the order that all the men of our company were to gather at Vitry before
the cathedral. We began to sling our hook with a sigh of relief, that
time a little more quickly than ordinarily, for the enemy's artillery
was already beginning to sweep the country systematically. We heard from
wounded men of other sections, whom we met on the way, that the French
had crossed the Marne already at various places. We discussed the
situation among us, and found that we were all of the same opinion. Even
on Belgian territory we had suffered heavy losses; every day had
demanded its victims; our ranks had become thinner and thinner; many
companies had been used up entirely and, generally speaking, all
companies had suffered severely. These companies, furnished and reduced
to a minimum strength, now found themselves opposed to an enemy
excellently provided with all necessaries. Our opponent was continually
bringing up fresh troops, and we were becoming fewer every hour. We
began to see that it was impossible for us to make a stand at that
place. Soldiers of the various arms confirmed again and again that
things were looking just as bad with them as with us, that the losses in
men and material were truly enormous. I found myself thinking of the
"God of the Germans." Had He cast them aside? I "thought" it so loudly
that the others could hear me. "Well," one of them remarked, "whom God
wants to punish He first strikes with blindness. Perhaps He thought of
Belgium, of Drucharz, of Sommepy, of Suippes, and of so many other
things, and suffered us to rush into this ruin in our blind rage."
We reached Vitry. There the general misery seemed to us to be greater
than outside. There was not a single house in the whole town that was
not overcrowded with wounded men. Amidst all that misery pillaging had
not been forgotten. To make room for the wounded all the warehouses had
been cleared and their contents thrown into the streets. The soldiers of
the ambulance corps walked about, and everything that was of value and
that pleased them they annexed. But the worst "hyenas" of the
battle-field are to be found in the ammunition and transport trains. The
men of these two branches of the army have sufficient room in their
wagons to store things away. The assertion is, moreover, proved by the
innumerable confiscations, by the German Imperial Post Office, of
soldiers' parcels, all of them containing gold rings, chains, watches,
precious stones, etc. The cases discovered in that or any other way are
closely gone into and the criminals are severely punished, but it is
well known that only a small percentage of the crimes see the light of
day. What are a thousand convictions or so for a hundred thousand
crimes!
In Vitry the marauders' business was again flourishing. The soldiers of
the transport trains, above all, are in no direct danger in war.
Compared with the soldiers fighting at the front it is easy for them to
find food; besides, it is they who transport the provisions of the
troops. They know that their lives are not endangered directly and that
they have every reason to suppose that they will return unscathed. To
them war is a business, because they largely take possession of all
that is of any value. We could therefore comprehend that they were
enthusiastic patriots and said quite frankly that they hoped the war
would continue for years. Later on we knew what had happened when the
Emperor had made one of his "rousing" speeches somewhere in the west and
had found the "troops" in an "excellent" mood and "full of fight." Among
that sort of troops there were besides the transport soldiers numerous
cavalry distributed among the various divisions, army corps staffs, and
general staffs.
XIV
THE FLIGHT FROM THE MARNE
We soon reached the cathedral and reported to Lieutenant Spahn whom we
found there. He, too, had defended his "Fatherland" in that town. Clean
shaven and faultlessly dressed, he showed up to great advantage
contrasted with us. There we stood in ragged, dirty, blood-stained
uniforms, our hair disheveled, with a growing beard covered with clay
and mud. We were to wait. That was all. We sat down and gazed at the
misery around us. The church was filled with wounded men. Many died in
the hands of the medical men. The dead were carried out to make room for
others. The bodies were taken to one side where whole rows of them were
lying already. We took the trouble to count the dead, who had been
mostly placed in straight rows, and counted more than sixty. Some of
them were in uniforms that were still quite good, whilst our uniforms
were nothing but rags hanging from our backs. There were some sappers
among them, but their coats were not any better than our own.
