our firing became more lively from minute to minute, and grew into a
rolling deafening noise. If in such an infernal noise you want to make
yourself understood by your neighbor, you have to shout at him so that
it hurts your throat. The effect of our firing caused our opponent to
grow unsteady; his fire became weaker; the line of the enemy began to
waver. Being separated from the enemy by only about 500 yards, we could
observe exactly what was happening there. We saw how about half of the
men opposing us were drawn back. The movement is executed by taking back
every second man whilst number one stays on until the retiring party has
halted. We took advantage of that movement to inflict the severest
losses possible on our retreating opponent. As far as we could survey
the country to our right and left we observed that the Germans were
pressing forward at several points. Our company, too, received the order
to advance when the enemy took back all his forces.
Our task was to cling obstinately to the heels of the retreating enemy
so as to leave him no time to collect his forces and occupy new
positions. We therefore followed him in leaps with short breathing
pauses so as to prevent him in the first place from establishing himself
in the village before him. We knew that otherwise we should have to
engage in costly street fighting. But the Belgians did not attempt to
establish themselves, but disengaged themselves from us with astonishing
skill.
Meanwhile we had been reënforced. Our company had been somewhat
dispersed, and everybody marched with the troop he chanced to find
himself with. My troop had to stay in the village to search every house
systematically for soldiers that had been dispersed or hidden. During
that work we noticed that the Germans were marching forward from all
directions. Field artillery, machine-gun sections, etc., arrived, and
all of us wondered whence all of this came so quickly.
There was however no time for long reflections. With fixed bayonets we
went from house to house, from door to door, and though the harvest was
very meager, we were not turned away quite empty-handed, as the
inhabitants had to deliver up all privately owned fire-arms, ammunition,
etc. The chief functionary of the village who accompanied us, had to
explain to every citizen that the finding of arms after the search would
lead to punishment by court-martial. And court-martial means--death.
After another hour had passed we were alarmed again by rifle and gun
firing; a new battle had begun. Whether the artillery was in action on
both sides could not be determined from the village, but the noise was
loud enough, for the air was almost trembling with the rumbling,
rolling, and growling of the guns which steadily increased in strength.
The ambulance columns were bringing in the first wounded; orderly
officers whizzed past us. War had begun with full intensity.
Darkness was falling before we had finished searching all the houses. We
dragged mattresses, sacks of straw, feather beds, whatever we could get
hold of, to the public school and the church where the wounded were to
be accommodated. They were put to bed as well as it could be done. Those
first victims of the horrible massacre of nations were treated with
touching care. Later on, when we had grown more accustomed to those
horrible sights, less attention was paid to the wounded.
The first fugitives now arrived from the neighboring villages. They had
probably walked for many an hour, for they looked tired, absolutely
exhausted. There were women, old, white-haired men, and children, all
mixed together, who had not been able to save anything but their poor
lives. In a perambulator or a push-cart those unfortunate beings carried
away all that the brutal force of war had left them. In marked contrast
to the fugitives that we had hitherto met, these people were filled with
the utmost fear, shivering with fright, terror-stricken in face of the
hostile world. As soon as they beheld one of us soldiers they were
seized with such a fear that they seemed to crumple up. How different
they were from the inhabitants of the village in which we were, who
showed themselves kind, friendly, and even obliging towards us. We tried
to find out the cause of that fear, and heard that those fugitives had
witnessed bitter street fighting in their village. They had experienced
war, had seen their houses burnt, their simple belongings perish, and
had not yet been able to forget their streets filled with dead and
wounded soldiers. It became clear to us that it was not fear alone that
made these people look like the hunted quarry; it was hatred, hatred
against us, the invaders who, as they had to suppose, had fallen upon
them unawares, had driven them from their home. But their hatred was not
only directed against us, the German soldiers, nay, their own, the
Belgian soldiers, too, were not spared by it.
