belonging to our division--came up across the fields, to be followed
soon after by that of the army corps. All preparations having been made
and the chief preliminaries, like the placing of the trestle and the
landing boards, gone through, the various pontoon-wagons drove up
noiselessly, in order to be unloaded just as noiselessly and with
lightning speed. We had already finished four pontoons, i. e., twenty
yards of bridge, without being observed by our opponent. Everything went
on all right. Suddenly the transportable search-lights of the enemy went
into action, and swept up and down the river. Though we had thrown
ourselves flat upon the ground wherever we stood, our opponents had
observed us, for the search-lights kept moving a little to and fro and
finally kept our spot under continual illumination. We were discovered.
We scarcely had time to consider, for an artillery volley almost
immediately struck the water to our left and right. We were still lying
flat on the ground when four more shots came along. That time a little
nearer to the bridge, and one shot struck the bank of the river.
Immediately another volley followed, and two shells struck the bridge.
Some sappers fell into the water and two fell dead on the bridge; those
in the water swam ashore and escaped with a cold ducking. One only was
drowned. It was the man of whom I told before that he was despised by
his fellow-soldiers because he had hurt the child of a poor woman with a
stone he had thrown through the window into her room.
VI
CROSSING THE MEUSE
In spite of the continual and severe cannonading of the artillery we
succeeded in fetching away the two dead soldiers and bringing them on
land. The bridge had been much damaged so that we could do nothing but
replace the ruined pontoons by new ones. When the firing of the
artillery had died down somewhat we began the difficult task for the
second time. But we had scarcely begun when another salvo found its mark
and damaged the bridge severely; fortunately no losses were inflicted
upon us that time. We were now ordered to retire, only to begin afresh
after half an hour.
The enemy's searchlights had been extinguished, and we were able to take
some ten pontoons into line without being molested. Then, suddenly, we
were again overwhelmed by the fire of the artillery; the enemy's patrols
had noticed us. Several batteries had opened fire on us at the same
time, and in ten minutes' time all our work was nothing but a heap of
sinking pontoons; twelve men were killed.
We now were ordered to march away. Only eight of our party were left
behind to look after the dead and wounded. We set out to get out of the
danger zone. After having marched up-stream for a distance of about a
mile and a quarter we halted and observed that the bridge-building
section of the army corps was present again. We were told that we should
complete the individual links of the bridge on land. Those
bridge-links, consisting each of two pontoons, were firmly tied
together, provided with anchors and all accessories, completed on land,
and then let down into the water. The site of the bridge, which had
meanwhile been determined upon, was made known to us, and we rowed with
all our might down the river towards that spot.
Our opponent, who had gained no knowledge of that ruse, did not molest
us, and in quick succession all the bridge-links reached the determined
place. The various links were rowed into their proper position with
tremendous speed, and joined together. It did not take quite twenty
minutes to get everything just sufficiently in shape. The infantry, who
had kept in readiness, then rushed across the bridge which had been
thickly strewn with straw so as to deaden the noise.
At the same time we had begun to cross the river by pontoon at various
points, and before the French were properly aware of what was going on,
the other side of the river had been occupied by our troops and was soon
firmly held by them.
The French artillery and infantry now began to pour a terrific fire on
the pontoons. We, the sappers, who were occupying the pontoons of the
bridge, were now for the greater part relieved and replaced by infantry,
but were distributed among the rowing pontoons to serve as crews. I was
placed at the helm of one of the pontoons. With four sappers at the oars
and eighteen infantrymen as our passengers we began our first trip in an
infernal rain of missiles. We were lucky enough to reach the other side
of the river with only one slightly wounded sapper. I relieved that man,
who then took the steering part. On the return trip our pontoon was hit
by some rifle bullets, but happily only above the water-line. To our
right and left the pontoons were crossing the river, some of them in a
sinking condition.
