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The Note-Book of an Attaché: Seven Months in the War Zone

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Title: The Note-Book of an Attaché: Seven Months in the War Zone

Author: Eric Fisher Wood


        
Release date: October 5, 2009 [eBook #30179]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NOTE-BOOK OF AN ATTACHÉ: SEVEN MONTHS IN THE WAR ZONE ***

 The Note Book
 Of An Attaché

 Seven Months in the War Zone

 By ERIC FISHER WOOD

 With Illustrations from Photographs

 A. L. BURT COMPANY

 Publishers        New York

 Published by Arrangements with THE CENTURY COMPANY




 COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
 THE CENTURY CO.

 _Published, June, 1915_




[Illustration: MR. MYRON T. HERRICK]




FOREWORD


When the war-storm suddenly loomed over Europe at the end of July,
1914, I was quietly studying architecture in the Ecole des Beaux-Arts
at Paris. When Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia on July 24th,
the atmosphere of the city became so surcharged with excitement that
to persist in study was difficult. Within a week I myself had been
swept into the vortex of rushing events, from which I did not emerge
until seven months later.

I became Attaché at the American Embassy in Paris under the regime of
Mr. Herrick, and as such lived through the first exciting months of
the great war. During the months of September, October, and November,
I made four different trips to the front, covering territory which
extended along the battle-line from Vitry-le-François in the east to a
point near Dunkirk in the west. I saw parts of the battles of the
Marne and the Aisne, and the struggle for Calais.

The months of December and January I spent as a bearer of special
dispatches between the American Embassies and went several times to
France, England, Switzerland, Holland, Germany, Austria, and Hungary.
I have seen French, British, Belgian, and German troops in action. I
have seen French, Swiss, Dutch, German, Austrian, and Hungarian troops
in manoeuvres. I spent the first week of February in Paris, leaving
there for America on February 10th.

The following account of what I saw and heard is compiled from letters
and diaries which I wrote day by day on the spot. Some of my
experiences have had to be omitted for diplomatic reasons, and it has
been necessary, in some cases, to give information without mentioning
my authority. The higher the rank and the greater the reputation of my
informant, the less right have I to mention his name.

Although my personal sympathies are with the French, I tried to
observe dispassionately and accurately, and have scrupulously aimed to
present my facts uncolored by preference or prejudice. In war,
exaggeration and misrepresentation play an accepted part in the
tactics of belligerents, but it should be the aim of a neutral to
observe with an unbiased mind, no matter what the state of his
emotions may be. Otherwise, the data he collects can have no value as
historical material.




 CONTENTS


 CHAPTER                                                      PAGE

    I.--AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY                                 3

   II.--THE GERMANS NEARING PARIS                              42

  III.--WITH THE BRITISH ARMY. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE
        OF THE MARNE                                           68

   IV.--THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE                                82

    V.--ANALYSIS OF THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE                   126

   VI.--THE BATTLE OF THE AISNE                               153

  VII.--THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE                                174

 VIII.--GERMANY AND BERLIN                                    203

   IX.--CARRYING DISPATCHES FROM BERLIN TO LONDON             234

    X.--VIENNA                                                247

   XI.--HUNGARY                                               256

  XII.--A GERMAN PRISON CAMP                                  288

        APPENDIX                                              303




THE NOTE-BOOK OF AN ATTACHÉ




CHAPTER I

AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY


_Paris, Tuesday, August 4th._ I presented myself at the American
Embassy today and offered my services to Mr. Herrick. They were
promptly accepted. I was put to work with such suddenness that no time
was spent in determining my official status. I cannot say whether I am
a doorman or an Attaché. At present the duties of the two seem to be
identical.

Now, as in 1870, the German Embassy in leaving France turned over its
affairs and the interests of German subjects remaining in France to
the American Ambassador. When I arrived today the _Chancellerie_
presented an astounding sight. Around the outer door were huddled a
compact crowd of Germans, men and women; they pressed about the
entrance; they glanced furtively over their shoulders and their blue
eyes were filled with dumb apprehension. Inside the _Chancellerie_ was
chaos. Hundreds of Americans and Germans crowded together seeking
audience and counsel. German women sank down in corners of the halls
or on the stairs, weeping for joy to have found a haven of refuge.
Scores of Sovereign American Citizens stood in the busiest spots and
protested with American vehemence against fate and chance. Each S.A.C.
was remonstrating about a separate grievance. Most of them reiterated
from time to time their sovereignty, and announced to no one in
particular that it was their right to see "their Ambassador" in
person. They demanded information! They needed money! They wished to
know what to do with letters of credit! What was "the government"
going to do about sending them home? Was Paris safe? Would there be
immediate attacks by Zeppelins? Could they deposit their jewels in
the Embassy vaults? Were passports necessary? WHY were passports
necessary? They asked the same questions over and over, and never
listened to the answers.

Inspired by Mr. Herrick, the staff of the Embassy struggled bravely
and coolly through this maelstrom, and accomplished as many things as
possible each minute. No fifty men could have gone through with all
the work that suddenly demanded attention. Without warning, virtually
within one day, this great flood of humanity had rolled in upon the
normally tranquil life of the Embassy, and yet its chief and his
assistants took up the vast responsibility as quietly and acted as
coolly as though it were all an everyday occurrence and not the
emergency of a lifetime.

I was first assigned to work with the American problems. William
Iselin, who had been one of my fellow-students in the Ecole des Beaux
Arts, is Attaché at the Embassy and he gave me a rapid summary of
necessary information. I plunged into work with eagerness, but while
attending to my own countrymen, my deepest personal sympathies went
out to the mob of panic-stricken Germans. Poor creatures, they are in
no way personally responsible for the war, and yet they bear no mean
part in the suffering it is causing. It was decreed by the French
government that all Germans who had not left Paris within twenty-four
hours after the order of mobilization would on no condition be
permitted to leave thereafter. Many of them had found it absolutely
impossible to depart in time owing to the difficulty of obtaining
money and to the disarrangement of the railway service caused by the
mobilization of troops. The second day of mobilization, August 3d,
caught them like rats in a trap and exposed them to the doubtful fate
of being lost in an enemy's country during war time. Many of them were
travelers who had been vacationing in the château country, visiting
the cathedrals of Normandy, or enjoying the picturesque country of
Brittany. Last week they were everywhere treated with respect and
politeness, today they are looked upon with suspicion and hostility.
They are hungry and they have no money. They are surrounded by looks
of hatred and they are terror-stricken. No Frenchman but fears to be
seen speaking to them. They have no place to sleep as no hotel or
lodging-house dares harbor them. Many of them have lost all their
worldly goods and possess nothing except the clothes in which they
stand. Nearly all of them carried their funds in letters of credit on
German banks and these are now worthless in France.

There are refined women who have slept in the streets and parks, nay,
who have not been allowed to sleep, but have walked all night in their
patent leather pumps. There are rich men who literally have not an
available copper and whose eyes have taken on the nervous look of
hunted animals. They realize that neither their sound reputation nor
abundant wealth will alter their present condition by even one "petit
pain de cinq centimes." One man who carried bank-books and deeds
showing that he owned property to the amount of several hundred
thousand francs had walked twelve miles to reach the Embassy, because
he did not possess the coppers necessary to pay his carfare in a
public conveyance.

Yesterday war was declared between France and Germany. One realizes
how quickly it has come when in the American mail yesterday morning a
copy of the _New York Times_ dated only ten days ago devoted just a
column and a quarter to the subject of possible friction between
Austria and Serbia. When that newspaper left New York the whole world
was at peace, but while it was crossing the ocean war has overwhelmed
all Europe, and now when it reaches Paris twenty million men are
rushing to arms.

Today peace-loving France realizes that she is attacked by a powerful
and ambitious enemy. Today no man in all _la Patrie_ regrets the
sacrifices which he has made to maintain an army capable of defending
his country; no man but gives fervent thanks to Heaven that he has
been forced to pay taxes to support that army; no man regrets those
three years of his life which he and each of his fellow-countrymen
offered up in order that its number might not diminish, for now that
army stands READY to prevent the ruin of his property, of his nation,
of his women. It is Ready! At this moment--what a wonderful word! In
modern wars little is of use which has not been prepared beforehand.
Weeks only are necessary to ruin untrained and ill-armed forces, while
years are needed to train an army and to manufacture arms. The
victories of today are not won by Bravery armed with a rifle, but by
Science supplemented by many complicated instruments.

Every hour of every day presents new sights or experiences unique in
kind and all speaking dramatically of war. Each such sight is a
surprise more vivid than the preceding one. Every day is a succession
of startling novelties, each of which gives one a tingling shock. We
are living so rapidly that some are benumbed, others intoxicated by
the rush of events.

In the shops the prices of food staples have nearly doubled. The
people are all anxious to lay in a little supply of provisions against
sudden famine conditions, and the merchants are holding them up for
all the traffic will bear. Articles that will keep indefinitely, such
as flour, chocolate, dried fruits, potatoes, coffee, and preserved
meats, are most in demand. Owing to the hand-to-mouth buying methods
of the French, Paris is never more than three days ahead of famine. No
one realizes this better than the French themselves, and therefore
each and every one desires to lay in at least a small supply of
provisions. A temporary shortage has consequently already occurred.

The newspapers have been emphatic in the denunciation of the merchants
who, taking advantage of the national crisis, and making capital of
the fear and need of the populace, have raised the prices of the
necessaries of life, and have advised the people not to submit to the
imposition. Today the poorer classes have adopted the policy of
smashing anything for which an unreasonable price is demanded. I heard
a big, broad "femme du peuple" ask the corner grocer the price of some
prunes, several bushels of which were exhibited in front of the store.
The reply indicating a rise of some fifty per cent. in the price, the
woman suddenly picked up the basket in her strong arms, and before the
astonished grocer could interfere, threw the whole lot into the
gutter. Instantly a crowd collected which cheered the woman and jeered
the grocer in so ugly a manner that he was thoroughly frightened. His
confusion was made quite complete when a policeman arrived and
declared that what the woman had done was well done. The results of
this policy were immediately salutary and by this evening the
shopkeepers of Paris are a very chastened lot, and prices are quite
normal again.

The eagerness with which newspapers are bought and read is noteworthy.
Each succeeding "extra" is snapped up with unfailing alacrity. The
usual procedure is now reversed, for the newsboy is no longer seen
racing at the beck of some haughty customer, but continues on his
lordly way and allows the would-be purchaser to rush to him, or even
run down the streets after him. The great journals seem unable to turn
out enough editions or to get them out fast enough to meet the demand.
The authorities, however, evidently consider this continual hawking of
sensational news unnecessarily disturbing to the populace, and an
ordinance is to be framed forbidding the crying of newspapers in the
streets.

The Tour Eiffel, that plaything of a decade ago, has in this war
become of supreme importance. It is the highest "wireless mast" in the
world and from it messages have been exchanged with Washington, D.C.
Its value as a sending station cannot be over-estimated. Russia may
become isolated; indeed she is already virtually shut off by the
curtain of hostile Germany and Austria-Hungary, stretching from the
North Sea and the Baltic to the Adriatic. It is probable that wireless
messages sent and received by the Tour Eiffel will soon be the only
means of rapid communication between France and Russia. Fears for the
safety of the tower have led to the most extraordinary precautions for
its protection. It is assiduously guarded against the attack of spies
by numerous sentries. Anti-aircraft guns are mounted upon its various
stages to protect it against aëroplanes and Zeppelins, and heavy
barbed-wire entanglements are to be built all around it.

A curfew regulation is now in force in Paris. No one is allowed in the
streets after eight o'clock. Whoever is found out later than that hour
is promptly conducted to his domicile by the first policeman he meets.

I received a cablegram tonight explaining that there is at the moment
no means of forwarding money from New York to Paris. This makes my
financial situation awkward, as I now have only three hundred francs.
The worst of it is that one cannot even resort to the expedient of
borrowing, because all one's friends are suffering a like stringency.

Today is, officially, the "third day of mobilization." From now on
France will live not by calendar, but by mobilization, days. One
speaks not of "Sunday, August 2d," but of the "first day of
mobilization." Neither days of the week nor of the month exist any
longer. All government decrees, railroad schedules, and military
orders are dated by the new era. Events follow a schedule which has
long since been prepared. When mobilization is announced the nation
turns away from its everyday life and from the world's calendar, and
starts a carefully rehearsed set of operations executed according to
an arbitrary schedule. One dimly remembers that if it were "peace
time" today would be Tuesday.

One sees everywhere on the sidewalk little knots of people talking in
low, troubled voices, and each time just as their conversation is well
started they are interrupted by a policeman who reminds them that it
is not permitted to _s'attrouper_ in the streets and that they must
move on.