We marched away that very evening and tried to reach our section. When
darkness fell the Belgians had concentrated still farther to the rear;
they were already quite near the fortress of Liège. Many of the villages
we passed were in flames; the inhabitants who had been driven away
passed us in crowds; there were women whose husbands were perhaps also
defending their "Fatherland," children, old men who were pushed hither
and thither and seemed to be always in the way. Without any aim, any
plan, any place in which they could rest, those processions of misery
and unhappiness crept past us--the best illustration of man-murdering,
nation-destroying war! Again we reached a village which to all
appearances had once been inhabited by a well-to-do people, by a
contented little humanity. There were nothing but ruins now, burnt,
destroyed houses and farm buildings, dead soldiers, German and Belgian,
and among them several civilians who had been shot by sentence of the
court-martial.
Towards midnight we reached the German line which was trying to get
possession of a village which was already within the fortifications of
Liège, and was obstinately defended by the Belgians. Here we had to
employ all our forces to wrench from our opponent house after house,
street after street. It was not yet completely dark so that we had to
go through that terrible struggle which developed with all our senses
awake and receptive. It was a hand to hand fight; every kind of weapon
had to be employed; the opponent was attacked with the butt-end of the
rifle, the knife, the fist, and the teeth. One of my best friends fought
with a gigantic Belgian; both had lost their rifle. They were pummeling
each other with their fists. I had just finished with a Belgian who was
about twenty-two years of age, and was going to assist my friend, as the
Herculean Belgian was so much stronger than he. Suddenly my friend
succeeded with a lightning motion in biting the Belgian in the chin. He
bit so deeply that he tore away a piece of flesh with his teeth. The
pain the Belgian felt must have been immense, for he let go his hold and
ran off screaming with terrible pain.
All that happened in seconds. The blood of the Belgian ran out of my
friend's mouth; he was seized by a horrible nausea, an indescribable
terror, the taste of the warm blood nearly drove him insane. That young,
gay, lively fellow of twenty-four had been cheated out of his youth in
that night. He used to be the jolliest among us; after that we could
never induce him even to smile.
Whilst fighting during the night I came for the first time in touch with
the butt-end of a Belgian rifle. I had a hand to hand fight with a
Belgian when another one from behind hit me with his rifle on the head
with such force that it drove my head into the helmet up to my ears. I
experienced a terrific pain all over my head, doubled up, and lost
consciousness. When I revived I found myself with a bandaged head in a
barn among other wounded.
I had not been severely wounded, but I felt as if my head was double
its normal size, and there was a noise in my ears as of the wheels of an
express engine.
The other wounded and the soldiers of the ambulance corps said that the
Belgians had been pushed back to the fortress; we heard, however, that
severe fighting was still going on. Wounded soldiers were being brought
in continuously, and they told us that the Germans had already taken in
the first assault several fortifications like outer-forts, but that they
had not been able to maintain themselves because they had not been
sufficiently provided with artillery. The defended places and works
inside the forts were still practically completely intact, and so were
their garrisons. The forts were not yet ripe for assault, so that the
Germans had to retreat with downright enormous losses. The various
reports were contradictory, and it was impossible to get a clear idea of
what was happening.
Meanwhile the artillery had begun to bombard the fortress, and even the
German soldiers were terror-stricken at that bombardment. The heaviest
artillery was brought into action against the modern forts of concrete.