"Let us take some infantry coats," somebody ventured; "what's the
difference? A coat is a coat." So we went and took the coats from
several bodies and tried them on. Taking off their clothes was no easy
job, for the corpses were already rigid like a piece of wood. But what
was to be done? We could not run about in our shirt-sleeves! All did not
find something to fit them, and the disappointed ones had to wait for
another chance to turn up. We also needed boots, of course; but the
corpses lying before our eyes had boots on that were not much better
than our own. They had worn theirs as long as we had worn ours, but we
thought we might just inspect them all the same. We looked and found a
pair of fairly good ones. They were very small, but we guessed they
might fit one or the other amongst us. Two of us tried to remove them.
"But they are a tight fit," one of the two remarked. Two more came up to
help. Two were holding the leg of the dead man while the two others
tugged at the boot. It was of no use; the leg and the foot were so rigid
that it was found impossible to get the boot off. "Let it go," one of
those holding the leg remarked, "you will sooner pull off his leg than
remove that boot." We let go just as the doctor passed. "What are you
doing there?" he asked us. "We want to get some boots." "Then you will
have to cut them open; don't waste your time, the rigid leg will not
release the boot." He passed on. The situation was not complete without
a brutal joke. An infantryman standing near said, pointing to the dead,
"Now you know it; let them keep their old boots, they don't want to walk
on their bare feet." The joke was laughed at. And why not? Here we were
out of danger. What were the others to us? We were still alive and those
lying there could hear no longer. We saw no other things in war, and
better things we had not been taught.
It is true that on the way we had got some bread by begging for it, but
we were still quite hungry. Nothing was to be seen of our field kitchen.
The crew of our field kitchen and the foraging officer and sergeant
always preferred to defend their Fatherland several tens of miles
behind the front. What were others to them? What were we to them? As
long as they did not need to go within firing range of the artillery
they were content. Comradeship ceases where the field kitchen begins.
There were, however, some field kitchens belonging to other parts of the
army. They had prepared meals, but could not get rid of the food; even
if their company, i.e., the rest of their company, should have arrived
they would have had far too much food. Many a one for whom they had
prepared a meal was no longer in need of one. Thus we were most
willingly given as much to eat as we wanted. We had scarcely finished
eating when we had to form up again. Gradually several men of our
company had come together. We lined up in a manner one is used to in
war. The "old man" arrived. One of the officers reported the company to
him, but evidently did not report the number of the missing. Perhaps the
old man did not care, for he did not even ask whether we knew anything
about the one or the other. He stepped in front of the company and said
(a sign of his good temper), "Good morning, men!" (It was seven o'clock
in the evening!) As an answer he got a grunting noise such as is
sometimes made by a certain animal, and a sneering grin. Without much
ado we were ordered to go to the tool wagons which were standing near
the northern exit of the town, and provide ourselves with rifle
ammunition and three hand grenades each. "At half past nine to-night you
have to line up here; each man must have 500 cartridges, three hand
grenades, and fuses for igniting them; step aside!"
On our way to the implement wagons we noticed that everywhere soldiers
that had lost their companies were being drawn together and that new
formations were being gotten together with the greatest speed. We felt
that something was in the air, but could not tell what it might be. The
rain had started again and was coming down in torrents. When we were at
the appointed place at half past nine in the evening we saw all the
principal streets filled with troops, all of them in storming outfit
like ourselves. A storming outfit consists of a suit made of cloth, a
cap, light marching baggage, tent canvas, cooking utensils, tent-pegs,
the iron ration, and, in the case of sappers, trench tools also. During
the day we got our "Klamotten," i.e., our equipment together again. We
were standing in the rain and waited. We did not yet know what was going
to happen. Then we were ordered to take off the lock of our rifles and
put them in our bread bags. The rifles could not now be used for
shooting. We began to feel what was coming, viz., a night attack with
bayonets and hand grenades. So as not to shoot each other in the dark we
had to remove the lock from the rifle. We stood there till about 11
o'clock when we were suddenly ordered to camp. We did not know what the
whole thing meant, and were especially puzzled by the last order which
was, however, welcomed by all of us. We judged from the rolling thunder
that the battle had not yet decreased in violence, and the sky was
everywhere red from the burning villages and farm houses.