Everywhere one sees speeding taxicabs, each containing a young
soldier, his family, and two or three bundles. The young man usually
wears a brand new uniform. The women of the family are invariably
weeping quietly as if to say: "I cannot help crying, because I am a
woman, but everything is all right and just as it should be!" When the
father is of the party, he has a calm face and sits beside his son
with his arm around the son's shoulders, and always the taxi speeds
madly, so that each time one gets only the most fleeting glimpse of
the family within.

There are very few soldiers left in Paris,--not a fifth as many as
usual; those that one does see are most of them driving heavily-loaded
army wagons and appear most disgusted with the unheroic service.
Auto-busses have completely disappeared from the streets, and this is
a great inconvenience; they are all at Versailles being converted into
meat wagons or ambulances. All the fast private automobiles are
requisitioned for the army, and one sees them tearing along vying in
speed with the flying taxis, each one driven by a sapper with another
sapper in the footman's place, while one or two officers sit calmly
behind, trying to smoke cigarettes in spite of the wind.

There are persistent rumors throughout Paris of battles "near Metz" or
"on the borders of Luxembourg," of "two hundred and thirty thousand
French troops already in Alsace," "ten thousand French killed at
Belfort," or "forty thousand German prisoners taken."

The papers already announce a series of German depredations across the
border into the ten kilometer strip of country between it and the
French armies. It is reported that German foragers are infesting this
strip, carrying off everything of value. Yesterday morning the papers
printed the first "war story," which recounts how a patrol of Uhlans
penetrating some ten kilometers into French territory were halted by a
French sentinel, a soldier nineteen years old. The German in command,
thinking the sentinel was alone, shot him through the head and was
himself in turn immediately shot dead by the boy's comrades, who had
been hidden near by in an improvised guard-house. The papers also
announced that the president of the League of French Patriots in
Alsace had been arrested and shot. These stories and others like them,
coupled with the official report of the violation of Luxembourg and of
the sending of a German ultimatum to Belgium, have intensely excited
the French.

Until yesterday the people of Paris have been forbearing with such
German subjects as are in the city. When these stories began to
circulate certain elements of the population took prompt and drastic
action against the German-owned shops of the city. During the day many
such shops have been wrecked. The milk trust of Paris which sells "le
Bon Lait Maggi" is popularly supposed to be owned by German capital.
Its shops are in every quarter of the city, one might almost say on
every street. They have today been the first objects of attack. One of
these shops is in the Rue ----, not far from my apartment. I saw it
wrecked this afternoon. There was no excitement, no hurry, no
shouting. A crowd collected, apparently without concerted action, but
as if by common impulse. There was no prearrangement or system about
it and no "French" excitement. Most of the raiders were women. There
was some jesting, and some dry wit, but mostly it was serious
business.

The work of wrecking was carried forward painstakingly and thoroughly.
The iron screen over the show-window was torn off and broken up and
the window itself was smashed to bits, the door was broken open, every
bit of glass or crockery was shivered to fragments against the
sidewalk and the pieces were ground into powder under the heels of the
raiders. Account books and bill-heads were torn sheet by sheet into
the tiniest bits and strewn up and down the street for a block, and
all woodwork was smashed into kindling. During the operations a
patrol of policemen on bicycles went tearing by. They must have been
on business of great and immediate importance since they had no time
to stop nor to look either to the right or left. When the wrecking
operations were quite completed another patrol came by. The sergeant
in command dismounted. He wore a tremendous frown and with an
authoritative sweep of his arm cried: "Qu'est ce que vous faites?
Allez! Allez vous en! vous savez bien que nous sommes maintenant sous
la loi militaire, et que c'est défendu de s'attrouper dans les rues!
Allez! Allez!" ("What are you doing? Move along, get out of here! You
know that we are now under martial law and that it is forbidden to
collect in crowds in the streets. Move on, move on!").

The crowd instantly dispersed, wearing faces of great solemnity. It is
evident that he could not possibly have arrested the wreckers, for he
had himself seen nothing and it is not to be supposed that they would
have been witnesses against one another.

By night time there were many shops, factories, and cafés of German
ownership which had thus been raided. The crowds did not always
take time to make careful investigation before breaking up an
establishment. I shall never forget the plight of the French
proprietor of a café on the Place de l'Opéra who was standing in
front of his completely wrecked shop using all the most eloquent
French gestures, as he repeated over and over in helpless rage:
"Sacré nom d'un nom, je suis caporal du cent-dixième de réserve et
je pars au front après demain!" ("Sacred Name, I am Corporal of
the 110th Reserve and I leave for the front the day after tomorrow.")

Last evening I repeatedly heard the following conversation between
Frenchmen, wherever they met:

     1st Frenchman: "Est-ce qu'on va boire du 'Bon Lait Maggi,'
     ce soir?"

     2d Frenchman (with the solemnity of an owl): "Non,
     Monsieur!"

This formula of question and reply had travelled all over the city and
was repeated time after time with always the same internal relish.

On all sides of Paris speedy aëroplanes and daring aviators hold
themselves ready to dash upon any enemy who may approach by way of
the air and, if necessary, fall with him to mutual destruction. All
night the beams of searchlights comb the sky for invaders and cast a
tragic reflected glow upon the city beneath.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Wednesday, August 5th._ Yesterday an all too enterprising individual
chartered one of the fast little Seine boats, always so beplastered
with "Dubonnet" advertisements, which ply along the river between the
Quai du Louvre and St. Cloud. He announced that since it was now no
longer possible to reach London via the train to Havre, he would
transport Americans on his little boat to England, going down the
Seine past Rouen and across the Channel. For such service each person
was to be charged an extravagant amount, payment strictly in advance.
The scheme was widely advertised to have the approval of the American
Ambassador, although no one at the Embassy knew anything about the
matter until Americans came to the _Chancellerie_ yesterday to ask for
further information. Mr. Herrick sent me out to investigate. The
promoter had evidently calculated that the Ambassador would not hear
about it until too late to interfere.

I found the whole proposition most impractical. The boat was far too
small for so dangerous a trip, there were no accommodations for so
long a voyage, and the question of food supplies was a very serious
one. Moreover, numerous and incalculable difficulties were involved in
passing through a country in a state of war.

Upon receiving the detailed report on the objections to the scheme,
Mr. Herrick promptly sent to the Paris papers a statement that his
alleged connection with or approval of the plan was a mistake. Notices
to the same effect were also posted in the halls of the Embassy.

This morning the crowd of Germans who thronged to the Embassy was
greatly increased, while the number of Americans was approximately the
same as yesterday; consequently several of the staff were transferred
from work with Americans to work with Germans, I being among them. It
is strenuous business handling these panic-stricken people.
Heretofore, the offices for the naval and military Attachés have been
located on the ground floor of the _Chancellerie_, but in the present
emergency this space is converted into an impromptu German Embassy,
all German affairs being concentrated here, while the Americans are
taken care of on the floor above. We are stationed two by two at desks
ranged along the walls of the entrance hall and we dispose of each
case as rapidly as possible as they are passed to us by the doorman.

All these Germans require four things: food, lodgings, protection, and
proper police papers. We began by doling out to them from one to three
francs each to be used to buy food. Our miserliness was due to the
fact that, under existing economic conditions, even the Embassy could
obtain only a limited amount of change, and it was essential that we
make that go as far as possible. In order to obtain at one and the
same time lodging and protection for our wards, Mr. Herrick arranged
with the French government that the Lycée Condorcet in the Rue du
Havre be set aside for the lodgment of German subjects. This building
is guarded by a squad of police who allow no one to enter who is not
the bearer of a certificate issued by the American Embassy. The Lycée
Condorcet is a great barn of a place, from which nearly all the
furniture has been removed, but it provides for the moment the two
essentials, a roof and safety. No owner of an hotel or apartment will
in these dangerous days harbor Germans, in each of whom he sees a
possible spy, and the government, suddenly called upon to house
thousands of aliens, responds to the appeal of the American Embassy
as best it can. Hundreds of Germans will tonight sleep on the bare
floor of the Lycée Condorcet, and be more thankful for that safe
resting-place than ever they have been for the most comfortable bed or
luxurious apartment.

No attempt was today made to provide Germans with the necessary police
papers. We had indeed no time to consider anything but food, shelter,
and safety. Tomorrow we shall attack that problem.

By three o'clock we had so systematized the work of handling the
Germans that I found I could, with the aid of two assistants, attend
to all the routine cases myself. This released the men at the other
tables to reinforce the American office on the floor above, whose
business had during the afternoon greatly increased. There was no
means or time for estimating in advance just how many people could be
crowded into the Lycée Condorcet, so I continued during the afternoon
to issue certificates of admission to all the Germans whom I examined.
On receiving their certificates most of them went at once to the
Lycée to get off the streets. By six o'clock the place was so crowded
that not another person could find room even to sit on the floor;
therefore the late arrivals, after having wearily trudged two long
miles from the Embassy to the Lycée, had to trudge back again from the
Lycée to the Embassy. By eight o'clock there were nearly a hundred of
these refugees huddled around the _Chancellerie_ and it was late in
the evening before I, by most desperate efforts, succeeded in making
arrangements for them for the night.

The French police have promulgated a regulation that all Germans now
in Paris are to be shut up in detention camps. They are ordered to
report immediately to the nearest police station, where they will
receive written notifications of the camps to which they have been
assigned, and of the date of their departure. The detention camps are
twelve in number and are located at Limoges, Gueret, Cahors, Libourne,
Périgueux, Saintes, Le Blanc, La Roche-sur-Yon, Chateauroux, Saumur,
Anger, and Flers. Several large trainloads will be shipped away from
Paris each day for the next two weeks. Exceptions to this edict are to
be made only in the case of Alsatians, and of those sick Germans who
are possessors of a certificate from some French physician stating
that they are too ill to endure transportation.

The frightened Germans find it difficult to understand the numerous
details involved in this order, and are hopelessly confused by the
various official papers they are required to obtain to safeguard them
against the accusation of being spies. The Embassy endeavors to keep
itself informed as to the latest police enactments, and these are
clearly and courteously explained to all the Germans who apply to the
Embassy for counsel or assistance.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Sunday, August 9th._ During the past few days I have been absolutely
absorbed with the affairs of the Germans. I am at present in charge of
them and report results to the Second Secretary. I enter the Embassy
before nine in the morning and it is after midnight before I leave its
doors. None of the staff, not even Mr. Herrick himself, departs before
that hour. If some of the peacefully sleeping Sovereign American
Citizens who are so free with their criticisms during the daytime
could see the members of the Embassy in the early hours of the morning
at the end of our sixteen-hour day, they would perhaps pity
themselves less. We work always at high pressure; meals are hurriedly
swallowed at odd moments and at irregular hours. Each night I walk
home across Paris, down the Rue Freycinet, over the Pont de l'Alma,
through the Avenue Bosquet, Avenue Duquesne, Rue Oudinot to the Rue
d'Olivet--and sleep. It is a long walk when one is dead tired, but
there are no public conveyances at night and, indeed, few in the
daytime. The walk takes nearly an hour, even at a fast gait, for at
short intervals one is halted by policemen demanding explanations of
this midnight journey. Few experiences have been more weird than this
nightly trip through the familiar Paris streets, strangely dark and
absolutely deserted.

Each day is now a haze of Germans and their troubles; of policemen,
detectives, and soldiers, of tears and laughter, bits of the sublime
and the ridiculous; of women who have been robbed and men who have
been arrested as spies; of constant struggles to secure papers for
poor hounded creatures, which one policeman demands and another
refuses to grant; of beaten faces and tear-stained cheeks; of French
women endlessly begging unobtainable news of sons lost in Germany,
and of petty crookednesses on the part of those we are trying to help
and protect.