The sappers, who are all able to swim, sought to reach the bank of the
river and simply jumped into the water, whilst the infantrymen were
drowned in crowds. Having landed and manned another pontoon we pushed
off once more and, pulling the oars through the water with superhuman
strength, we made the trip a second time. That time we reached the other
side with two dead men and a wounded infantryman. We had not yet reached
the other side when all the infantry jumped into the shallow water and
waded ashore. We turned our boat to row back with the two dead men on
board. Our hands began to hurt much from the continual rowing and were
soon covered with blisters and blood blisters. Still, we had to row,
however much our hands might swell and hurt; there was no resting on
your oars then.
We were about twenty yards from shore when our pontoon was hit below the
water-line by several rifle-bullets at the same time. A shot entering a
pontoon leaves a hole no bigger that the shot itself, but its exit on
the other side of the pontoon may be as big as a fist or a plate. Our
pontoon then began to sink rapidly so that we sappers had no choice but
to jump into the icy water. Scarcely had we left the boat when it
disappeared; but all of us reached the river-bank safely. We were
saved--for the moment. In spite of our wet clothes we had to man another
boat immediately, and without properly regaining breath we placed our
torn hands again on the oars.
We had scarcely reached the middle of the river when we collided with
another boat. That other boat, which had lost her helmsman, and two
oarsmen, rammed us with such force that our pontoon turned turtle
immediately and took down with her all the eighteen infantrymen besides
one of the sappers. Four of us saved ourselves in another pontoon and,
thoroughly wet, we steered her to the left bank. We had just landed when
we were commanded to bring over a pontoon laden with ammunition, and the
"joy-ride" was renewed. We crossed the Meuse about another five times
after that.
Meanwhile day had come. On the left bank a terrible fight had begun
between the German troops that had been landed, and the French. The
Germans enjoyed the advantage that they were no longer exposed to the
French artillery.
We got a short rest, and lay wet to the skin in an old trench shivering
all over with cold. Our hands were swollen to more than double their
ordinary size; they hurt us so much that we could not even lift our
water-bottle to our mouths. It must have been a harrowing sight to watch
us young, strong fellows lying on the ground helpless and broken.
VII
IN PURSUIT
After a short rest we were commanded to search the burning houses for
wounded men. We did not find many of them, for most of the severely
wounded soldiers who had not been able to seek safety unaided had been
miserably burnt to death, and one could only judge by the buttons and
weapons of the poor wretches for what "fatherland" they had suffered
their terrible death by fire. With many it was even impossible to find
out the nationality they belonged to; a little heap of ashes, a ruined
house were all that was left of whole families, whole streets of
families.
It was only the wine cellars, which were mostly of strong construction,
that had generally withstood the flames. The piping hot wine in bottles
and barrels, proved a welcome refreshment for the soldiers who were wet
to their skins and stiff with cold. Even at the risk of their lives (for
many of the cellars threatened to collapse) the soldiers would fetch out
the wine and drink it greedily, however hot the wine might be.
And strangely enough, former scenes were repeated. After the hot wine
had taken effect, after again feeling refreshed and physically well,
that same brutality which had become our second nature in war showed
itself again in the most shameful manner. Most of us behaved as if we
had not taken part in the unheard-of events of the last hours, as if we
did not see the horrible reminders of the awful slaughter, as if we had
entirely forgotten the danger of extinction which we had so narrowly
escaped. No effort was made to do honor to the dead though every one had
been taught that duty by his mother from the earliest infancy; there was
nothing left of that natural shyness which the average man feels in the
presence of death. The pen refuses even to attempt a reproduction of the
expressions used by officers and soldiers or a description of their
actions, when they set about to establish the nationality or sex of the
dead. Circumstances were stronger than we men, and I convinced myself
again that it was only natural that all feelings of humanity should
disappear after the daily routine of murdering and that only the
instinct of self-preservation should survive in all its strength. The
longer the war lasted the more murderous and bestial the men became.
Meanwhile the fight between our troops that had crossed the river and
the French on the other side of the Meuse had reached its greatest fury.
