the darkness the wounded calling, crying, and moaning. The wounded we
had with us were likewise moaning and crying. All wanted to have their
wounds dressed, but we had no more bandages. We tore off pieces of our
dirty shirts and placed the rags on those sickening wounds. Men were
dying one after the other. There were no doctors, no bandages; we had
nothing whatever. You had to help the wounded and keep the French off at
the same time. It was an unbearable, impossible state of things. It
rained harder and harder. We were wet to our skins. We fired blindly
into the darkness. The rolling fire of rifles increased, then died away,
then increased again. We sappers were placed among the infantry. My
neighbor gave me a dig in the ribs. "I say," he called out.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Who are you?"
"A sapper."
"Come here," he hissed. "It gives you an uncanny feeling to be alone in
this hell of a night. Why are you here too?--They'll soon come again,
those over there; then there'll be fine fun again. Do you hear the
others cry?"
He laughed. Suddenly he began again: "I always shoot at those until they
leave off crying--that's great fun."
Again he laughed, that time more shrilly than before.
I knew what was the matter. He had become insane. A man passed with
ammunition. I begged him to go at once and fetch the section leader. The
leader, a lieutenant of the infantry, came up. I went to meet him and
told him that my neighbor was continually firing at the wounded, was
talking nonsense, and was probably insane. The lieutenant placed
himself between us. "Can you see anything?" he asked the other man.
"What? See? No; but I hear them moaning and crying, and as soon as I hit
one--well, he is quiet, he goes to sleep--" The lieutenant nodded at me.
He took the gun away from the man. But the latter snatched it quickly
away again and jumped out of the trench. From there he fired into the
crowd of wounded men until, a few seconds after, he dropped down riddled
by several bullets.
The drama had only a few spectators. It was scarcely over when it was
forgotten again. That was no place to become sentimental. We continued
shooting without any aim. The crying of the wounded became louder and
louder. Why was that so? Those wounded men, lying between the two
fighting lines, were exposed to the aimless fire of both sides. Nobody
could help them, for it would have been madness to venture between the
lines. Louder and more imploring became the voices that were calling
out, "Stretcher-bearer! Help! Help! Water!" For an answer they got at
most a curse or a malediction.
Our trench was filled with water for about a foot--water and mud. The
dead and wounded lay in that mire where they had dropped. We had to make
room. So we threw the dead out of the trench. At one o'clock in the
night people came with stretchers and took away part of the wounded. But
there was no help at all for the poor fellows between the lines.
To fill the cup of misery we received orders, in the course of the
night, to attack the enemy's lines at 4:15 o'clock in the morning. At
the time fixed, in a pouring rain, we got ready for storming. Received
by a terrible fire from the machine-guns we had to turn back half-way.
Again we had sacrificed uselessly a great number of men. Scarcely had we
arranged ourselves again in our trench when the French began a new
attack. They got as far as three yards from our trenches when their
attack broke down under our fire. They, too, had to go back with
enormous losses. Three times more the French attacked within two hours,
each time suffering great losses and achieving not the slightest
success.
We did not know what to do. If help did not arrive soon it would be
impossible for us to maintain our position. We were tormented by hunger
and thirst, were wet to the skin, and tired enough to drop down. At ten
o'clock the French attacked a fourth time. They came up in immense
masses. Our leaders recognized at last the danger in which we were and
withdrew us. We retreated in waves abandoning the wounded and our
material. By exerting our whole strength we succeeded in saving the
machine-guns and ammunition. We went back a thousand yards and
established ourselves again in old trenches. The officers called to us
that we should have to stay there whatever happened; reinforcements
would soon come up. The machine-guns were in their emplacements in a
jiffy. Our opponents, who were following us, were immediately treated to
a hail of bullets. Their advance stopped at once. Encouraged by that
success we continued firing more wildly than ever so that the French
were obliged to seek cover. The reinforcements we had been promised did
not arrive. Some 800 yards behind us were six German batteries which,
however, maintained but a feeble fire.