Affairs are, however, running more smoothly. We have found means to
get small change in large quantities, and I now know personally most
of the police officials who are concerned in German affairs.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have heard the Marseillaise sung upon hundreds of peaceful
occasions; have risen when it was played in French theaters; have
enthusiastically joined in singing it at students' dinners, and have
been impressed by it in an unemotional and academic way. In peace
times one feels that it is easily the greatest of national anthems,
but fails to realize that it is primarily a battle song. This morning
for the first time I heard it sung as such, and as such shall forever
remember it. I was walking down the Rue de Sèvres toward the Boulevard
Montparnasse, hoping to pick up a stray taxicab which would carry me
to the Embassy. Suddenly, and with startling abruptness, I was brought
to a full stop by a wave of sharp, staccato vocal sound. Wave beat
upon wave,--a great volume of male voices shouting in unison. There
was something so strange, so startling, and so appalling in their
quality that, without comprehending what was coming, a shiver ran up
my spine. The sound swelled and came nearer, and suddenly the head of
a column of infantry swung into view past a street corner just ahead
and the dull "smash--smash--smash" of a thousand feet falling in
unison could be heard through the volume of sound. It was the
Marseillaise of war! The troops were marching to the Gare Montparnasse
to entrain for the front, and in a few days would be in the
battle-line. Their bayonets sloped backward, a waving thicket bent
toward the morning sun. There was no music in their words, which were
sharp and incisive. Each word was a threat, an imprecation, intense
with ferocious meaning. Their intonation carried conviction that the
men meant literally every impressive line they uttered. The words
visualized for me the picture in their own minds. I could sense their
desire to charge the Germans, to close in, to strike, to stab. Perhaps
the deliberate, vengeful premeditation to destroy is more terrible
than the act itself. I doubt if any battle could ever affect me as
did the song of those men. The result was so disintegrating to one's
psychology that for the rest of the day I completely lost balance of
judgment. I felt exultantly certain that the French were going to
smash Germany into tiny bits, and was equally sure that they could, if
need be, demolish all creation.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, August 10th._ Today Austria and France are officially at war.
The affairs of the Austro-Hungarian Embassy were turned over to us
this evening. This probably means that a flood of Austrians and
Hungarians will be tomorrow added to the Americans and Germans who
already keep us so busy.

Today for the first time we were able to complete all the business
brought to the Embassy. Previously we had to be content with
accomplishing as much as could be done in a sixteen-hour day.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Wednesday, August 12th._ I have witnessed so much suffering during
the last week that to see people weep now no longer produces any
emotional effect upon me. One's sympathies get numbed by the
over-strain put upon them; the more keenly one feels, the more numb
one ultimately becomes. Today during the long day about five hundred
Austrians and Hungarians poured in upon the Embassy. I examined one
hundred and sixty-four cases between two o'clock and half-past four,
and gave monetary assistance to one hundred and twenty-one.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Friday, August 14th._ During the past week six ten-dollar gold pieces
which have been sent me in letters arrived safely. Snugly held in
their pasteboard frames, they could not be detected by feeling the
letters. When the first one arrived I had spent virtually all the
money which I had on hand at the beginning of the war, and this good
American gold will tide me over until drafts can be sent through to
Paris. In New York in peace time sixty dollars seems a small amount,
but in France in war three hundred francs in gold looks a small
fortune. At least, it insures plenty of good food.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Sunday, August 16th._ Until today I have had at the Embassy no
definite status. I have laughingly been dubbed the "German
Ambassador." Everyone has been much too busy to give thought to
anything so personal as position or titles. This morning, however,
time was found to send my name to the Minister of Foreign Affairs
as "Attaché Civil à l'Ambassade Américaine," and to request the
customary "coup fil."

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, August 17th._ I have at last received money from America. It
came through Morgan, Harjes & Company. This firm has been the
salvation of our countrymen in Paris. They announced that "until
further notice" they would cash all American paper. They even take
personal checks on American banks. The "further notice," fortunately,
shows no signs of appearing.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Thursday, August 20th._ The statue of Strasbourg on the Place de la
Concorde has been constantly hung with mourning wreaths and crêpe ever
since the capture and annexation of the city of Strasbourg by the
Germans forty-four years ago. Now it is piled with gay flowers and
bedecked with streamers and the arms of the lady are filled with
flags, conspicuous among which are those of Great Britain and Russia.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Friday, August 21st._ Nearly all the Germans, Hungarians, and
Austrians have by this time been interned in the detention camps; all
ages and both sexes have been shipped away to a fate of which we as
yet have no knowledge.

I have been arranging the details of an automobile tour of inspection
to the various camps, in order to investigate the prisons and to
disburse to the prisoners the funds which have been received for their
benefit from their various governments. Such a trip will necessitate
nearly twelve hundred miles of travel and will require at least two
weeks' time.

Mr. Herrick sent for me today and questioned me as to the state of the
preparations. He told me that he intended to select me to make the
trip, and that I was to start as soon as the necessary permissions had
been received from the French Government. Attaché Herbert Hazeltine,
who has been a fellow-worker in behalf of the Germans, is to take
charge of the Paris office during my absence.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Saturday, August 22d._ German affairs are now reduced to a system.
The Embassy each day opens to Americans at ten o'clock. I begin with
my Germans and Austrians at nine in order to get clear of the least
desirable element before the Americans appear. In that first hour we
dispose of about fifty per cent.; the half that need only routine
assistance. At present I receive them in the entrance hall of the
Embassy at the far end. I sit at the desk facing the door and have the
money sent by the German Government for destitute cases on my left
hand in a drawer against the wall. An Austrian, long resident in
Paris, and president of the Austro-Hungarian Relief Society, is placed
on my right to give me the benefit of his long experience in charity
work. He already knows many of those who apply for aid and can judge
whether or not they are really destitute. Beyond him is another
assistant who fills out receipts for each sum distributed and obtains
the signature of the recipient. Special appointments for the afternoon
hours are made with those applicants who want information or help
which cannot immediately be decided upon.

The crowd outside the door, often several hundred in number, is kept
in order by two policemen. Assistants hand out numbers like those used
for the Paris auto-busses, not given however for priority, but for
undesirability; the least desirable getting in first so that we may be
the sooner rid of them. These assistants also see that each applicant
has the correct papers in his hand, and that three of them are waiting
in line to facilitate the steady flow of the human current. The
receipts and my entries form a double record and check to be used in
the official accounts which are balanced every day and in the end will
be transmitted in reports to the German and Austrian Governments. A
stenographer keeps an indexed, alphabetical list of all the
applicants, which enables me to find the past record of any case which
reappears. In addition to this, I have a system of hieroglyphics which
I write in on the lower right-hand corner of the police papers which
every foreigner must at all times carry with him for identification.
There is also an interpreter for those rare comers who speak neither
French nor English. By this system I have managed to examine as many
as one hundred and thirty-five cases in an hour, and once as high a
number as seven hundred in a single day.

At the beginning of the war there were probably at least thirty
thousand Germans and Austrians in or near Paris who became wards of
the American Embassy when the affairs of the German and Austrian
Embassies were turned over to us, all of them needing to be furnished
with proper police papers and to be provided with a refuge until such
time as they are shipped to detention camps in the south of France.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Sunday, August 23d._ Here in Paris, extraordinary as it may seem, we
have had no real news of the progress of the war. The Official
Communiqués carry to a fine point the art of saying nothing of any
importance. The newspapers are so strictly censored that they are
permitted to publish little except these _communiqués_ or editorials
based upon them. Letters and papers from America really give us the
first accounts of events which are happening at our very gates. We
know by rumor that there has been heavy fighting somewhere and
somewhen. Many German prisoners are being taken around Paris southward
to the detention camps which I hope soon to visit, and the flags of
three German regiments have been brought to Paris and exhibited with
considerable ceremony. This should indicate that battles favorable to
the French have been fought, since a German regiment numbers three
thousand men and would defend its flag to the last.

Of late one sees everywhere numbers of women in mourning, increasing
so rapidly as to attract the attention of even the least observing.
Paris still maintains a strange calm. The stillness of the city is
positively oppressive. Even the newsboys drag slowly along calling in
a disheartened voice their wares which no longer contain any news and
which, in consequence, find few buyers.

The people seem to realize from the very lack of news that this is to
be a long and terrible war and that any decisive result cannot be at
present expected.

Letters are constantly arriving at the Embassy, forwarded to us with
great care by French soldiers who have found them on the bodies of
dead Germans, or received them from the hands of the dying. They are
sent to us in the hope that we may eventually find means to transmit
them to Germany to the relatives of the dead for whom they were
intended. Today came such a note written by a German airman who had
been shot down out of the sky. He had evidently realized that his
time was short and had hurriedly scribbled on the back of a sheet of
instructions printed in German script the few words he could summon
strength to write. The scrap of paper was torn and smudgy and a
thumb-print in blood was impressed on one corner. Each word was more
shaky and labored than the preceding one, as if each had been traced
only by a supreme effort. On it was written in German, "Good-bye,
Mother and Father. My leg is crushed. The French are very kind
and...." A foot-note had been added by some French soldier explaining
that the man had died while he was writing, and giving the means of
identification which had been found on the body.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, August 24th._ Yesterday and this morning I have observed a
very singular psychological phenomenon. Neither yesterday nor today
have the authorities given out any military news of importance and the
papers have been as non-committal as usual, yet all Paris believes
that the Allies have suffered a great and terrible defeat at a place
in Belgium called Charleroi. The whole city is as if it were under a
pall. Every face wears a fatalistic expression terrible to behold. I
have read of such mysterious spreading of evil tidings, but have never
before witnessed anything of the kind. It is a very curious
manifestation, whether or not it proves to have any foundation in
fact.[1]

[Footnote 1: The French and British armies suffered a crushing defeat
at Charleroi on August 22d-23d. As a result they were driven back a
distance of 150 miles and only succeeded in making a stand after they
had reached a point southeast of Paris.]

       *       *       *       *       *

The French find a superstitious encouragement in an acrostic which
some ingenious journalist has constructed out of the names of the
Commanders-in-Chief of the French and British armies. Here it is:

     JOF | FRE
     ____|_____
         |
     FRE | NCH

       *       *       *       *       *

With Paris unlighted at night, it is an uncanny experience to walk
through a great city which is absolutely dark. The Champs-Elysées is
probably at present the darkest avenue on earth. All those monumental
lamp-posts which used to stand like beacons in the midst of the
stream of traffic now shine no more. The sun seldom rises without
revealing the ruins of one of these lamps and of an automobile, the
two having mutually destroyed each other in the darkness. We do not
know why the city is left in gloom. The common interpretation is a
necessity to save gas and coal.

I do such a variety of things each day! This morning I managed to get
away from the Embassy for an hour in one of the several automobiles
which have been loaned to Attachés and which are driven by their
American owners. During that time I arranged for the delivery of
twenty thousand francs in small change which I shall take with me on
my trip to the detention camps, ordered a lot of printing, and
obtained fifteen hundred francs in change for tomorrow's crowd of
German and Austrian indigents. I visited the editor of a newspaper and
arranged for the correction of an article giving some misinformation
about Embassy affairs, and then ended up by making a verbal report of
the morning's work to Mr. Frazier.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Tuesday, August 25th._ The Military Governor of Paris is now invested
with absolute and autocratic powers. He makes what regulations he
chooses and is authorized to punish any infraction of his rule with
the death penalty. He has taken advantage of his position to institute
various reforms which have for years been much needed but which have
hitherto been persistently blocked by "politics." He is no longer
required to argue with bureaucracies or to convince legislatures. He
acts without hindrance. He has thus, out of hand, settled some of the
great problems with which Paris has been struggling for years. With a
stroke of the pen, for instance, he has made it illegal to buy, sell,
or possess absinthe. He is said to have destroyed the long menace of
the Apache gangs by summarily shooting down all that could be found in
Paris. He has by drastic measures suppressed gambling, and has even
done away with the slot machines of chance which have so long stood in
all the cafés to catch the hard-earned sous of the workmen. It is
probable that these reforms will be permanent and will stand even when
martial law in Paris is abolished. It is always difficult to
accomplish a great reform, but it is often impossible to undo it once
it is an accepted fact. If we had real prohibition in America and
Woman Suffrage, I hardly think that we should vote to have "whiskey"
brought back or ever disfranchise our women.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Friday, August 28th._ Public vehicles are now almost unobtainable.
Taxicabs are to be secured only after much delay and at exorbitant
prices. It has become more and more a waste of time for me to cross
Paris on foot each morning and evening and to do much of my Embassy
work at the same disadvantage. I have attempted to solve the
difficulty by engaging by the week one of those archaic old horse
chaises called fiacres. London has placed a hansom in the British
Museum with the other obsolete and historic styles of equipages, but
frugal Paris has kept her out-of-date vehicles on exhibition in active
use on the boulevards. These conveyances, so recently looked down upon
for their slow pace as compared with the speed of taxis, are now
restored to something of their former prestige.

The fiacre I have acquired is navigated by Paul, who has been a Paris
_cocher_ for thirty-five years, and its one-horse power is furnished
by his faithful old horse Grisette. True to type, Paul is stout and
jovial. He considers it a great honor to drive for a member of an
Embassy and always sits up very straight on his box, for to come and
go on missions concerning "les affaires des Etats-Unis" has imbued him
with a great sense of dignity and importance. When waiting in front of
the Embassy among the limousines he maintains a rigid and dignified
position and insists that Grisette, for her part, shall hold up her
head and stand on all four feet.