Returning "home" we gathered from the conversation the officers had
among themselves that a last attempt was to be made to repel the French;
that explained the night assault the order for which had now been
canceled. They had evidently made, or been obliged to make another
resolution at the general staff; perhaps they had recognized that no
more could be done and had rescinded the order for the attack and
decided upon a retreat, which began the next morning at 6 o'clock. We,
however, had no idea that it should be our last night at Vitry.
We lodged in a shanty for the night. Being sufficiently tired we were
soon in a deep slumber. We had to rise at four o'clock in the morning.
Each of us received a loaf of bread; we filled our water bottles, and
marched off. Whither we were marching we were not told, but we guessed
it. The remaining population of Vitry, too, seemed to be informed; some
were lining the streets, and their glances were eloquent. Everywhere a
feverish activity was to be observed. We halted outside the town. The
captain called us to gather round him and addressed us as follows: "Our
troops will evacuate their positions on account of the difficult
terrain, and retire to those heights where they will take up new
positions." In saying that he turned round and pointed to a ridge near
the horizon. He continued: "There we shall settle down and expect the
enemy. New reinforcements will arrive there to-day, and some days hence
you will be able to send a picture postcard home from Paris." I must
avow that the majority of us believed that humbug at the time. Other
portions of the army were already arriving from all directions. We had
been marching for some hours when we heard that Vitry had already been
occupied again by the French and that all the material stored at Vitry,
together with all the hospitals, doctors and men, and whole companies of
the medical service had been taken there.
Towards two o'clock in the afternoon we reached the heights the captain
had shown us, but he had evidently forgotten everything, for we marched
on and on. Even the most stupid amongst us now began to fear that we had
been humbugged. The streets became ever more densely crowded with
retreating troops and trains; from all sides they came and wanted to use
the main road that was also being used by us, and the consequence was
that the road became too congested and that we were continually pushed
more to the rear. Munition wagons raced past us, singly, without any
organization. Order was no longer observed. Canteen and baggage wagons
went past, and here already a wild confusion arose. Every moment there
was a stop and all got wedged. Many would not wait, and some wagons were
driven by the side of the road, through fields turned sodden by the
rain, in an attempt to get along. One wagon would be overturned, another
one would stick in the mud. No great trouble was taken to recover the
vehicles, the horses were taken out and the wagon was left. The drivers
took the horses and tried to get along; every one was intent upon
finding safety. Thus one incident followed upon another.
An officer came riding up and delivered an order to our captain. We did
not know what it was. But we halted and stepped into the field. Having
stacked our rifles we were allowed to lie down. We lay down by the side
of the road and gazed at the columns, field kitchens, transports,
medical trains, field post wagons, all filing past us in picturesque
confusion. Wounded men were lying or sitting on all the vehicles. Their
faces showed that riding on those heavy wagons caused them pain. But
they, too, wanted to get along at any price for they knew from personal
experience what it meant to fall into the hands of an uncompromising
enemy. They would perhaps be considered as little as they and we
ourselves had formerly considered the wounded Frenchmen left in our
hands. Because they knew this, as all of us did, they did not want to be
left behind for anything in the world.
We had as yet not the slightest idea what we were to do. Night came upon
us, and it poured again in torrents. We lay on the ground and felt very
cold. Our tired bodies no longer gave out any heat. Yet we stayed on the
ground too tired to move. Sections of artillery now began to arrive, but
most of the batteries had no longer their full number (6) of guns. One
had lost three, another two; many guns even arriving singly. Quite a
number of limbers, some 50 or so, passed without guns. Those batteries
had only been able to save the horses and had been obliged to leave the
guns in the hands of the French. Others had only two or four horses
instead of six.