An officer of the artillery appeared in our midst and asked the
commander of our section whether it would not be wise to withdraw the
batteries. He said he had been informed by telephone that the whole
German line was wavering. Before the commander had time to answer
another attack in mass formation took place, the enemy being five or
seven times as numerous as we were. As if by command, we quitted our
position without having been told to do so, completely demoralized; we
retired in full flight, leaving the six batteries (36 guns) to the
enemy. Our opponent had ceased his curtain of fire fearing to endanger
his own advancing troops. The Germans used that moment to bring into
battle reinforcements composed of a medley of all arms. Portions of
scattered infantry, dismounted cavalry, sappers without a lord and
master, all had been drummed together to fill the ranks. Apparently
there were no longer any proper complete reserve formations on that day
of battle.
Again we got the order, "Turn! Attention!" The unequal fight started
again. We observed how the enemy made preparations to carry off the
captured guns. We saw him advance to the assault. He received us with
the bayonet. We fought like wild animals. For minutes there was bayonet
fighting of a ferocity that defies description. We stabbed and hit like
madmen--through the chest, the abdomen, no matter where. There was no
semblance of regular bayonet fighting: that, by the way, can only be
practised in the barracks yard. The butt-ends of our rifles swished
through the air. Every skull that came in our way was smashed in. We had
lost helmets and knapsacks. In spite of his great numerical superiority
the enemy could not make headway against our little barrier of raving
humanity. We forgot all around us and fought bloodthirstily without any
calculation. A portion of our fellows had broken through the ranks of
the enemy, and fought for the possession of the guns.
Our opponent recognized the danger that was threatening him and retired,
seeking with all his might to retain the captured guns. We did not allow
ourselves to be shaken off, and bayoneted the retiring foes one after
the other. But the whole mass of the enemy gathered again round the
guns. Every gun was surrounded by corpses, every minute registered
numerous victims. The artillery who took part in the fight attempted to
remove the breech-blocks of the guns. To my right, around the third gun,
three Germans were still struggling with four Frenchmen; all the others
were lying on the ground dead or wounded. Near that one gun were about
seventy dead or wounded men. A sapper could be seen before the mouth of
the gun. With astonishing coolness he was stuffing into the mouth of
that gun one hand grenade after another. He then lit the fuse and ran
away. Friends and enemies were torn into a thousand shreds by the
terrible explosion that followed. The gun was entirely demolished.
Seventy or eighty men had slaughtered each other for nothing--absolutely
nothing.
After a struggle lasting nearly one hour all the guns were again in our
possession. Who can imagine the enormous loss of human lives with which
those lost guns had been recaptured! The dead and wounded, infantry,
cavalry, sappers and artillery, together with the Frenchmen, hundreds
and hundreds of them, were covering the narrow space, that comparatively
small spot which had been the scene of the tragedy.
We were again reinforced, that time by four regular companies of
infantry, which had been taken from another section of the
battle-field. Though one takes part in everything, one's view as an
individual is very limited, and one has no means of informing oneself
about the situation in general. Here, too, we found ourselves in a
similar situation. But those reinforcements composed of all arms, and
the later arrivals, who had been taken from a section just as severely
threatened as our own, gave us the presentiment that we could only
resist further attacks if fresh troops arrived soon. If only we could
get something to quiet the pangs of hunger and that atrocious thirst!
The horses of the guns now arrived at a mad gallop to take away the
guns. At the same moment the enemy's artillery opened a murderous fire,
with all sizes of guns, on that column of more than thirty teams that
were racing along. Confusion arose. The six horses of the various teams
reared and fled in all directions, drawing the overturned limbers behind
them with wheels uppermost. Some of the maddest animals ran straight
into the hottest fire to be torn to pieces together with their drivers.
Then our opponent directed his fire on the battery positions which were
also our positions. We had no other choice--we had either to advance or
retire. Retire? No! The order was different. We were to recapture our
lost first positions, now occupied by the French, who were now probably
getting ready for another attack. Had we not received fresh food for
cannon so that the mad dance could begin again? We advanced across a
field covered with thousands upon thousands of torn and bleeding human
bodies.