Each noon Paul drives Hazeltine and myself down the nearly deserted
Champs-Elysées for lunch at the Café Royal. We must make an absurd
spectacle with so much dignity on the box and a total lack of it
behind, for Hazeltine and I, relaxing from the strenuous work of the
morning, lounge in the seat with our feet far out in front, as we
discuss with great vehemence affairs connected with our Embassy work.
The pleasure and pride which Paul experiences in his present
"position" he shares with Grisette, with whom and of whom he speaks as
if she were human. He perorates upon her manifold good qualities,
usually ending with the statement that she is "bonne comme du bon
pain," while Grisette modestly pretends that she does not hear herself
thus praised.




CHAPTER II

THE GERMANS NEARING PARIS


_Saturday, August 29th._ Paris feels the oppression of war more and
more each day. There have been so many "morts pour la patrie" that
everywhere there are families who have been stricken by the loss of a
member. This leaven of sorrow gives to the population as a whole a
somber tone.

Perfectly frightful stories of German barbarities are circulating.
They are almost unbelievable, but seem to have some confirmation.

Many of the wounded Frenchmen when returning from the front bring
trophies of battle, such as German swords, bayonets, and buttons. The
most prized possession of all is the German spiked helmet. Barring
only the scalp of the American Indian, a more significant trophy could
not be imagined. It is not only significant but gorgeously handsome.
Moreover, it is everywhere on earth accepted as the symbol of the
Prussian militarism.

Today Mr. Herrick sent an Attaché with a fast automobile out toward
Compiègne, which is thirty-eight miles from the Porte St. Denis. The
man was not permitted to approach the town, but from hills on this
side he could hear the constant rumble of heavy guns. He returned to
Paris giving it as his opinion that a battle was being fought at
Compiègne. This, however, is so improbable that he can find no one to
credit his report. The idea is really too preposterous! The truth
might be that manoeuvres of the French army were in progress, or
that the forts around Paris were practising. We have been warned that
this might occur. The war was not declared four weeks ago; how then
would it be possible for the Germans already to be at Compiègne?
Before they could reach a point so near Paris they must first reduce
the triple line of the French frontier fortifications, which are the
product of more than forty years of study and labor and form a greater
barrier than any ocean. Even were these reduced, the Germans would
have to beat back the French active army numbering one and a half
million men. Compiègne is no farther from Paris than Peekskill is from
New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Sunday, August 30th._ The rumors of evil which yesterday all refused
to believe as absolutely incredible are today accepted as facts. No
bad news has yet appeared in print, the censor having suppressed even
the slightest hint of misfortune. This lack of any definite
information has had a disintegrating effect upon the public morale.
Since all official news is denied them, the people add to their
previous personal anxiety a ghastly terror of the unknown, multiplied
and intensified as it manifests itself in the masses, already in a
high state of excitement.[2]

[Footnote 2: I have been informed by American officials on duty in
Berlin that they have never observed any misstatement of fact, or any
essential omission in the _communiqués_ of the German Government.
This, during my brief visits within the borders of the Empire, was
certainly borne out by my own experience. Defeats are announced as
automatically as victories. An illustration of the advantageous effect
of this procedure upon public morale and of the disadvantageous effect
of the opposite occurred after the Battle of the Marne. The French,
who should logically have gained the greatest encouragement, had so
learned to distrust their official _communiqués_, that they gained no
advantage of this kind whatsoever, while the Germans, who ought to
have received no moral stimulus from so material a disaster, underwent
a fresh _accroissement_ of their patriotic determination as a result
of the frank announcement that the war was no longer going "according
to specifications."]

Paris knows with a conviction that nothing can alter that the French
armies have met defeat at all points along the line. They do not need
dates, or names, or numbers; the one terrible fact that the Germans
are again nearing the gates of Paris stands out with greater intensity
because all details are withheld.

The Bank of Paris has begun to move. I felt it was an historically
memorable day when I stood this morning before its great doors and
watched the nervous, hurrying messengers endlessly streaming in and
out as they loaded a row of trucks with France's money bags. The
bearers looked for all the world like a stream of ants carrying their
larvæ to safety when an ant-hill is broken open.

It is commonly reported that the French Government is planning to flee
from Paris. If that actually occurs the papers will doubtless announce
it as a "strategic retreat." The members of the various Embassies are
becoming frightfully nervous and most of them will probably leave at
the same time.

At the American _Chancellerie_ all goes on quite as usual, partly
because we are so busy that there is no time to worry, but principally
because Mr. Herrick is so calm and confident that he sets all the
other members a compelling example.

Early this afternoon it was reported at the Embassy that a German
aëroplane had flown over Paris and had dropped several bombs, one of
which had fallen near the St. Lazare Hospital. Mr. Herrick sent me out
to investigate. I found that there had really been an aëroplane and
that it had thrown three bombs, all of which had exploded. Many
windows had been broken and one old woman had been killed. Few people,
however, had actually seen the aëroplane.

The censor allowed details of the affair to be published in the
evening papers, including what purported to be a translation of a note
dropped by the German, saying: "The German army is at the gates of
Paris. Nothing remains for you but to surrender.--Lieutenant von
Heidssen." This is an example of the inexplicable working of the
censorship. The people tonight all seemed to believe that the German's
note is authentic.

The papers recently published an account of the arrival at a Paris
hospital of a wounded Turco who had brought as trophy a German spiked
helmet. The peculiar element reported was that the head was still in
the helmet. I doubt the truth of this story. It is, however, another
example of the extraordinary workings of the censor's mind. He
suppresses every vestige of harmless war news on the plea that it
might "assist the enemy," and then permits the publication of such a
hate-breeding tale as this.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, August 31st._ Another German aëroplane flew over the city
today and again threw bombs. It arrived at six in the evening. The
psychological effect on Paris has been incalculable. Yesterday's Taube
went virtually unobserved; it did not seem to need explanation, and
its visit could be interpreted as a freakish exploit--the solitary one
of its kind. The attack of another Taube today put an entirely
different face upon the matter. Nothing better could have been
calculated to disquiet the French. They have always considered
themselves kings of the air and have felt that, whatever else might be
found wanting, at least the French aviators would always rule that
element. Today every soul in Paris saw the Taube. Until now anything
about the Germans' approach has been rumor and hearsay, but now comes
this plain fact for all the world to see; and what more convincing or
spectacular evidence of their nearness could be set before the
Parisians than a German aëroplane flying over their heads? I think it
will prove the spark to light one of the historical explosions of the
French people, and that this will probably show itself in extreme
panic conditions.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Tuesday, September 1st._ Panic conditions of the most pronounced
order exist today. Everyone seems possessed with the single idea of
escaping from Paris. A million people must be madly trying to leave at
the present moment. There are runs on all the banks. The streets are
crowded with hurrying people whose faces wear expressions of nervous
fright. The railroad stations are packed with tightly jammed mobs in
which people and luggage form one inextricable, suffocating, hopeless
jumble.

Cabs are nearly unobtainable. When anyone is seen to alight from a
vehicle, a flock of men and women instantly gather round it like
vultures and there stand poised to see if the cabby is to be paid off.
If the "fare" makes a motion toward his pocket, the mob piles into the
carriage, swearing and scrambling. The matter is then arbitrated by
the driver who accepts as client the one who offers the largest
_pourboire_. In the Rue Condorcet today I saw such a dispute settled
with a twenty-franc tip. One of the defeated candidates was a poor
dejected woman who had fought like a tigress for the cab and had been
ejected with considerable force. She now wept copiously and
hopelessly. She explained that she had her baggage and three children
to take to the station and that she had been endlessly trying to get a
vehicle since the night before, and announced that this was the nine
hundredth vehicle "qu'on m'a volé." For one in her emergency I
considered this an excusable exaggeration, so I lent her my _cocher_,
Paul, and hurriedly went on foot to the Embassy. My faithful Paul does
not desert me, even now when the streets run gold for _cochers_. Last
evening an auto carried a family to Tours, returning this morning. For
this it received 1500 francs. Thousands upon thousands of refugees
from the north are fleeing across Paris by any and every means of
transportation left in the city.

       *       *       *       *       *

Three days ago we doubted the possibility of a battle as near as
Compiègne. Today already we feel it quite possible that the Germans
will capture Paris, and that within a few days. It is almost certain
that our Embassy will have a tremendous part to play in the capture,
for Mr. Herrick will stay in Paris, come what may, unless Washington
orders him to leave. It is probable that France will turn over to him
her interests in Paris--one might almost say, the city itself.

Another Taube came today and left the usual consignment of three
bombs. The aviator arrived promptly at six, just as he did yesterday.
I was amused to see two French policemen rush out of a café and fire
their revolvers at the so-far-away speck.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Wednesday, September 2d._ The German bomb-dropping aëroplane arrives
each day as regularly as sunset. It is considerate of him to come
always at the same hour--six o'clock. One knows when to expect him and
is thus able to be promptly on hand to watch the show. It was
especially thrilling today. We all stood in the Rue Chaillot in front
of the _Chancellerie_, and being on the side of the Trocadéro Hill we
enjoyed a good view off over the city. The Taube passed almost
directly over our heads on its way to attack the Tour Eiffel; it flew
at an altitude of about 5000 feet and looked very like a bug crawling
across the sky. With our glasses we could see the German aviator
looking down at us, and could distinguish on the under side of each
wing the black Maltese cross which all German aëroplanes carry as
"uniform."

Off to the east a French machine was slowly mounting above the
housetops to give battle. The German sailed over the Tour Eiffel and
dropped a bomb. We caught sight of it, a tiny speck floating
downwards. After waiting what seemed an unreasonably long time, we
heard the faint, muffled "boom" of its explosion. All this time, guns
in various parts of the city were shooting at the aëroplane; it
sounded like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. There are
anti-aircraft guns on the different platforms of the Tour Eiffel.
These seemed to be rapid-fire guns which spouted ten shots in about
five seconds, and then, after taking a long breath, spouted another
ten shots, and so on. The din was extraordinary, but the German
aëroplane went serenely on as if utterly unconscious of the thousands
of shots of which it was the target.

After throwing his first bomb near the Tour Eiffel, the German
described a graceful, sweeping curve off over the Ecole Militaire, and
threw another bomb which struck the roof of a house in the Avenue
Bosquet. He then turned northward and sailed off in triumph over
Montmartre, apparently unscathed. The French machine had meanwhile
reached about half the altitude at which the German was flying. The
whole affair was extremely dramatic. All Paris stood open-mouthed in
the streets, utterly oblivious to everything but the machine which was
creeping across the sky.

The French already take their daily Taube as much as a matter of
course as their daily café. They cannot help exclaiming in admiration
"quel aplomb!" It is now the fourth day that a German aëroplane has
passed over the French armies, eluded the French machines, and braved
a murderous fire from the waiting guns of Paris.

The incidents have been marked by singularly ineffective shooting on
both sides. The aëroplanes have thrown a dozen bombs; they have broken
windows and roof slates and have killed one old woman. But this has
been, as far as I know, the only casualty. On the other hand, the
Taubes likewise have escaped unwrecked, in spite of the fact that
enough ammunition has been expended against them to have smashed all
the aëroplanes in the world. The psychological effect on the Parisians
has been immense.

For two weeks now, I have been entirely ready to start on my first
tour of the detention camps. The need has seemed so pressing that I
have been prepared to start immediately on the receipt of permission
from the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Mr. Herrick rightly refuses to
allow me to start without this permission. The reason for the delay
seems to be that France insists that she will accord us only those
privileges with regard to her German prisoners that the German
government gives to the Spanish Embassy in Berlin with regard to the
French prisoners in Germany. The hitch is that each takes exactly the
same ground, so neither side does anything definite.

Such is European "diplomacy." The onus of the prisoners' condition
cannot be said to rest upon our shoulders. Mr. Herrick or Mr. Bliss
has made _démarches_ in the matter almost every day.

Diplomacy is a trade which I find extremely hard to learn. Its
principal rule seems to be never to do anything that you can possibly
avoid. Such principles naturally give rise to a great deal of futile
routine. When a diplomat must act, he methodically follows a
well-trodden and known-to-be-safe path; when he is forced to
take a new direction he invariably makes some superior take the
responsibility. I know that on one occasion a trivial question was
asked of a Jäger at the door of a European _Chancellerie_; it was
passed through eight people of increasing rank and finally reached the
ruler of a great nation. I wonder if the applicant was kept waiting at
the door by the Jäger during the months necessary for the working out
of the process.