Presently some fifteen motorcars, fine solid cars, came along. We gazed
in astonishment at the strong, elegant vehicles. "Ah!" my neighbors
exclaimed, "the General Staff!" Duke Albrecht of Wurttemberg and his
faithful retainers! We were getting rebellious again. Every one felt
wild, and it rained curses. One man said, "After having sent thousands
to their doom they are now making off in motorcars." We were lying in
the swamp, and nobody noticed us. The automobiles raced past and soon
left all behind them. We were still quite in the dark as to our purpose
in that place. We lay there for hours, till ten o'clock at night. The
troops were surging back largely in dissolved formations. Machine-gun
sections arrived with empty wagons; they had lost all their guns. In the
west we heard the thunder of guns coming nearer and nearer. We did not
know whether we were going to be sent into battle again or not.
The confusion in the road became worse and worse and degenerated in the
darkness into a panic. Refugees, who were wandering about with women and
children in that dark night and in the pouring rain, got under the
wheels of wagons; wounded men in flight were likewise crushed by the
wheels; and cries for help came from everywhere out of the darkness. The
streets were badly worn. Abandoned vehicles were lining the sides of the
road. We began to move at three o'clock in the morning, and before we
were fully aware of what was happening we found ourselves with the
rear-guard. Regiments of infantry, shot to pieces, arrived in a pitiful
condition. They had cast away their knapsacks and all unnecessary
impediments, and were trying to get along as fast as possible. Soon
after, the first shrapnel of the enemy began to burst above our heads,
which caused us to accelerate our march continually. The road, which had
also been used during the advance, was still marked by deep shell holes
that were filled with water to the very edge, for it rained without
interruption. It was pitch-dark, and every now and then somebody would
fall into one of those shell holes. We were all wet through, but
continued to press on. Some would stumble over something in the dark,
but nobody paid any attention. The great thing was to get along. Dead
horses and men lay in the middle of the road, but nobody took the
trouble to remove the "obstacle."
It was almost light when we reached a small village and halted. The
whole place was at once occupied and put in a state of defense as well
as was possible. We took up positions behind the walls of the cemetery.
Other troops arrived incessantly, but all in disorder, in a wild
confused jumble. Cavalry and artillery also arrived together with a
machine-gun section. These, however, had kept their formations intact;
there was some disorder, but no sign of panic. One could see that they
had suffered considerable losses though their casualties had not been as
heavy as ours. The enemy was bombarding us with his guns in an
increasing degree, but his fire had no effect. Some houses had been hit
and set alight by shells. Far away from us hostile cavalry patrols
showed themselves, but disappeared again. Everything was quiet. Ten
minutes afterwards things in front of us began to get lively; we saw
whole columns of the enemy approach. Without firing a shot we turned and
retired farther back. Mounted artillery were stationed behind the
village and were firing already into the advancing enemy. A cavalry
patrol came galloping across the open field, their horses being covered
with foam. We heard the leader of the patrol, an officer, call out in
passing to a cavalry officer that strong forces of the enemy were coming
on by all the roads. We left the village behind us and sought to get
along as quickly as possible. We had no idea where we were. The cavalry
and artillery sections that had been left behind were keeping the enemy
under fire. Towards noon shrapnel was again exploding above our heads,
but the projectiles were bursting too high up in the air to do any
damage to us. Yet it was a serious warning to us, for it gave us to
understand that the enemy was keeping close on our heels--a sufficient
reason to convert our retreat into a flight. We therefore tried to get
away as fast as our tired out bones would let us. We knew there was no
chance of a rest to-day. So we hurried on in the drenching rain.