Up to that time no soldier had been aware of the existence of the
42-centimeter mortars. Even when Liège had fallen into German hands we
soldiers could not explain to ourselves how it was possible that those
enormous fortifications, constructed partly of reinforced concrete of a
thickness of one to six meters, could be turned into a heap of rubbish
after only a few hours' bombardment. Having been wounded, I could of
course not take part in those operations, but my comrades told me later
on how the various forts were taken. Guns of all sizes were turned on
the forts, but it was the 21- and 42-centimeter mortars that really did
the work. From afar one could hear already the approach of the
42-centimeter shell. The shell bored its way through the air with an
uncanny, rushing and hissing sound that was like a long shrill whistling
filling the whole atmosphere for seconds. Where it struck everything was
destroyed within a radius of several hundred yards. Later I have often
gazed in wonderment at those hecatombs which the 42-centimeter mortar
erected for itself on all its journeys. The enormous air pressure caused
by the bursting of its shells made it even difficult for us Germans in
the most advanced positions to breathe for several seconds. To complete
the infernal row the Zeppelins appeared at night in order to take part
in the work of destruction. Suddenly the soldiers would hear above their
heads the whirring of the propellers and the noise of the motors,
well-known to most Germans. The Zeppelins came nearer and nearer, but
not until they were in the immediate neighborhood of the forts were they
discovered by our opponents, who immediately brought all available
searchlights into play in order to search the sky for the dreaded flying
enemies. The whirring of the propellers of the airships which had been
distributed for work on the various forts suddenly ceased. Then, right
up in the air, a blinding light appeared, the searchlight of the
Zeppelin, which lit up the country beneath it for a short time. Just as
suddenly it became dark and quiet until a few minutes later, powerful
detonations brought the news that the Zeppelin had dropped its
"ballast." That continued for quite a while, explosion followed
explosion, interrupted only by small fiery clouds, shrapnel which the
Belgian artillery sent up to the airships, exploding in the air. Then
the whirring of the propellers began again, first loud and coming from
near, from right above our heads, then softer and softer until the
immense ship of the air had entirely disappeared from our view and
hearing.
Thus the forts were made level with the ground; thousands of Belgians
were lying dead and buried behind and beneath the ramparts and
fortifications. General assault followed. Liège was in the hands of the
Germans.
I was with the ambulance column until the 9th of August and by that time
had been restored sufficiently to rejoin my section of the army. After
searching for hours I found my company camping in a field. I missed many
a good friend; my section had lost sixty-five men, dead and wounded,
though it had not taken part in the pursuit of the enemy.
We had been attached to the newly-formed 18th Reserve Army Corps
(Hessians) and belonged to the Fourth Army which was under the command
of Duke Albrecht of Wurttemberg. Where that army, which had not yet been
formed, was to operate was quite unknown to us private soldiers. We had
but to follow to the place where the herd was to be slaughtered; what
did it matter where that would be? On the 11th of August we began to
march and covered 25-45 miles every day. We learned later on that we
always kept close to the Luxemburg frontier so as to cross it
immediately should necessity arise. Had it not been so oppressively hot
we should have been quite content, for we enjoyed several days of rest
which braced us up again.
On the 21st of August we came in contact with the first German troops
belonging to the Fourth Army, about 15 miles to the east of the Belgian
town of Neufchateau. The battle of Neufchateau, which lasted from the
22nd to the 24th of August, had already begun. A French army here met
with the Fourth German Army, and a murderous slaughter began. As is
always the case it commenced with small skirmishes of advance guards and
patrols; little after little ever-growing masses of soldiers took part
and when, in the evening of the 22nd of August, we were led into the
firing line, the battle had already developed to one of the most
murderous of the world war. When we arrived the French were still in
possession of nearly three-quarters of the town. The artillery had set
fire to the greatest part of Neufchateau, and only the splendid villas
in the western part of the town escaped destruction for the time being.
The street fighting lasted the whole night. It was only towards noon of
the 23rd of August, when the town was in the hands of the Germans, that
one could see the enormous losses that both sides had suffered. The
dwelling-places, the cellars, the roads and side-walks were thickly
covered with dead and horribly wounded soldiers; the houses were ruins,
gutted, empty shells in which scarcely anything of real value had
remained whole. Thousands had been made beggars in a night full of
horrors. Women and children, soldiers and citizens were lying just where
death had struck them down, mixed together just as the merciless
shrapnel and shells had sent them out of life into the darkness beyond.
There had been real impartiality. There lay a German soldier next to a
white-haired French woman, a little Belgian stripling whom fear had
driven out of the house into the street, lay huddled up against the
"enemy," a German soldier, who might have been protection and safety for
him.