The Government of France has announced, officially, that it will
depart from Paris tonight and that Bordeaux is to be the new capital.
In point of fact, many officials have already gone, while those who
still remain are to leave tonight on a series of diplomatic trains.
The Embassies of England and Russia and the Legation of Belgium will
go also. There is a rumor that several of the neutral ambassadors and
consuls will flee, but this I cannot credit. They could have no
sufficient excuse for deserting Paris so precipitately, and if they
did they would appear arrant cowards. Mr. Herrick is sending Captain
Pope, one of the military Attachés, and Mr. Sussdorf, the third
secretary, to Bordeaux, in order that we may have some official
representation with the French Government in its temporary exile, but
feels that the Embassy as a whole should stay in Paris. Bordeaux is in
the midst of the districts which contain the detention camps for
German and Austrian prisoners, and I therefore rather expected to be
sent with Captain Pope and Mr. Sussdorf when I heard at noon that they
were to leave for Bordeaux. Mr. Frazier, however, told me that I was
to stay in Paris, work here being so pressing that the German
prisoners will have to get on without me. I hurriedly turned over to
Captain Pope much data I had collected concerning the camps and a
satchel containing twenty thousand francs in small change which I had
in hand for distribution among the internes.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Thursday, September 3d._ Now that part of the Embassy corps has
departed for Bordeaux, the following remain at the _Chancellerie_ to
face the exciting events of an impending German invasion. Besides Mr.
Herrick and the secretaries, Messrs. Bliss and Frazier, there are
Majors Cosby, Hedekind, and Henry; Captains Parker, Brinton, and
Barker; Lieutenants Donait, Hunnicutt, Boyd, and Greble, all of the
United States Army; Major Roosevelt of the Marine Corps; Commander
Bricker and Lieutenants Smith and Wilkinson of the Navy. Herbert
Hazeltine, William Iselin, and myself are civil Attachés, and Harry
Dodge and Lawrence Norton private secretaries to the Ambassador. The
Treasurer, Mr. Beazle, was at the Embassy as long ago as the
Franco-Prussian war and the Commune, and has already lived through one
siege and capture of Paris. There are, of course, innumerable
stenographers, bookkeepers, and the like.

The other embassies and most of the consulates have fled. Their
members have left Paris more precipitately and with less dignity than
has been shown even by the civil population. They all seemed to lose
their wits when the Germans drew near Paris; they made their
preparations to depart in the most frantic haste; they were white of
face and perspiring with nervousness. It is not a pleasant sight to
see strong men palsied with fright, but we have seen many such these
days. Not a soul remains in the British Embassy or consulate to take
care of England's manifold interests. It seems strange that when
thousands of British heroes of the army are dying brave deaths on the
fields of battle, not a single British hero was to be found in the
diplomatic corps with nerve enough to risk the inconveniences of a
siege. The Ambassador of another country, who fled with the crowd,
left in spite of orders from his king absolutely directing him to
remain. Apparently he has sacrificed his career to his fright, for
this king was so determined that his embassy at least should remain in
Paris that he has replaced this ambassador by another who has more
courage,--the new one is a soldier.

These fleeing diplomats insult France by assuming that she is already
conquered, and insult the Germans by assuming that the lives of the
accredited plenipotentiaries of foreign nations would not be safe in
the hands of German soldiers. They also leave their own subjects in
Paris without a soul to represent them at a moment when they really
need a representative for the first time in decades. When these
magnates have recomposed their minds in Bordeaux and have time to
formulate excuses, they will probably say that they left Paris because
it was their solemn duty to accompany the French Government; but
yesterday, when they were asked why they were departing so swiftly,
they could only cry: "The Germans are coming."

Mr. Herrick looks on with calm amazement. Three days ago he
telegraphed Washington to ask for authorization to stay in Paris. The
reply left the matter to his own discretion. Thirty minutes later he
was in the cabinet of M. Delcassé to say that he would stay in Paris
no matter what might come. It must have been a wonderful tableau when
those two men faced each other across M. Delcassé's big desk. As Mr.
Herrick stated that the American Embassy was positively to remain in
Paris, M. Delcassé's expression of calm dignity vanished in a flash.
He stepped around his desk and shook Mr. Herrick eagerly by the hand.
He said there were many precious memorials and many rare objects which
might have their habitation in one spot like Paris, but which
nevertheless belonged to all civilized humanity, and that no diplomat
could perform a greater service to France and to mankind than to stay
in Paris and do what could be done to protect these precious memorials
and objects from destruction--a destruction which might be avoided if
an authorized spokesman of that humanity were present to protest.

       *       *       *       *       *

The stampede out of Paris grows hour by hour. It is a contagion and
seizes all classes. A week ago it was a short street indeed which did
not boast at least one Red Cross Hospital; now most of them are
deserted, for the fashionable women who followed the fashion in
joining hospitals have now again followed the fashion and fled,
pell-mell.

The newspaper men and the "war correspondents" have been particularly
concerned for their own safety. By supreme efforts, I today managed
to obtain conveyances to transport several of them out of the
city--men with sweat on their brows and hands that trembled. There is
an element of humor in it all, despite the sadness. One of the staff
remarked, "Do you notice how all the newspaper men, who for weeks have
been pestering us with requests to be sent to the front, now demand as
insistently to be sent away, when the front is at last coming to
them?" In time of peace diplomats and war correspondents are easily
the most pugnacious people in the world. If one has taken them at
their own estimation the resulting contrast is painful.

Today we took over the interests of Great Britain, Japan, and
Guatemala. We have represented Germany, Austria, and Hungary since the
beginning of August, so that, including the United States, we are now
seven embassies in one.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Friday, September 4th._ Last evening all Paris awaited the "six
o'clock Taube" which has become for the French a regular and almost
welcome feature of each day's happenings. At four o'clock a French
aviator in a monoplane took the air and mounted up, up, up, in slow
wide circles whose center was the Tour Eiffel, until he finally
reached an altitude of some 10,000 feet. Then, a mere speck in the
cold, thin air, he circled slowly around and around, waiting for the
German--who never came. Even without this climax the situation was
thrilling enough. The Frenchman descended sadly from his lofty beat
just as night fell, while waiting Paris was distinctly disappointed.
That night in the restaurants one heard Frenchmen express the
extraordinary hope that nothing _too_ terrible had happened to brave
Lieutenant von Heidssen.

 [Illustration: M. DELCASSÉ, FRANCE'S MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS
 [He is the most capable of France's statesmen, and was the prime
 mover in the formation of the Triple Entente. He has been three
 times Minister of Marine, once Minister of the Colonies, and five
 times Minister of Foreign Affairs]]

This morning Paris is informed that the Lieutenant had been punctually
on his way to his daily appointment when, in flying over the Bois de
Vincennes, a rifle bullet had passed through his heart. Strange to
say, he planed down on a long steep slant, this man-bird, just as game
birds do when similarly stricken, and landed without serious damage to
his machine. He was found sitting stone dead, strapped up in his seat.
Such is the quick generosity of the French temperament that today he
is mourned by all Paris, this Lieutenant von Heidssen, who died on his
lonely way to keep his fifth punctual appointment with the city of
his enemies. Paris actually regrets that he no longer comes at six
each evening to throw bombs at her.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Herrick's remaining in Paris has been greeted with wonderful
appreciation and enthusiasm by the whole French nation. His picture is
in all the newspapers and shop windows, and even the most humble
member of the Embassy shines by reflected glory.

The diplomatic responsibilities resting on our Embassy become more
and more important, but everyone acknowledges that in each emergency
Mr. Herrick shows himself equal to the situation. When the first
German aëroplane threw bombs at Paris, a wave of indignation and
protestation swept over the city. It was one of those waves of
excitement which carry judgment before it. Citizens and officials,
newspapers and posters, Frenchmen and Americans, all besought and
begged Mr. Herrick, "the courageous, the noble Mr. Herrick," to
make formal protest to Washington. Everywhere one heard in angry
tones the phrases: "brutality," "contrary to the Hague Convention,"
"killing non-combatants," "barbarians." Mr. Herrick decided that
there was more danger in protesting too soon than of protesting too
late. He delayed long enough to consult his books and to confer with
his legal and military advisers. I was fortunate enough to be present
when he read the final summing-up of his conclusions. He had
discovered that neither Germany nor France had signed the clause
of the Hague Convention forbidding aircraft to drop bombs on cities.
Therefore, the law that non-combatants of a city must be warned
before any bombardment is begun did not, in the case of these
two nations, technically apply, whatever the considerations of
humanity might dictate.

Mr. Herrick did not protest, for there was legally nothing to protest
about. He forwarded verbatim to Washington the protests of the French
Government.

One now sees many British and Belgian soldiers about Paris. They have
come in on the edges of the great retreat. Their morale is exactly the
reverse of what one would expect in troops who have been badly beaten.
They express great contempt for the German soldier. They describe him
as a stupid, brutal, big-footed creature, who does not know how to
shoot and who has a distaste for the bayonet. They seem unable to
understand why they have been beaten by the Germans and try to explain
it by saying, "There are so many of them."

The Belgians, nearly all of whom have come from Liège and Namur, speak
in the most awe-stricken terms of the effects of the big German siege
guns, which fire a shell 11.2 inches in diameter. These guns were
placed in distant valleys and could not be located by the Belgians.
Moreover, they outranged the guns of the forts and could not have been
injured even if they had been located. The forts thus lay hopeless and
awaited their doom, which came suddenly enough in the shape of great
shells dropping out of the sky upon their cupolas. The explosions
might have been approximated by combining an earthquake, a volcanic
eruption, and a cyclone.

Namur was surrounded by twelve forts. The bombardment began on a
Wednesday night and three of the forts were reduced to scrap in two
days. The Germans marched through the gap thus made and took the other
forts in the rear, so that in less than three days Namur was
completely in their possession. This will undoubtedly be the system
used against Paris, and apparently there is no antidote. The forts
cannot reply, for they cannot determine where the big guns are
located; but meanwhile the big guns know the exact position of the
forts, and they, moreover, outrange the forts.

       *       *       *       *       *

Today I had an opportunity to talk with three British officers
recently arrived in Paris from that part of the front just this side
of Chantilly. They were incredibly grimy, dirty, and sweaty and were
greatly embarrassed thereby. They were of the first body of British
troops landed in France; they had met the Germans at Charleroi and had
been through the whole retreat of nearly one hundred and fifty miles,
having been constantly in action for some two weeks. They summed up
their experiences by saying that they had received "a hell of a
licking." This statement is rather over-modest since within a day or
so we have learned that the British, numbering about sixty thousand,
were opposed by four or five German army corps, amounting to two
hundred thousand men, and that in spite of this the British had
retreated stubbornly, contesting every mile.

A most extraordinary thing which these officers told me was that,
during their whole retreat from Charleroi to Compiègne, they had never
seen a single French soldier nor received any assistance from the
French army. One is tempted to wonder what would have happened if
there had been no British army to help check the retreat toward Paris.

British soldiers agree that they have received most extraordinary
hospitality from the civilians and peasantry of Belgium and France.
Whole villages, themselves facing starvation, gave their last crumb of
bread and their last drop of wine to the British troops and cheerfully
slept in the fields in order that the soldiers might snatch a bit of
rest in their houses.

All the officers with whom I have had the opportunity to talk agree
that the German losses have been enormous. I do not think that this is
entirely patriotic exaggeration, since British officers are not
particularly prone to flights of fancy. One of them prefaced his
remarks on the retreat from Charleroi by saying, "The truth of the
matter is, we got damn well licked," and went on to say that his men
shot and shot and shot until they became sick of killing, and that
the Germans kept coming, always coming, their ranks riddled and
smashed by bullets and shells. The British all agree that the German
troops have an unflinching, dogged, brutal courage, which nothing
seems to daunt. They come on and on, climbing over the bodies of the
regiments which have gone before. The German tactics are those of
Napoleon. They attack a position and they keep on attacking it until
they take it, no matter what it costs; regiments and brigades are
wiped out without any wavering in the commander's resolve or in the
dogged persistence of his troops.

In spite of the fact that they have been constantly beaten by German
tactics, the officers of the Allies persist in considering them
antiquated and barbarous. They ascribe the German successes to their
big guns and to the wonderfully efficient way in which their bad
tactics are carried out. They all agree that the German skill in
concentrating troops before an attack is wonderful. So far they have
never failed to have overwhelming numbers at any point of offense.




CHAPTER III

WITH THE BRITISH ARMY. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE


_Paris, Sunday, September 6th._ Since the French Government left Paris
we have been totally ignorant of all that is going on outside of the
city walls. For the past few days everything has been hazy rumor.
During all last week we expected the Germans to march into Paris any
day; for their headquarters were at Compiègne, their heavy advance at
Senlis and Coulomiers, and their cavalry at Pontoise and Chantilly.