The number of those who dropped by the way from exhaustion became
larger and larger. They belonged to various portions of the army. We
could not help them, and there were no more wagons; these were more in
front. Those unfortunate men, some of whom were unconscious, were left
behind just as the exhausted horses. Those that had sufficient strength
left crawled to the side of the road; but the unconscious ones remained
where they fell, exposed to the hoofs of the horses and the wheels of
the following last detachments. If they were lucky enough not to be
crushed to atoms they fell into the hands of the enemy. Perhaps those
who found our men were men and acted accordingly, but if they were
soldiers brutalized by war, patriots filled with hatred, as could also
be found in our own ranks, then the "boche" (as the French say) had to
die a miserable death by the road, die for his "Fatherland." To our
shame, be it said, we knew it from our own experience, and summoned all
our energy so as not to be left behind. I was thinking of the soldier of
the Foreign Legion lying in the desert sand, left behind by his troop
and awaiting the hungry hyenas.
The road was covered with the equipment the soldiers had thrown away.
We, too, had long ago cast aside all unnecessary ballast. Thus we were
marching, when we passed a wood densely packed with refugees. Those
hunted people had stretched blankets between the trees so as to protect
themselves from the rain. There they were lying in the greatest
conceivable misery, all in a jumble, women and men, children and
graybeards. Their camp reached as far as the road, and one could observe
that the terrible hours they had lived through had left deep furrows in
their faces. They looked at us with weary, tired eyes. The children
begged us to give them some bread, but we had nothing whatsoever left
and were ourselves tormented by hunger. The enemy's shrapnel was still
accompanying us, and we had scarcely left the wood when shrapnel began
to explode there, which caused the refugees, now exposed to the fire, to
crowd into the fields in an attempt to reach safety. Many of them joined
us, but before long they were forbidden to use the road because they
impeded the retreat of the troops. Thus all of them were driven without
pity into the fields soaked by the rain.
When we came to a pillaged village towards the evening we were at last
granted a short rest, for in consequence of our quick marching we had
disengaged ourselves almost completely from the enemy. We heard the
noise of the rear-guard actions at a considerable distance behind us,
and we wished that they would last a long time, for then we could rest
for a longer period. From that village the head man and two citizens
were carried off by the Germans, the three being escorted by cavalry. We
were not told why those people were being taken along, but each place
had to furnish such "hostages," whole troops of whom were being marched
off. The remaining cattle had also been taken along; troopers were
driving along the cattle in large droves. We were part of the
rear-guard. It is therefore easy to understand why we found no more
eatables. Hunger began to plague us more and more. Not a mouthful was to
be had in the village we had reached, and without having had any food we
moved on again after half an hour's rest.
We had marched two miles or so when we came upon a former camping place.
Advancing German troops had camped there about a week ago. The bread
that had evidently been plentiful at that time now lay scattered in the
field. Though the bread had been lying in the open for about a week and
had been exposed to a rain lasting for days, we picked it up and
swallowed it ravenously. As long as those pangs of hunger could be
silenced, it mattered little what it was that one crammed into one's
stomach.
XV
AT THE END OF THE FLIGHT
Night fell again, and there was still no prospect of sleep and
recuperation. We had no idea of how far we had to retire. Altogether we
knew very little of how things were going. We saw by the strange
surroundings that we were not using the same road on which we had
marched before to the Marne as "victors." "Before!" It seemed to us as
if there was an eternity between that "before" and the present time, for
many a one who was with us then was now no longer among us.
One kept thinking and thinking, one hour chased the other. Involuntarily
one was drawn along. We slept whilst walking. Our boots were literally
filled with water. Complaining was of no use. We had to keep on
marching. Another night passed. Next morning troops belonging to the
main army were distributed among the rear-guard. In long columns they
were lying by the side of the road to let us pass in order to join up
behind. We breathed a sigh of relief, for now we were no longer exposed
to the enemy's artillery fire. After a march of some five hours we
halted and were lucky enough to find ourselves close to a company of
infantry that had happily saved its field kitchen.