Had we not been shooting and stabbing, murdering and clubbing as much
and as vigorously as we could the whole night? And yet there was
scarcely one amongst us who did not shed tears of grief and emotion at
the spectacles presenting themselves. There was for instance a man whose
age it was difficult to discover; he was lying dead before a burning
house. Both his legs had been burnt up to the knees by the fire falling
down upon him. The wife and daughter of the dead man were clinging to
him, and were sobbing so piteously that one simply could not bear it.
Many, many of the dead had been burnt entirely or partly; the cattle
were burning in their stables, and the wild bellowing of those animals
fighting against death by fire, intermingled with the crying, the
moaning, the groaning and the shrieking of the wounded. But who had the
time now to bother about that? Everybody wanted help, everybody wanted
to help himself, everybody was only thinking of himself and his little
bit of life. "He who falls remains where he lies; only he who stands can
win victories." That one learns from militarism and the average soldier
acts upon that principle. And yet most soldiers are forced by
circumstances to play the rôle of the good Samaritan. People who could
formerly not look upon blood or a dead person, were now bandaging their
comrades' arms and legs which had been amputated by shells. They did not
do it because they were impelled by the command of their heart, but
because they said to themselves that perhaps to-morrow already their
turn might come and that they, too, might want assistance. It is a
healthy egotism which makes men of mercy out of those hardened people.
The French had formed their lines again outside the town in the open. At
the moment when the enemy evacuated the town an error was made by the
Germans which cost many hundreds of German soldiers their lives. The
Germans had occupied the rest of the town with such celerity that our
artillery which was pounding that quarter had not been informed of the
changed situation, and was raining shell upon shell into our own ranks.
That failure of our intelligence department caused the death of many of
our comrades. Compelled by the firing of the enemy and our own artillery
we had finally to give up part of our gains, which later on we
recovered, again with great sacrifice. Curiously enough, the residential
quarter with the villas I mentioned before had not suffered seriously;
the Red Cross flag was hoisted on the houses in which temporary
hospitals were established.
It is here that the Belgian citizens are said to have mutilated some
German wounded soldiers. Whether it was true, whether it was only
rumored, as was asserted also many times by German soldiers who had been
in the hospitals, I do not know. But this I know, that on the 24th of
August when the French had executed a general retreat, it was made known
in an army order that German soldiers had been murdered there and that
the German army could not leave the scenes of those shameful deeds
without having first avenged their poor comrades. The order was
therefore given--by the leader of the army--to raze the town without
mercy. When later on (it was in the evening and we were pursuing the
enemy) we were resting for a short time, clouds of smoke in the east
showed that the judgment had been fulfilled. A battery of artillery that
had remained behind had razed house after house. Revenge is sweet, also
for Christian army leaders.
Outside the town the French had reformed their ranks, and were offering
the utmost resistance. But they were no match for the German troops who
consisted largely of young and active men. Frenchmen taken prisoner
explained that it was simply impossible to withstand an assault of this
war-machine, when the German columns attacked with the bayonet and the
cry of "Hurrah! hurrah!" which penetrated to the very marrow. I can
understand that, for we sometimes appeared to ourselves to be a good
imitation of American Indians who, like us, rushed upon their enemies
with shrill shouts. After a fight lasting three hours many Frenchmen
surrendered, asking for quarter with raised hands. Whole battalions of
the enemy were thus captured by us. Finally, in the night from the 23rd
to the 24th of August, the ranks of the enemy were thrown into confusion
and retreated, first slowly, then flying headlong. Our opponent left
whole batteries, munition columns, ambulance columns, etc.
I found myself in the first pursuing section. The roads we used were
again literally covered with corpses; knapsacks, rifles, dead horses and
men were lying there in a wild jumble. The dead had been partly crushed
and pounded to a pulp by the horses and vehicles, an indescribably
terrible spectacle even for the most hardened mass-murderer. Dead and
wounded were lying to the right and left of the road, in fields, in
ditches; the red trousers of the French stood out distinctly against the
ground; the field-gray trousers of the Germans were however scarcely to
be noticed and difficult to discover.