No shot was fired. Only the enemy's artillery was still bombarding the
battery positions. We were still receiving no fire from the artillery;
neither did the enemy's infantry fire upon us. That looked suspicious;
we knew what was coming. We advanced farther and farther without being
molested. Suddenly we found ourselves attacked by an army of
machine-guns. An indescribable hail of bullets was poured into us. We
threw ourselves to the ground and sought cover as well as we could.
"Jump forward! March, march!" Again we ran to meet our fate. We had lost
already more than a third of our men. We halted again, exhausted.
Scarcely had we had time to take up a position when we were attacked
both in front and the flank. We had no longer strength enough to
withstand successfully a simultaneous frontal and flank attack. Besides,
we were being almost crushed by superior numbers. Our left wing had been
completely cut off, and we observed our people on that wing raising
their hands to indicate that they considered themselves prisoners of
war. However, the French gave no quarter--exactly as we had acted on a
former occasion. Not a man of our left wing was spared; every one was
cut down.
We in the center could give them no help. We were getting less from
minute to minute. "Revenge for Sommepy!" I heard it ringing in my ears.
The right wing turned, drew us along, and a wild stampede began. Our
direct retreat being cut off, we ran backwards across the open field,
every one for himself, with beating hearts that seemed ready to burst,
all the time under the enemy's fire.
After a long run we reached a small village to the northeast of
Vitry-le-François. There we arrived without rifles, helmets or
knapsacks; one after the other. But only a small portion could save
themselves. The French took plenty of booty. All the guns we fought for
were lost, besides several others. Of the hundreds of soldiers there
remained scarcely one hundred. All the others were dead, wounded or
missing. Who knew?
Was that the terrible German war machine? Were those the cowardly,
degenerated Frenchmen whom we had driven before us for days? No; it was
war, terrible, horrid war, in which fortune is fickle. To-day it smiles
upon you; to-morrow the other fellow's turn comes.
We sought to form up again in companies. There were just twelve men left
of our company. Little by little more came up from all directions until
at last we counted twenty. Then every one began to ask questions
eagerly; every one wanted to know about his friend, mate, or
acquaintance. Nobody could give an answer, for every one of us had been
thinking merely of himself and of nobody else. Driven by hunger we
roamed about the place. But our first action was drinking water, and
that in such quantities as if we wanted to drink enough for a lifetime.
We found nothing to eat. Only here and there in a garden we discovered a
few turnips which we swallowed with a ravenous appetite without washing
or even cleaning them superficially.
But where was our company? Nobody knew. We were the company, the twenty
of us. And the officers? "Somewhere," a soldier observed, "somewhere in
a bomb-proof shelter." What were we to do? We did not know. Soon after a
sergeant-major of the field gendarmes came up sitting proudly on his
steed. Those "defenders of the Fatherland" have to see to it that too
many "shirkers" do not "loiter" behind the front. "You are sappers,
aren't you?" he roared out. "What are you doing here? 30th. Regiment?"
He put a great many questions which we answered as well as we were able
to. "Where are the others?" "Over there," said a young Berliner, and
pointed to the battle-field, "dead or prisoners; maybe some have saved
themselves and are elsewhere!" "It doesn't matter," roared out our
fierce sergeant-major for whom the conversation began to become
unpleasant. "Wait till I come back." "Where are the officers?" Again
nobody could answer him. "What are their names? I daresay I shall find
them. Maybe they are at Vitry?" We gave him their names--Captain Menke,
First Lieutenant Maier, Lieutenants of the Reserves Spahn, Neesen and
Heimbach. He gave us a certificate with which to prove the purpose of
our "loitering" to other overseers and disappeared. "Let's hope the
horse stumbles and the fellow breaks his neck." That was our pious wish
which one of our chaps sent after him.
We went into one of the houses that had been pillaged like all the rest,
lay down on mattresses that were lying about the rooms and slept--slept
like dormice.
XIII
THE ROUT OF THE MARNE
None of us knew how long we had slept; we only knew that it was night.