With the Germans only fifteen miles from the gates of Paris, the
newspapers make no definite mention of the fact, but fill their space
with accounts of the great victories which the Russians think to win
in Silicia. Rumor has it that the Germans have even encircled Paris
and are at Fontainebleau to the south-southeast. This is highly
improbable, but we have already seen that the wildest improbability
of one day becomes an actuality the next. Everyone at the Embassy, and
indeed all Paris, is desperately anxious for news. Even unfavorable
news would be better than this prolonged suspense. Everyone inquires
and wonders and queries, but no one knows what the real situation
is--where the German army is stationed, what its next move may be, or
if any of the Allied army is between it and Paris.

After several days of great tension, desperately trying to the active
American temperament, I decided that the easiest way to find out what
was happening outside the city was to go and see. It was first
absolutely necessary to obtain permission from the authorities of
Paris to pass out of the gates--as without proper papers I would
certainly be arrested. I, by this time, knew personally many of the
police officials in the city, having interviewed them hundreds of
times in regard to German and Austrian internes. Finally I found one
who thought he knew me well enough to trust me with a pass. He
explained that the garrison of Paris occupied a zone which extended
out from the walls ten miles in all directions. Outside this were the
moving armies, and once beyond the defensive zone we could, at our
own risk, go where we chose. My permit stated that we were bound for
Lagny, which is about twelve miles from the gates and well outside the
circle of defense. I took one of the Embassy automobiles driven by a
skillful American amateur, Melvin Hall. He drove his own six-cylinder
high-power car, carrying a light touring body.

We left the city about four o'clock in the afternoon by the Porte de
Vincennes. Immediately we left the walls behind us, we found all the
roads guarded by French troops and barred by elaborate obstructions.
Every two or three minutes we were brought to a stop by little gated
forts built across the highway, which were loopholed for rifles and
commanded the road in both directions. These were designed to retard
German scouting parties or halt German mitrailleuse automobiles. The
barriers were built of an extraordinary variety of material: trees,
paving-stones, barrels, carts, hen-coops, sandbags, boxes, and
fence-rails. At each barrier were stationed a score or more of
soldiers, and as one approached, one saw the gleam of bayonets and
heard a sharp, imperative "Halte-là!" When we came to a full stop, two
or three of the sentinels would step out cautiously and suspiciously,
their rifles all ready for action, while in a gingerly way they
examined our papers.

The barriers were usually placed in positions of strategic importance,
on hills or ridges, and always one was found at each end of the main
thoroughfare of every village. All the side streets of the villages
were closed and fortified, and any opening between the outermost
houses was piled high with obstructions. Each little town within the
fortified zone thus became itself a small fort, a complete circle of
defense. We travelled along slowly for some ten miles, being halted
and examined about every half mile. Finally we came to a great trench
which ran across the fields on either side of the road. Facing away
from Paris, one looked over a valley, and in the distance could
distinctly hear the boom of guns in action.

We were now at the outer line of the defense zone, within which all
the roads, bridges, and valleys were held by infantry working in
conjunction with the large forts placed at intervals in the great
circle. Outside of this zone is open country in which battles are
being fought; where and when, it was our aim to discover.

At the trench where we halted, the men on guard were very much on the
qui vive and the officers were busy with their field-glasses, for they
had just received warning that German cavalry were in front of them in
the valley over which we looked. We stopped to talk for a few minutes
with the commanding officer, and then, releasing our brakes, slid
quietly out in front of the trench, down the hill.

It was silent and lonely in the valley; the whole countryside was
desolate. We saw neither soldier nor civilian. The very air seemed
charged with disaster. In a few minutes we ran into Lagny, which was
absolutely deserted. A curious sensation it is to enter a town having
all the marks of being inhabited and yet to sense the utter absence of
human beings. On the village square, however, we found the Mayor, who,
like so many brave French officials throughout the country, had felt
it his first duty to stand by his community, come what might to him
personally. He told us that the Germans were spread all over the
country between Lagny and the Meaux, ten miles away, and added that
their cavalry had been through the town recently and might return any
minute. He then warned us that we could not cross the Marne, which
ran through the village, because the bridges were all down. We,
therefore, turned south toward Ferrières, at right angles to our
original course, and parallel to the walls of Paris.

Before reaching Ferrières, we again touched the outer lines of the
fortified camp. Here a big standing trench was occupied by French
infantry which had been in action with some German cavalry only a few
minutes before. The captain in command asked us to take a soldier who
had been wounded back to the brigade hospital some two or three miles
to the rear. This we did gladly and found the hospital located in the
schoolhouse of a small village. Here we also encountered a wounded
English private who was manifestly grateful to hear the sound of his
own language. The village was occupied by a large body of French
Hussars who were there encamped. Some of them were rubbing down their
horses, others were cooking supper. The gray smoke of the fires
ascending through the poplar trees, the bare-armed soldiers laboring
over their mounts, the deserted houses, the litter of saddles and
equipment, made a picture not soon to be forgotten.

We returned to the entrenchments again, crossed them, and proceeded to
Ferrières, where we at last found a road which turned off to the east.
We followed this for two miles, passing through the grounds of a large
château only to find the road barred by an impassable combination of
ditches, barriers, and barbed wire. We went back again to Ferrières,
which we learned had been the seat of the British General Staff only
that morning, and from there continued southward for several miles to
another village called Pontcarré. Here at last we found a straight and
open road to the east. We turned down it at top speed, not having the
faintest idea of what was ahead, and ran for ten miles through
deserted farming country in which the only signs of life were two
French cavalry patrols scouting through the woods.

Just as night was falling, we approached Villeneuve-le-Comte. Watchful
sentries in khaki surrounded the village, and the fields around it on
all sides were packed with British troops, who had just arrived and
were in the act of bivouacking for the night. From them we learned
that the German army was less than three miles away at Crécy and that
on the morrow at dawn a great battle was to be staged. All the Allies
had been force-marching to get there in time.

On every side camp fires gleamed out through the gray of the gloaming
and their smoke mounted upward to mingle with the gray of the evening
sky above. Everywhere one saw men and horses blissfully resting after
the long, hot, and dusty march. The men lay upon the ground with every
muscle relaxed, while the horses, with drooped heads, stood first on
one tired hind foot and then upon the other. Long lines of motor
trucks loaded with ammunition were parked along the gutters of all the
roads and byways. Along the crowded highway a lane was, however,
sacredly kept open, and men looked twice before they ventured to cross
it. From time to time an orderly on a motor-cycle, carrying
instructions to subordinate commanders, would zip at a dizzy speed
down this narrow path which was flanked by almost unbroken walls of
men, wagons, and lorries.

The streets of the little French village were crowded full with
khaki-clad soldiers. A battalion of Highlanders were going through
inspection in the dusk. They now numbered only three hundred odd, but
two weeks ago in Belgium they had been eleven hundred strong. An
officer of another regiment informed us that he knew of no British
battalion in all history which had sustained such heavy losses and yet
been able to maintain its formation and fight on. We watched with
interest the Scotchmen of that regiment file by after dismissal. They
were incredibly tattered and torn, their kilts dirty and frayed; many
of them wore big, battered straw hats. The only things about them
which were neat were their rifles, their bayonets, and their
clean-shaven faces. One could certainly have no doubts as to the
excellent state of their morale; we were, indeed, much impressed by
the morale of all these British troops who, notwithstanding the fact
that they had been beaten back during two long weeks across a hundred
and fifty miles of country and had been retreating until that very
morning, in no sense felt themselves defeated but eagerly awaited the
word to advance and attack.

We spent a profitable and long-to-be-remembered hour and a half
talking with the British officers and watching the troops. We had
brought with us a supply of the two things they most craved--matches
and newspapers, and whenever any of these were distributed it nearly
produced a riot. When a box of matches was handed out, two matches
would, as long as they lasted, be given to each man of a company.

Word was passed around that we were to return to Paris that evening,
and first and last we were given some fifty notes written hurriedly by
the men who wished to send a last word to their homes before the
battle which was to begin on the morrow. We, of course, accepted these
notes only with the permission of the officers.

It was long after dark before we started back toward Paris. Mist and
fog hung close to the ground, and it was a weird ride as we felt our
way through lonely woods and deserted villages, being continually
stopped by ditches or barbed wire or a barrier across the road. Often
ahead of us we would suddenly see bayonets flickering through the mist
as our head-lights shone out upon them, and immediately the terse cry
of "Halte-là!" followed; a sergeant would come forward, lantern in
hand, to examine our papers and suspiciously look us over. All the
time we felt that a dozen unseen rifles were leveled at us from
somewhere out in the dark.

We re-entered Paris through the Porte de Vincennes at half-past eight.
After dinner I made a report of our trip to Mr. Herrick, saying that a
great battle was about to begin; that the German armies formed a right
angle, the apex of which was near Meaux, while one side extended north
through Senlis and the other ran almost due east; that between this
German army and Paris were stationed the British and French troops who
would retreat no farther but expected themselves to open the attack in
the morning. After the suspense of the past few days it is a
tremendous relief to have definite news.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, September 7th._ For me all the world was this morning
electric with excitement. That Paris should go calmly about her daily
routine, unconscious and unconcerned, seemed monstrous. I wanted to
grasp everyone I met and cry: "The Germans are only twenty miles away!
A great battle is even now being fought just outside the gates!--a
battle on the issue of which hangs the fate of France--and much more
than France. If the thin line which stands between Paris and her
enemies does not hold, this day sees France reduced to a second-rate
Power and Paris will again hear the tramp of German armies marching
down the Champs-Elysées!" My feet walked the familiar streets, but
every pulse-beat, every conscious thought was with the Allied armies
of defense with which I had so recently been in touch. The sense of
their near presence and of their great conflict was much more vivid to
me than the objects passing before my physical eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Tuesday, September 8th._ I spent yesterday and today at the Embassy
superintending the card-indexing of the German internes. Think of card
catalogues! and the battle, perhaps the world's greatest battle,
raging no farther away than one might reach in an hour by automobile!

       *       *       *       *       *

_Wednesday, September 9th._ Mr. Breckenridge, the American Assistant
Secretary of War, has arrived in Paris, and with him came also Colonel
Allen of the General Staff of the United States Army. Just as I
reached the limit of endurance in card-indexing, release came.

Through the energy and activity of Mr. Breckenridge, a permit has
been obtained allowing Colonel Allen, Captain Parker, and myself to
leave the city and view the battle which is raging outside. We are to
observe and study as much of the operations as possible, in order to
gather information useful to our army in America.

We are allowed to take our own chauffeur, and Melvin Hall, at my
suggestion, has been chosen for this position. We hope to stay a week
and shall leave tomorrow, if the machine can be made ready for so long
a trip in so short a time.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Thursday, September 10th._ I had this morning a long talk with
Richard Harding Davis. He has just arrived from Belgium and is at
present striving to get permits to see the war in France. He said that
never in his previous war experiences had he seen such unspeakable
atrocities as the Germans have committed in Belgium. He speaks nearly
as vehemently about it as does Dr. Louis Seaman. He is the first
person with whom I have had opportunity to talk who has actually been
in Belgium and saw the details of the violation of that country by
Germany.

Hall was today unable to complete the preparations on his automobile.
On this trip, running through a region devastated by war, we dare not
count on finding gasoline, tires, or food, but must start well stocked
with all these essentials. We wish to keep going at least five or six
days and probably shall find during that time no opportunity to refit.
Hall is, therefore, loading up every spare corner of his automobile
with food, tires, and gasoline cans.

The great cry of the troops at the front is for matches, cigarettes,
and newspapers. I have purchased one hundred boxes of matches, one
hundred and sixty newspapers, and six hundred cigarettes to distribute
among them as chance offers.

It has been raining almost constantly this week. One cannot help
wondering what effect it has had upon the great battle out yonder, the
battle about which we still know so little, and of which we think so
anxiously.




CHAPTER IV

THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE


_Friday, September 11th._ It still continues to rain much of the time.
Today it developed into a drenching, pelting, soaking downpour, which
continued all day long.

Colonel Allen, Captain Parker, and I had luncheon at the Grand Hotel.
Hall arrived with the machine at two o'clock. He had packed into it,
or tied to it, an immense stock of canned goods, biscuits, and bread,
an incredible amount of gasoline, with a heavy overcoat and small
satchel for each one of us, until the car looked more like a
commissariat wagon than a touring car. We were bidden God-speed by
Major Henry, Captain Barker, and Lieut. Hunnicutt and by Frederick
Palmer and Richard Harding Davis, when just before half-past two we
shot out from the porte-cochère into the rain, prepared if necessary
to stay away a week.

We ran rapidly to Lagny along an unobstructed route, where only a few
days ago Hall and I had continually been held up by the barriers and
troops of the defensive zone. We had then not been permitted to travel
half a mile without being halted. Today what a change! We saw no
troops at all in this defensive zone and with a thrill we thus
realized that the battle must be going favorably for the Allies.