The distance between ourselves and the fleeing Frenchmen became greater
and greater, and the spirit of our soldiers, in spite of the hardships
they had undergone, became better and gayer. They joked and sang, forgot
the corpses which were still filling the roads and paths, and felt quite
at ease. They had already accustomed themselves to the horrible to such
a degree that they stepped over the corpses with unconcern, without even
making the smallest detour. The experience of those first few weeks of
the war had already brutalized us completely. What was to happen to us
if this should continue for months--?
III
SHOOTING CIVILIANS IN BELGIUM
At 11 o'clock all further philosophizing was put a stop to; we were
ordered to halt, and we were to receive our food from the field kitchen.
We were quite hungry and ate the tinned soup with the heartiest of
appetites. Many of our soldiers were sitting with their dinner-pails on
the dead horses that were lying about, and were eating with such
pleasure and heartiness as if they were home at mother's. Nor did some
corpses in the neighborhood of our improvised camp disturb us. There was
only a lack of water and after having eaten thirst began to torment us.
Soon afterwards we continued our march in the scorching midday sun; dust
was covering our uniforms and skin to the depth of almost an inch. We
tried in vain to be jolly, but thirst tormented us more and more, and we
became weaker and weaker from one quarter of an hour to another. Many in
our ranks fell down exhausted, and we were simply unable to move. So the
commander of our section had no other choice but to let us halt again if
he did not want every one of us to drop out. Thus it happened that we
stayed behind a considerable distance, and were not amongst the first
that were pursuing the French.
Finally, towards four o'clock, we saw a village in front of us; we began
at once to march at a much brisker pace. Among other things we saw a
farm-cart on which were several civilian prisoners, apparently snipers.
There was also a Catholic priest among them who had, like the others,
his hands tied behind his back with a rope. Curiosity prompted us to
enquire what he had been up to, and we heard that he had incited the
farmers of the village to poison the water.
We soon reached the village and the first well at which we hoped to
quench our thirst thoroughly. But that was no easy matter, for a
military guard had been placed before it who scared us off with the
warning, "Poisoned"! Disappointed and terribly embittered the soldiers,
half dead with thirst, gnashed their teeth; they hurried to the next
well, but everywhere the same devilish thing occurred--the guard
preventing them from drinking. In a square, in the middle of the
village, there was a large village well which sent, through two tubes,
water as clear as crystal into a large trough. Five soldiers were
guarding it and had to watch that nobody drank of the poisoned water. I
was just going to march past it with my pal when suddenly the second,
larger portion of our company rushed like madmen to the well. The guards
were carried away by the rush, and every one now began to drink the
water with the avidity of an animal. All quenched their thirst, and not
one of us became ill or died. We heard later on that the priest had to
pay for it with his death, as the military authorities "knew" that the
water in all the wells of that village was poisoned and that the
soldiers had only been saved by a lucky accident. Faithfully the God of
the Germans had watched over us; the captured Belgians did not seem to
be under his protection. They had to die.
In most places we passed at that time we were warned against drinking
the water. The natural consequence was that the soldiers began to hate
the population which they now had to consider to be their bitterest
enemies. That again aroused the worst instincts in some soldiers. In
every army one finds men with the disposition of barbarians. The many
millions of inhabitants in Germany or France are not all civilized
people, much as we like to convince ourselves of the contrary.
Compulsory military service in those countries forces all without
distinction into the army, men and monsters. I have often bitterly
resented the wrong one did to our army in calling us all barbarians,
only because among us--as, naturally also among the French and
English--there were to be found elements that really ought to be in the
penitentiary. I will only cite one example of how we soldiers ourselves
punished a wretch whom we caught committing a crime.