Our troops had suffered great losses; now our turn came. While we were
crossing, the German artillery pounded the enemy's position with
unheard-of violence. Scarcely had we landed and taken our places when
our section proceeded to the assault. The artillery became silent, and
running forward we tried to storm the slope leading to the enemy
positions. We got as near as 200 yards when the French machine-guns came
into action; we were driven back with considerable losses. Ten minutes
later we attempted again to storm the positions, but had only to go back
again exactly as before. Again we took up positions in our trenches, but
all desire for fighting had left us; every one stared stupidly in front
of him. Of course we were not allowed to lose courage, though the
victims of our useless assaults were covering the field, and our dead
mates were constantly before our eyes.
The artillery opened fire again; reinforcements arrived. Half an hour
later we stormed for the third time over the bodies of our dead
comrades. That time we went forward in rushes, and when we halted before
the enemy's trench for the last time, some twenty yards away from it,
our opponent withdrew his whole first line. The riddle of that sudden
retreat we were able to solve some time later. It turned out that the
main portions of the French army had retreated long ago; we had merely
been engaged in rear-guard actions which, however, had proved very
costly to us.
During the next hour the enemy evacuated all the heights of the Meuse.
When we reached the ridge of those heights we were able to witness a
horrifying sight with our naked eyes. The roads which the retreating
enemy was using could be easily surveyed. In close marching formation
the French were drawing off. The heaviest of our artillery (21-cm.) was
pounding the retreating columns, and shell after shell fell among the
French infantry and other troops. Hundreds of French soldiers were
literally torn to pieces. One could see bodies and limbs being tossed in
the air and being caught in the trees bordering the roads.
We sappers were ordered to rally and we were soon going after the
fleeing enemy. It was our task to make again passable for our troops the
roads which had been pounded and dug up by the shells; that was all the
more difficult in the mid-day sun, as we had first to remove the dead
and wounded. Two men would take a dead soldier by his head and feet and
fling him in a ditch. Human corpses were here treated and used exactly
as a board in bridge building. Severed arms and legs were flung through
the air into the ditch in the same manner. How often since have I not
thought of these and similar incidents, asking myself whether I thought
those things improper or immoral at the time? Again and again I had to
return a negative answer, and I am therefore fully convinced of how
little the soldiers can be held responsible for the brutalities which
all of them commit, to whatever nation they belong. They are no longer
civilized human beings, they are simply bloodthirsty brutes, for
otherwise they would be bad, very bad soldiers.
When, during the first months of the war a Social-Democratic member of
parliament announced that he had resolved to take voluntary service in
the army because he believed that in that manner he could further the
cause of humanity on the battle-field, many a one began to laugh, and it
was exactly our Socialist comrades in our company who made pointed
remarks. For all of us were agreed that that representative of the
people must either be very simple-minded or insincere.
The dead horses and shattered batteries had also to be removed. We were
not strong enough to get the bodies of the horses out of the way so we
procured some horse roaming about without a master, and fastened it to a
dead one to whose leg we had attached a noose, and thus we cleared the
carcass out of the road. The portions of human bodies hanging in the
trees we left, however, undisturbed. For who was there to care about
such "trifles"?
We searched the bottles and knapsacks of the dead for eatable and
drinkable things, and enjoyed the things found with the heartiest
appetite imaginable. Hunger and thirst are pitiless customers that
cannot be turned away by fits of sentimentality.
Proceeding on our march we found the line of retreat of the enemy
thickly strewn with discarded rifles, knapsacks, and other
accouterments. French soldiers that had died of sunstroke were covering
the roads in masses. Others had crawled into the fields to the left and
right, where they were expecting help or death. But we could not assist
them for we judged ourselves happy if we could keep our worn-out bodies
from collapsing altogether. But even if we had wanted to help them we
should not have been allowed to do so, for the order was "Forward!"