Between the Porte de Vincennes and Lagny our papers were examined only
once, by a solitary sentry on the bridge at Bry-sur-Marne. It is
evident that the Germans have either been beaten back or have chosen
to retire from the neighborhood. From Lagny we passed rapidly to
Villeneuve-le-Comte, which was now totally devoid of troops. At Crécy
we came upon the first signs of war. Here we saw a big park of British
reserve ammunition. All along the roads were the remains of a German
field telephone line, which had doubtless been constructed about the
time Hall and I had been in Villeneuve on Sunday.

       *       *       *       *       *

All day the rain continued to pour in torrents.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our machine rolled over the brow of a hilltop and below us in a hollow
we saw the little village of Rebais. The road straight before us
gently sloped down to the hamlet, passing through it as its principal
street. Yesterday there had been heavy fighting in and around the
town; French troops had entered it and advanced through it under heavy
fire. There were great black holes in the roofs and walls and the
ground was littered with bits of glass and slate. The village lay very
still and motionless in the pelting rain. We glanced up each of its
lanes as we glided by, and in each the bodies of numerous dead French
soldiers lay sodden in the mud, with their red legs sticking out in
attitudes of ludicrous ghastliness. A line of ammunition wagons half a
mile long was parked at the side of the village street and the horses
were picketed in long lines in the adjacent gardens and fields.

On the right there was a level mowed field along the edge of which the
teamsters were huddled over campfires, cooking. Beginning a few yards
behind them the field was strewn with dead soldiers lying monstrously
conspicuous on the bare ground. On the far side of the field half a
mile away was a jumble of houses, trees, and fences, and here German
infantry supported by two batteries had the day before taken up a
position. A battalion of the 17th French Line Regiment had charged
across the flat field into their teeth. We were told that in this
charge they had lost fifty per cent. of their men but had gone on
undaunted, and had "got home" _à la bayonette_, capturing the position
and a number of prisoners.

We walked silently among the dead. Where the casualties had been
heaviest, we counted seventeen bodies within a circle thirty paces in
diameter. Every man of the group had fallen forward with his bayonet
pointing straight out in front of him. Some had been running with such
_élan_ that in falling their shoulders had fairly plowed into the soft
ground. They had nearly all been killed by shrapnel fire, which in
most cases had killed cleanly. We found one, however, who had been
badly mashed by a shell which had burst in the ground at his feet,
making a deep, oblong hole six feet long into which his shattered body
had fallen. The metal identification tags, one of which every soldier
wears, had not been collected. These are removed by the burying squad,
and sent home as announcers of the decease. This group had all been
so recently killed that their faces were very lifelike. One found
oneself repeating "How natural they look!" and one could pretty well
judge what sort of men they had been in life. Here was a slight
smooth-faced blond-haired boy, who must have been dearly beloved by
the women of his family. Here again a serious, kindly, middle-aged man
whose face bore a curious expression of preoccupation. I caught myself
thinking, "I should like to have known him." We found one who in his
dying agony had evidently taken from his pocket a letter which now lay
a sodden mass in his dead hand. We could not resist that mute appeal,
but picked the letter carefully from his stiff fingers to be dried out
later and delivered, if possible, to the woman to whom it was
addressed.

As one looked at all these useless, cumbersome bits of carrion which
no one in the rush of war had had time to remove, one could not but
remember how each one had been suddenly wrenched from a useful life
and in death had somewhere left a broken family. The dead do not have
the tragic expressions with which painters credit them. Those who
have been instantly killed generally wear grotesque expressions. Some
look bored--others have a silly look of surprise, as if a practical
joke had just been played upon them. These grotesque expressions are
much more frightful than could be any indicative of suffering. Those
who have died slowly are usually propped up against something in a
sitting posture, and their faces express happiness or perfect peace.

       *       *       *       *       *

We passed beyond the position which the Germans had recently held.
Here beside the road was a farmer's house with a great hole in its
roof. In the door stood a very old man gazing stupidly at the
landscape. In front of his house lay side by side three dead Germans.
They lay on their backs; the coat and shirt of each had been torn open
at the neck and their bare breasts were marred by a clotted mass of
closely grouped bullet marks. Further inspection showed that their
arms were tied behind them and we knew that we were witnessing the
results of a military execution. The old man against whose house they
had been shot explained that they had been among the prisoners taken
in the charge of the French infantry the day before and that their
fate had been the penalty for what was revealed when their pockets had
been searched.

       *       *       *       *       *

We cross-questioned several inhabitants of the little village of
Boissy, who told us that the Germans had held the place for five days
and had left only two days ago, on Wednesday evening. Fleeing at the
approach of a heavy force of the British, they had retired in a
northeasterly direction. We judged from the description given by the
peasants that the force which had occupied the neighborhood consisted
of a division of cavalry with a strong force of artillery. In entering
Boissy the Germans had cornered a patrol of about twenty British
cavalrymen and had killed them all, the last three having defended
themselves in a little brick house where they had been shot down one
by one. The Germans had burned this house and the two adjoining ones
in order to make sure that no more troopers were in hiding. We saw
only one other building in the village which had been damaged. The
inhabitants explained that it was a jewelry shop and that the invaders
had wrecked it hoping to find hidden valuables. We did not have time
to investigate this statement. There had been no fighting in the
streets other than the battle with the British patrol and we
considered the condition of the place a credit to the force which had
occupied it. The inhabitants, indeed, protested that all food supplies
had been confiscated but agreed that no civilians had been injured and
that no women had been molested.

As we approached Montmirail, we passed a beautiful monument, dedicated
to Napoleon, who had directed a battle from that spot in 1814, one
hundred years ago. A golden eagle surmounted a column which stood upon
a stepped base. The fields about were plowed by shells and yesterday
one shell had knocked a big chunk off the side of the column about
half-way up. Leaning against the base, in an attitude of infinite
weariness, sat a dead French soldier.

       *       *       *       *       *

Much of the dismal aftermath of battle seems to be concentrated along
the highways, which are punctuated by dead men and dead horses thrown
into the gutters to be out of the way. Long trains of horse-drawn
wagons plod wearily along toward the front; the towns through which
they pass are battered and nearly deserted; the poplars which line
the roads are broken and gashed by shells, and the fields on either
side are marred by shell craters and by the trenches of the burying
squads.

We entered the shattered town of Montmirail at nightfall. Long lines
of ammunition wagons were encamped for the night just outside and the
town itself was packed with troops. The place had been for eighteen
consecutive hours under a heavy artillery bombardment. The houses were
battered, the streets were pitted by shells, and there remained in the
whole village not a single unbroken window. There had been much
fighting in the streets and the place had been alternately taken and
retaken by Germans and French.

All accommodation in the town had by one blanket order been
requisitioned for the military. We plowed our way through rain and mud
to the office of the Mayor who kindly assigned us to rooms, giving us
written orders on the owners, who turned out to be a quaint old French
shirtmaker and his wife. Hall and I went scouting around through the
place and managed to get hold of a fourteen-sou loaf of bread and two
bottles of wine which served as supper, thus saving our own precious
supplies for future emergencies. Before returning, we visited two
cafés which were jammed with soldiery, from whom we managed to glean a
lot of very interesting information. They all spoke with the greatest
respect, admiration, and affection of their field artillery, "le
soixante-quinze."

       *       *       *       *       *

Provisions were very scarce. We saw a Turco, who had apparently lost
his regiment and who spoke scarcely any French, vainly trying to find
some food. He walked about through the cafés waving a one hundred
franc note in each hand and ceaselessly demanding something to eat.

       *       *       *       *       *

After supper a council of war was held in order to decide upon our
course of action for the morrow. Captain Parker was eager to hunt for
a vortex of the battle where, he held, the primary decision must have
been lost and won and the fighting would have been most intense; while
the action on all the other parts of the line must have been
contingent upon the results at this "tactical center." This "focus"
could not have been to the north or west of Paris, because the great
bodies of French troops are to the east; nor was it on the battle
line nearest Paris, for everything we saw today in and behind the zone
of operations testified to the contrary. In all the actions we have so
far observed, the Germans were retiring deliberately in a retreat
evidently determined by some ulterior cause. We noted many places
where severe fighting had taken place, but in every case it bore the
unmistakable signs of being merely a hotly contested rearguard action.
We so far have neither seen nor heard of any great German defeat such
as must somewhere have occurred in order to start a general retreat,
and to force such numerous rearguard actions. A victorious German army
does not suddenly begin to retire unless compelled to do so by a
gigantic and crushing defeat at some one point; such a defeat must
mean days of losses so frightful that the beaten army is physically
exhausted and its morale shaken.

From a military point of view it was of vital importance to discover
this spot and to study the battlefield for lessons in tactics. Captain
Parker maintained that it would be more profitable to find this center
than to give way to our inclination to go forward into the actual
fighting; that if we could locate it, it would be best to stay upon
the abandoned field of the German defeat to study how the battle had
been fought. He pointed out that the opportunity would be equivalent
to being upon the field of Waterloo or Gettysburg the day after action
ceased. As a result of the conference, it was finally decided to
accept Captain Parker's contention and hunt for the battlefield of the
great and decisive French victory, rather than to turn north toward
the constant booming of cannon. We shall, therefore, continue to work
our way to the eastward toward Chalons-sur-Marne, beating back and
forth across the country and carefully covering all the ground.

       *       *       *       *       *

_At the Front, Saturday, September 12th._ We slept last night in beds
which had recently been occupied by German officers and spent a very
chilly night therein on account of the cold, wet wind which blew in
through the many shattered windows. We woke to the rumbling of distant
cannon, which might more correctly be called a trembling of the air
rather than a true sound. Still hoarding our provisions, we ate a
frugal breakfast of stale bread and of tea made from the dried leaves
of linden trees. We started off at half-past seven, receiving a very
friendly God-speed from our aged host and hostess.

All morning we made our way in an easterly direction, beating back and
forth across the country in order to cover as much ground as possible.
When we turned to the north the sound of cannon became louder and when
we swung to the south it grew fainter. We studied the country
carefully and, when possible, talked with any of the Allied officers
we chanced to meet. They usually knew thoroughly the events which had
taken place in the particular neighborhood in which they had operated,
but were astonishingly ignorant of what had gone on at any distance.
What they told us was always very valuable, because it assisted us to
piece together the fabric of the campaign as a whole.

       *       *       *       *       *

Beyond Vauchamps we came upon a scene where there had been heavy
artillery fighting. The fields were plowed up by innumerable shells
and many dead horses were strewn along the gutters, with here and
there a dead soldier who had fallen in the road and been hurriedly
thrown aside so that he should not hinder traffic.

The highway was elevated a bit above the level country which stretched
on either side, and at one spot we saw where two German guns had
fought from behind this slight protection. They had been placed in
holes sunk a few inches into the ground, and the loose earth had been
piled up to form a little mound in front, preventing bullets from
flying under the gun shield. Empty cartridge cases were strewn about
and a pile of unused ammunition was stacked up like cordwood. The
German guns had been in sight of a French battery across the fields
and a direct-fire artillery duel had taken place between the two. The
craters of thirty-two French shells were within twenty paces of the
emplacements and the ground was strewn with splinters and shrapnel
cases. There were several very dead German artillerymen who had
evidently been working the guns when direct hits had been made upon
the material of the battery. No limbers or caissons had been with the
guns, but a caisson had been placed in a field about two hundred yards
behind, and men ran up and down across the field carrying ammunition
in wicker baskets, each of which holds three shells. We picked up four
of these shell baskets as curiosities and managed to find room for
them in our machine.

       *       *       *       *       *

As we advanced we became more and more convinced of the correctness of
Capt. Parker's theory that there had been a big focal center of the
battle somewhere still to the east of us, and that the actions along
the rest of the line of contact from Paris to Lorraine had occurred
with reference to this vortex.

It is characteristic of the limited knowledge which troops in battle
have of what goes on outside of their immediate geographical vicinity,
that we ran almost into the great battle area for which we were
searching before anyone gave us a hint of its location. It was at
Vertus that we were told by a French officer that terrific fighting
had taken place in the upland plateau to the south of us, around a
place called Fère Champenoise; that the Germans had there made their
main attack with close to a quarter of a million men; that a frightful
battle had raged, a battle in which the Germans were at first, during
some thirty-six hours, victorious, but that, with the arrival of
reinforcements, the Ninth French Army under General Foch had turned
the tide and finally routed them. The officers said that the fighting
and slaughter had been frightful; that the combined casualties of the
two sides were close to two hundred thousand on a front of something
over twenty miles and a depth of about fifteen miles. They said that
the battle area was contained roughly within a circumference drawn
through the villages of Champaubert, Coligny, Pierre-Morains,
Clamanges, Sommesous, Gourgançon, Corroy, and Sézanne.