One evening--it was dark already--we reached a small village to the east
of the town of Bertrix, and there, too, found "poisoned" water. We
halted in the middle of the village. I was standing before a house with
a low window, through which one could see the interior. In the miserable
poverty-stricken working man's dwelling we observed a woman who clung to
her children as if afraid they would be torn from her. Though we felt
very bitter on account of the want of water, every one of us would have
liked to help the poor woman. Some of us were just going to sacrifice
our little store of victuals and to say a few comforting words to the
woman, when all at once a stone as big as a fist was thrown through the
window-pane into the room and hurt a little girl in the right hand.
There were sincere cries of indignation, but at the same moment twenty
hands at least laid hold of the wretch, a reservist of our company, and
gave him such a hiding as to make him almost unconscious. If officers
and other men had not interfered the fellow would have been lynched
there and then. He was to be placed before a court-martial later on, but
it never came to that. He was drowned in the river at the battle of the
Meuse. Many soldiers believed he drowned himself, because he was not
only shunned by his fellow soldiers, but was also openly despised by
them.
We were quartered on that village and had to live in a barn. I went with
some pals into the village to buy something to eat. At a farmer's house
we got ham, bread, and wine, but not for money. The people positively
refused to take our money as they regarded us as their guests, so they
said; only we were not to harm them. Nevertheless we left them an
adequate payment in German money. Later on we found the same situation
in many other places. Everywhere people were terribly frightened of us;
they began to tremble almost when a German soldier entered their house.
Four of us had formed a close alliance; we had promised each other to
stick together and assist each other in every danger. We often also
visited the citizens in their houses, and tried to the best of our
ability to comfort the sorely tried people and talk them out of their
fear of us. Without exception we found them to be lovable, kindly, and
good people who soon became confidential and free of speech when they
noticed that we were really their friends. But when, at leaving, we
wrote with chalk on the door of their houses "Bitte schonen, hier wohnen
brave, gute, Leute!" (Please spare, here live good and decent people)
their joy and thankfulness knew no bounds. If so much bad blood was
created, if so many incidents happened that led to the shooting by
court-martial of innumerable Belgians, the difference of language and
the mistakes arising therefrom were surely not the least important
causes; of that I and many others of my comrades became convinced during
that time in Belgium. But the at first systematically nourished
suspicion against the "enemy," too, was partly responsible for it.
In the night we continued our march, after having been attached to the
21-centimeter mortar battery of the 9th Regiment of Foot Artillery which
had just arrived; we were not only to serve as covering troops for that
battery, but were also to help it place those giants in position when
called upon. The gun is transported apart from the carriage on a special
wagon. Gun-carriage and guns are drawn each by six horses. Those horses,
which are only used by the foot artillery, are the best and strongest of
the German army. And yet even those animals are often unable to do the
work required of them, so that all available men, seventy or eighty at
times, have to help transport the gun with ropes specially carried for
that purpose. That help is chiefly resorted to when the guns leave the
road to be placed in firing position. In order to prevent the wheels
from sinking into the soil, other wheels, half a yard wide, are attached
round them.
These guns are high-angle guns, i. e., their shot rises into the air for
several thousand yards, all according to the distance of the spot to be
hit, and then drops at a great angle. That is the reason why neither
hill nor mountain can protect an enemy battery placed behind those
elevations. At first the French had almost no transportable heavy
artillery so that it was quite impossible for them to fight successfully
against our guns of large caliber. Under those conditions the German
gunners, of course, felt themselves to be top-dog, and decorated their
21-centimeter guns with inscriptions like the following, "Here
declarations of war are still being accepted."
We felt quite at ease with the artillery, and were still passably fresh
when we halted at six o'clock in the morning, though we had been
marching since two o'clock. Near our halting place we found a broken
German howitzer, and next to it two dead soldiers. When firing, a shell
had burst in the gun destroying it entirely. Two men of the crew had
been killed instantly and some had been seriously wounded by the flying
pieces. We utilized the pause to bury the two dead men, put both of them
in one grave, placed both their helmets on the grave, and wrote on a
board: "Here rest two German Artillerymen."