At that time I began to notice in many soldiers what I had never
observed before--they felt envious. Many of my mates envied the dead
soldiers and wished to be in their place in order to be at least through
with all their misery. Yet all of us were afraid of dying--afraid of
dying, be it noted, not of death. All of us often longed for death, but
we were horrified at the slow dying lasting hours which is the rule on
the battle-field, that process which makes the wounded, abandoned
soldier die piecemeal. I have witnessed the death of hundreds of young
men in their prime, but I know of none among them who died willingly. A
young sapper of the name of Kellner, whose home was at Cologne, had his
whole abdomen ripped open by a shell splinter so that his entrails were
hanging to the ground. Maddened by pain he begged me to assure him that
he would not have to die. Of course, I assured him that his wounds were
by no means severe and that the doctor would be there immediately to
help him. Though I was a layman who had never had the slightest
acquaintance with the treatment of patients I was perfectly aware that
the poor fellow could only live through a few hours of pain. But my
words comforted him. He died ten minutes later.
We had to march on and on. The captain told us we had been ordered to
press the fleeing enemy as hard as possible. He was answered by a
disapproving murmur from the whole section. For long days and nights we
had been on our legs, had murdered like savages, had had neither
opportunity nor possibility to eat or rest, and now they asked us
worn-out men to conduct an obstinate pursuit. The captain knew very well
what we were feeling, and tried to pacify us with kind words.
The cavalry divisions had not been able to cross the Meuse for want of
apparatus and bridges. For the present the pursuit had to be carried out
by infantry and comparatively small bodies of artillery. Thus we had to
press on in any case, at least until the cavalry and machine-gun
sections had crossed the bridges that had remained intact farther down
stream near Sédan. Round Sommepy the French rear-guard faced us again.
When four batteries of our artillery went into action at that place our
company and two companies of infantry with machine guns were told off to
cover the artillery.
The artillery officers thought that the covering troops were
insufficient, because aeroplanes had established the presence of large
masses of hostile cavalry an attack from whom was feared. But
reinforcements could not be had as there was a lack of troops for the
moment. So we had to take up positions as well as we could. We dug
shallow trenches to the left and right of the battery in a nursery of
fir trees which were about a yard high. The machine-guns were built in
and got ready, and ammunition was made ready for use in large
quantities. We had not yet finished our preparations when the shells of
our artillery began to whizz above our heads and pound the ranks of our
opponent. The fir nursery concealed us from the enemy, but a little
wood, some 500 yards in front of us, effectively shut out our view.
We were now instructed in what we were to do in case of an attack by
cavalry. An old white-haired major of the infantry had taken command. We
sappers were distributed among the infantry, but those brave
"gentlemen," our officers, had suddenly disappeared. Probably the
defense of the fatherland is in their opinion only the duty of the
common soldier. As those "gentlemen" are only there to command and as we
had been placed under the orders of infantry officers for that
undertaking, they had become superfluous and had taken French leave.
Our instructions were to keep quiet in case of an attack by cavalry, to
take aim, and not allow ourselves to be seen. We were not to fire until
a machine-gun, commanded by the major in person, went into action, and
then we were to fire as rapidly as the rifle could be worked; we were
not to forget to aim quietly, but quickly.
Our batteries fired with great violence, their aiming being regulated by
a biplane, soaring high up in the air, by means of signals which were
given by rockets whose signification experts only could understand.
One quarter of an hour followed the other, and we were almost convinced
that we should be lucky enough that time to be spared going into action.
Suddenly things became lively. One man nudged the other, and all eyes
were turned to the edge of the little wood some five hundred yards in
front of us. A vast mass of horsemen emerged from both sides of the
little wood and, uniting in front of it, rushed towards us. That
immense lump of living beings approached our line in a mad gallop.
Glancing back involuntarily I observed that our artillery had completely
ceased firing and that its crews were getting their carbines ready to
defend their guns.