Some men of our company had waked us up. They had been looking for us
for a long time. "Come along," they said; "the old man is outside and
making a hell of a row. He has got seventeen men together and is
swearing like a trooper because he can't find you." Drowsily and
completely bereft of any will-power of our own we trudged after them. We
knew we were again being sent forward. But we did not care; we had lost
all balance. Never before had I noticed such indifference on our part as
on that night.
There the old man was standing. He saw us coming up, without headgear,
the uniforms all torn to tatters, and minus our knapsacks. He received
us with the greeting, "Where have you been, you boobies?" Nobody
answered. What did we care? Things could not get any worse than they
were. Though all of us resented the wrong done to us we all remained
silent.
"Where is your equipment?--Lost?--Lost? That's a fine story. You rag-tag
miserable vagabonds. If they were all like you--" For a while he went on
in that style. That pretty fellow had suffered the "miserable vagabonds"
to go forward while he himself had been defending his "Fatherland" at
Vitry, three or four miles behind the front. We picked out the best
from among the rifles that were lying about, and soon we were again
"ready for battle."
We were standing half-asleep, leaning on the barrel of our rifles and
waiting to be led forth again to slaughter, when a shot was fired right
in our midst. The bullet had shattered the entire right hand of a
"spoiled ensign," as the officers express themselves. His hand was
bandaged. "How did that happen?" asked the officers. An eyewitness
related the incident saying: "Like all of us he put his hand on the
mouth of the barrel when it happened; I did not see any more." "Had he
secured the gun? Don't you know that it is forbidden to lean with your
hand on the mouth of your rifle and that you have been ordered to secure
your rifle when it is loaded?" Then turning to the "spoiled ensign," who
was writhing with pain, he bawled at him: "I shall report you for
punishment on account of gross negligence and self-mutilation on the
battle-field!"
We all knew what was the matter. The ensign was a sergeant, but a poor
devil. He was fully aware that he had no career before him. We soldiers
liked him because we knew that military life disgusted him. Though he
was a sergeant he chose his companions solely among the common soldiers.
We would have divided with him our last crust of bread, because to us
especially, he behaved like a fellow-man. We also knew how harshly he
was treated by his superiors, and wondered that the "accident" had not
happened before. I do not know whether he was placed before a
court-martial later on. Punishments for self-mutilation are the order of
the day, and innumerable men are being severely punished. Now and then
the verdicts are made known to the soldiers at the front to serve as a
deterrent. The people at home, however, will get to hear very little of
them.
The captain passed on the command to an officer's representative, and
then the old man disappeared again in the direction of Vitry. He spurred
on his steed, and away he flew. One of the soldiers thought that the
captain's horse was a thousand times better off than we were. We knew
it. We knew that we were far below the beast and were being treated
accordingly.
We marched off and halted at the northwestern exit of the village. There
we met sappers gathered from other companies and battalions, and our
company was brought up to 85 men. The officer's representative then
explained to us that we should not be led into the firing line that day;
our only task was to watch that German troops fighting on the other side
of the Marne should find the existing temporary bridges in order in case
they had to retreat. We marched to the place where the Saulx enters the
Marne.
So we marched off and reached our destination towards six o'clock in the
morning. The dead were lying in heaps around us in every field; death
had gathered in a terrible harvest. We were lying on a wooded height on
our side of the Marne, and were able to overlook the country for many
miles in front of us. One could see the explosions of the shells that
were raining down by the thousand. Little, almost nothing was to be seen
of the men, and yet there were thousands in front of us who were
fighting a desperate battle. Little by little we could make out the
faint outline of the struggle. The Germans were about a mile and a half
behind the Marne in front of us. Near the banks of the Marne large
bodies of German cavalry were stationed. There were only two tumble-down
bridges constructed of make-shift materials. They stood ready to be
blown up, and had plenty of explosive matter (dynamite) attached to
them. The electrical priming wires led to our position; we were in
charge of the firing apparatus. Connected by telephone we were able to
blow up the bridges in an instant.
On the other side things began to get lively. We saw the French at
various places pressing forward and flowing back again. The rifle fire
increased continually in violence, and the attacks became more frequent.