But quicker than I can relate it misfortune came thundering up. Without
being quite aware of what I was doing I felt all over my body to find
some place struck by a horse's hoof. The cavalry came nearer and nearer
in their wild career. Already one could see the hoofs of the horses
which scarcely touched the ground and seemed to fly over the few hundred
yards of ground. We recognized the riders in their solid uniforms, we
even thought we could notice the excited faces of the horsemen who were
expecting a sudden hail of bullets to mow them down. Meanwhile they had
approached to a distance of some 350 yards. The snorting of the horses
was every moment becoming more distinct. No machine-gun firing was yet
to be heard. Three hundred yards--250. My neighbor poked me in the ribs
rather indelicately, saying, "Has the old mass murderer (I did not doubt
for a moment that he meant the major) gone mad! It's all up with us, to
be sure!" I paid no attention to his talk. Every nerve in my body was
hammering away; convulsively I clung to my rifle, and awaited the
calamity. Two hundred yards! Nothing as yet. Was the old chap blind
or--? One hundred and eighty yards! I felt a cold sweat running down my
back and trembled as if my last hour had struck. One hundred and fifty!
My neighbor pressed close to me. The situation became unbearable. One
hundred and thirty--an infernal noise had started. Rrrrrrrr--An
overwhelming hail of bullets met the attacking party and scarcely a
bullet missed the lump of humanity and beasts.
The first ranks were struck down. Men and beasts formed a wall on which
rolled the waves of succeeding horses, only to be smashed by that
terrible hail of bullets. "Continue firing!" rang out the command which
was not needed. "More lively!" The murderous work was carried out more
rapidly and with more crushing effect. Hundreds of volleys were sent
straight into the heap of living beings struggling against death.
Hundreds were laid low every second. Scarcely a hundred yards in front
of us lay more than six hundred men and horses, on top of each other,
beside each other, apart, in every imaginable position. What five
minutes ago had been a picture of strength, proud horsemen, joyful
youth, was now a bloody, shapeless, miserable lump of bleeding flesh.
And what about ourselves? We laughed about our heroic deed and cracked
jokes. When danger was over we lost that anxious feeling which had taken
possession of us. Was it fear? It is, of course, supposed that a German
soldier knows no fear--at the most he fears God, but nothing else in the
world--and yet it was fear, low vulgar fear that we feel just as much as
the French, the English, or the Turks, and he who dares to contradict
this and talk of bravery and the fearless courage of the warrior, has
either never been in war, or is a vulgar liar and hypocrite.
Why were we joyful and why did we crack jokes? Because it was the others
and not ourselves who had to lose their lives that time. Because it was
a life and death struggle. It was either we or they. We had a right to
be glad and chase all sentimentality to the devil. Were we not soldiers,
mass murderers, barbarians?
VIII
NEARLY BURIED ALIVE ON THE BATTLEFIELD
The commander of the artillery smilingly came up to the major of the
infantry and thanked and congratulated him.
We then went after the rest of our attackers who were in full flight.
The machine guns kept them under fire. Some two hundred might have
escaped; they fled in all directions. The artillery thereupon began
again to fire, whilst we set about to care for our wounded enemies. It
was no easy job, for we had to draw the wounded from beneath the horses
some of which were still alive. The animals kicked wildly about them,
and whenever they succeeded in getting free they rushed off like
demented however severely they had been hurt. Many a wounded man who
otherwise might have recovered was thus killed by the hoofs of the
horses.
With the little packet of bandaging material which we all had on us we
bandaged the men, who were mostly severely wounded, but a good many died
in our hands while we were trying to put on a temporary dressing. As far
as they were still able to speak they talked to us with extreme
vivacity. Though we did not understand their language we knew what they
wanted to express, for their gestures and facial expressions were very
eloquent. They desired to express their gratitude for the charitable
service we were rendering them, and like ourselves they did not seem to
be able to understand how men could first kill each other, could
inflict pain on each other, and then assist each other to the utmost of
their ability. To them as well as to us this world seemed to stand on
its head; it was a world in which they were mere marionettes, guided and
controlled by a superior power. How often were we not made aware in that
manner of the uselessness of all this human slaughter!
We common soldiers were here handling the dead and wounded as if we had
never done anything else, and yet in our civilian lives most of us had
an abhorrence and fear of the dead and the horribly mangled. War is a
hard school-master who bends and reshapes his pupils.