Two hours passed in that way. We saw the French bringing up
reinforcement after reinforcement, in spite of the German artillery
which was maintaining but a feeble fire. After a long pause the enemy
began to attack again. The French came up in several lines. They
attacked several times, and each time they had to go back again; each
time they suffered great losses. At about three o'clock in the afternoon
our troops attacked by the enemy with all his strength, began to give
ground, slowly at first, then in a sort of flight. Our exhausted men
could no longer withstand the blow dealt with enormous force. In a wild
stampede all of them tried at the same time to reach safety across the
bridges. The cavalry, too, who were in cover near the banks of the
river, rushed madly to the bridges. An enormous crowd of men and beasts
got wedged before the bridges. In a trice the bridge before us was
thickly covered with human beings all of whom were trying to reach the
opposite side in a mad rush. We thought we could notice the temporary
bridge sway under its enormous burden. Like ourselves the officer's
representative could overlook the whole country. He pressed the receiver
of the telephone convulsively to his left ear, his right hand being on
the firing apparatus after which another man was looking. With bated
breath he gazed fixedly into the fleeing crowds. "Let's hope the
telephone is in order," he said to himself at intervals. He knew as well
as we did that he had to act as soon as the sharp order was transmitted
by telephone. It was not much he had to do. Directed by a movement of
the hand the man in charge of the apparatus would turn a key that looked
like a winged screw--and all would be over.
The crowds were still rushing across the bridge, but nearly half of our
men, almost the whole of the cavalry, were still on the other side. The
bridge farther up was not being used so much and nearly all had reached
safety in that portion of the battlefield. We observed the foremost
French cross that bridge, but the bridge remained intact. The
sergeant-major who was in charge of the other apparatus was perplexed as
he received no order; so he blew up that bridge on his own
responsibility sending hundreds of Frenchmen to their watery grave in
the river Marne.
At the same moment the officer's representative next to me received the
command to blow up the second and last bridge. He was confused and
hesitated to pass on the order. He saw that a great crowd of Germans
were still on the other side, he saw the struggles of that mass of men
in which every one was trying to be the first one to reach the bridge
and safety beyond. A terrible panic ensued. Many soldiers threw
themselves into the river and tried to swim across. The mass of soldiers
on the other side, still numbering several thousands, were pressed
harder and harder; the telephone messages were becoming ever more
urgent. All at once the officer's representative jumped up, pushed aside
the sapper in charge of the apparatus, and in the next second a mighty
explosion was heard. Bridge and men were blown into the air for
hundreds of yards. Like a river at times of inundations the Marne was
carrying away wood and men, tattered uniforms and horses. Swimming
across it was of no earthly use, and yet soldiers kept throwing
themselves into the river.
On the other side the French began to disarm completely the German
soldiers who could be seen standing there with hands uplifted. Thousands
of prisoners, innumerable horses and machine guns had fallen into the
hands of the enemy. Some of us were just going to return with the firing
apparatus which was now superfluous when we heard the tale of the
significance of the incident, confirming the suspicions of many a one
amongst us. An error had been committed, that could not be undone! When
the bridge higher up, that was being used to a smaller degree by the
soldiers, had been crossed by the German troops and the enemy had
immediately begun his pursuit, the staff of officers in command at that
passage intended to let a certain number of enemies cross the bridge,
i.e., a number that could not be dangerous to the German troops who were
in temporary safety. Those hasty troops of the enemy could not have
received any assistance after the bridge had been blown up, and would
have been annihilated or taken prisoners. For that reason it was
intended to postpone the blowing up of the bridge.
However, the sergeant-major in charge of the firing apparatus imagined,
as his thoughts kept whirling through his head, that the telephone wires
must have been destroyed, and blew up on his own initiative the bridge
that was densely crowded with Frenchmen, before our opponent succeeded
in interrupting the wires. But at the same time the officer's
representative in charge of the firing apparatus of the second bridge
received an order, the words of which (as he later himself confessed)
were not at all clear to him, threw aside the receiver, lost the
absolutely necessary assurance, killed all the people on the bridge, and
delivered hundreds upon hundreds into the hands of the enemy.