 [Illustration: "THE DEAD WERE SCATTERED FAR AND WIDE"
 [Our automobile on one of the battlefields of the Marne]]

As we conferred with the officers a constant stream of reinforcements
for the French army was passing, coming from Fère Champenoise and
marching toward Ay and Epernay; regiments of infantry, ammunition
trains, caissons, transports, and cavalry, all marching endlessly
toward the booming guns to the northward.

We turned our machine to the south with a feeling of the greatest awe
at the thought of what two hundred thousand casualties must mean. We
were silent for some minutes as the machine sped along, and then
Captain Parker remarked: "At Gettysburg or at Waterloo the total
forces engaged amounted to only about one hundred and sixty thousand!"

We ran toward the slope of the plateau, passing slowly an endless,
unbroken line of transports. Beyond Bergères-Les-Vertus an infantry
brigade was resting beside the road and the tired men were cooking and
eating.

       *       *       *       *       *

We tried to comprehend the battle as a whole by studying a great many
fields, any one of which would a few years ago have been considered an
entire battle in itself. The dead were scattered far and wide; and in
the fields and among the grain-stacks the wounded cried out their
piteous faint appeals. Little groups of German stragglers were hiding
in the forests, and squads of alert French soldiers hunted them down,
beating through the cover as eager setter dogs search for grouse. In
one field of about six acres lay nine hundred German dead and wounded;
across another, where a close-action fight had raged, two hundred
French and Germans lay mixed together, all mashed and ripped. Here was
the curious sight of a German and Frenchman lying face to face, both
dead, and each one transfixed by the other's bayonet.

The very birds of the air and the beasts of the field lay dead and
rotting amid the general destruction. We saw feathers and bits of
chickens and halves of cows. On one occasion Hall maintained that "it"
had been a cow, while I thought "it" was a horse, and no piece large
enough for a certain identification could be found. Of some of the
villages which had been peaceful and beautiful a week ago, there
remained now only chimneys, ashes, and bits of walls rising from
smouldering gray débris. A French village wrecked by battle looks very
much wrecked indeed, in contrast with its habitual orderly and
toy-like appearance.

I was not so horrified in viewing these ghastly sights as I had
expected, because I could not put from me a sense of their unreality.
The human mind is incapable of comprehending to the full such terrible
happenings. One kept endlessly saying to oneself: "Can all this which
we are seeing really have taken place in this once quiet French
countryside, almost within the suburbs of Paris? It seems
impossible--unbelievable!"

       *       *       *       *       *

In the little upland village of Clamanges was a field hospital which
had been established by the Germans when they first occupied the place
on the night of September 7th. They had held it until their retreat
on the 10th, when their retirement was so precipitate that they had
been unable to take with them their wounded.

In this war it is the custom to convert the village churches into
hospitals. The chairs and benches are thrown out into the graveyard
and the floor is covered with straw upon which the wounded are laid in
long rows extending the length of the nave. The altar is converted
into the pharmacist's headquarters and bottles and medicaments are
piled thereon, while bandages, for want of room, are sometimes hung
upon the statue of the Virgin, who has, in this unique service, an air
of sublime and compassionate contentment. An operating room is usually
established in the vestry or in the Parish House and a Red Cross flag
is hung from the steeple. Any shell holes in the roofs and walls are
stopped with sections of tenting. As we approached Clamanges, we
detected a sickening, subtle, sweetish odor which crept stealthily to
us through the air and filled us with an insinuating disgust. The
Colonel said simply, "That is gangrene."

The streets of the village were muddy and littered, and there were
innumerable ominous flies everywhere. The town was crammed with
German wounded. In the church long rows of them, touching feet to head
and arm to arm, so that the attendants had to step gingerly between as
they made their slow way about. The neighboring peasant houses were
packed full with the overflow. In the halls lay the bodies of men who
had died of gangrene, and as no one had time to attend to the dead,
the piles of them grew and increased. We were told that there were
thirteen hundred wounded in the village, among whom labored sixty
attendants. They were all severely wounded, since the Germans had
dragged with them all their slightly wounded, these being good assets.

What had once been a little rose garden was piled high with a gigantic
heap of bloody accoutrements which had been taken from wounded men as
they were brought in. Under a tree in a corner of the churchyard a
surgeon had set up a big kitchen table which he used for operations;
the ground underneath was black and caked. In a near by corner of the
church walls was a great pile of boots and stained clothes which had
been cut from shattered limbs, and I expect one might have discovered
even more ghastly objects had one ventured to turn over the rags. The
attendants were nearly all French, although two German doctors and
several German orderlies had stayed behind with their wounded. All
worked heroically to cope with their great task.

In the rush of battle it had been impossible to obtain food for the
wounded, so that for days these men had gone hungry, and one heard the
agonizing sound of dying men crying piteously for bread. The French
attendants themselves went hungry in order to give their charges such
small pittances of food as were obtainable. We watched an orderly who
entered the church with a single loaf of bread which had just been
secured and which was to be divided among several hundred wounded. He
used a great knife as if he hoped to make up for the smallness of the
supply by the largeness of the implement. Slowly and with sober care
he cut slice after slice, each one so thin that the light shone
through it. Every head was turned toward him and each burning pair of
eyes was fixed upon the precious bread with an expression of animal
dumbness, which reminded one of the intent eyes of a hungry dog as it
watches a hoped-for morsel. As he advanced step by step, the wounded
stretched up shriveled hands, or propped themselves on one elbow to
make more appealing gestures, their faces all contorted by the pains
the movement caused them. They made no sound, for their attention was
too intently fixed upon that bread. One, however, who had been
overlooked, burst into screams and wailings until the mistake had been
properly remedied. We Americans held a Council of War and unanimously
decided to contribute our jealously hoarded supply of provisions; we
thereby became as angels in the eyes of those poor creatures. A French
attendant remarked as he handed a sliver of our only loaf of bread to
a shattered man: "Il va mourir tout à l'heure, mais cela lui fera
grand plaisir en mourant!"

The dying are frightful sights, and parts of them are often already
mortified, as they lie in the straw, entirely occupied with breathing.
They breathe eternally little short breaths, a hundred or a hundred
and ten to the minute, like some sort of pump. They wish passionately
not to die, and yet they know with desperate certainty that they are
going to die. They lie down there in a tiny, little black hell of
their own and fight with all their might and main, feeling that they
will die instantly if they skip one little short breath. (I was going
to say they fight with all their soul and body, but they no longer
really possess either of these). They have no time to speak, or
listen, or move, or be helped, as every particle of energy must be
used for the next respiration. A jumbled heap lies in the straw
covered with a blanket to keep off the flies. An attendant looks at
its side in search of the fluttering little pulsation of breath. If it
is there, "he" is living; if all is still, "it" is dead, and they
carry it out and dump it in the hall with the other bodies.

       *       *       *       *       *

The little village of Ecury-le-Repos had been deserted by every one
but its Mayor, who mistook us for Germans, and as such faced us
bravely and with dignity. He very correctly refused to believe that we
were not of the enemy until he had examined our papers. His village
was not a pleasant sight. He said that it had been taken and retaken
many times and that there had been fighting in its streets as recently
as yesterday; its houses were battered and rent by shells and many
had burned down and still smouldered; no earthquake could have ruined
them more thoroughly. The narrow village streets were littered ankle
deep with a muddy, rotting pot-pourri in which one detected broken
glass, bits of brick, cartridges, roof slates, broken bottles, shreds
of clothing, shells, fragments, shrapnel cases, and kepis. Dead men
lay in the gutters, covered with filth to such an extent that one
almost failed to recognize what they were.

In their last retreat the Germans had dragged their desperately
wounded into halls and doorways in order that they might be out from
under foot, and there they still lay. Half of them were mercifully
already dead. We looked into one hallway only. Here amidst a stifling
stench, five Germans were propped up; three were dead and the other
two barely alive; all were covered black with flies and the living and
the dead were eaten by white, weaving masses of maggots.

Ecury-le-Repos is situated in a little circular hollow, with elevated
table-lands all around. Here where the table-lands begin to dip down,
the Germans had defended themselves against the advancing French. As
they faced southward toward the oncoming enemy, they had the village
in its cup-like hollow at their backs. At one point German infantry to
the number of about two hundred had been placed on the crest facing
across the bare level plateau, while in front of them some two hundred
and fifty paces distant was a pine wood through which the French were
advancing. The Germans had evidently had no time to entrench but had
quickly lain down in skirmish order in the outer edge of a potato
field; each soldier had then pushed up in front of him, as protection,
a little heap of potatoes and loose earth. A hundred paces to the
right of this German skirmish line, two mitrailleuses had been
skillfully thrust forward some fifty yards in advance, and concealed
in small trenches hurriedly dug. They could thus fire across the front
of their own infantry and take in the flank any French who advanced.
This action was one of a series which had taken place along this line
of hills. The German flanks were not unprotected, but owing to the
fact that the country was much broken and obscured by woods, such a
force would be partly hidden from its neighbors to the right and left,
and largely independent in repelling any attack made against it.

A body of French infantry three to four hundred strong had advanced to
the edge of the woods, facing the Germans, and had there taken up a
skirmish position. The opposing bodies had then fired at each other a
collective total of about twenty-five thousand rounds across a
perfectly flat field. We were able to estimate the number of men
engaged on either side from the impressions which their feet, elbows,
and bodies had made in the soft earth, and we could judge how many
rounds per man had been fired by counting the little piles of empty
cartridges which had accumulated beside each rifleman. When we arrived
upon the scene the wounded had nearly all been removed, but the dead
were still untouched, and we were able to see that, as a result of
this fusillade of twenty-five thousand rounds, only three Germans and
six Frenchmen had been killed outright.

After this rifle contest, the French had made a bayonet charge across
the open. The Germans had fired until the French had advanced about
half way and had hit a score, after which they temporarily ceased
firing and the French then promptly "charged home." The two German
mitrailleuses were unperceived by the advancing French, and as the
French passed them in flank, the mitrailleuses opened fire; at the
same moment the Germans suddenly fired a scattering rifle volley.
Attacked in front and on the flank, every Frenchman but one was hit,
and sixty dead still lay in a row across the field as if cut down by a
mowing machine. The sole survivor of the fatal cross-fire was a boy
with a tiny black moustache. Undaunted, he had charged alone in among
the Germans and had received many bayonets in his heroic body. He lay
on his back among the German cartridges fifty yards ahead of the row
of his dead comrades.

Behind the crest of the plateau we could see the emplacements of four
guns at intervals of about forty yards, but they had not been used in
this engagement and may have been shelling some more distant
objective.

Before leaving this field we gathered a quantity of potatoes and put
them in the German shell baskets which we had picked up earlier in the
day, in order that our gift to the field hospital might not leave us
totally without food. We felt rather unhappy at not being able to pay
for them, but "à la guerre comme à la guerre."

       *       *       *       *       *

Just outside of Fère Champenoise on the road running west toward
Broussy-le-Grand, we came upon the scene of an action in which the
casualties had been exceedingly heavy. The neighborhood was absolutely
deserted and as the wounded had been removed and there were no
peasants about we could find no one to elucidate for us what had taken
place. The action was not easy to unravel and the following
conclusions were unverified by any eyewitnesses.

We, however, judged by the condition of the dead and other
circumstantial evidence that the fight had taken place at the very
beginning of the great battle--that is, on the morning of Tuesday, the
8th, when the French were slowly pushed back from the vicinity of Fère
Champenoise. The road ran through the middle of an open field, with
heavy forests on either side, some three hundred yards away to the
north and south. A French regiment had evidently taken up a defensive
position to the left of the road and parallel with it, thus facing
the woods to the north and some four hundred yards away. These woods
were held by a regiment of Imperial Guard and a battery of artillery
had been placed some three hundred yards behind them. The Guards had
advanced one hundred and fifty yards into the open and then formed a
firing-line. In some inexplicable manner they had accomplished this
manoeuvre without casualties.

The two firing-lines were thus facing one another across two hundred
and fifty yards of open field; the men lying shoulder to shoulder were
plainly visible to their opponents. The German firing-line was marked
by nine dead. The shooting of the Guard was excellent and thus in
marked contrast to the poor shooting of other German organizations
which we had observed. The French position was marked by more than
three hundred dead, and the roots and lower branches of some pine
saplings near by were riddled with bullets; indeed, some of these had
actually been cut down by rifle fire, and I estimated that there was
on an average at least one bullet for every two square inches of bark.
Nearly all the French must have been put out of action before the
Germans finally charged, for the latter had only some twenty men
killed in crossing the open to the French position. This is such a
small loss to suffer when pushing home a bayonet charge, that the only
explanation would be that few French were left to resist this final
dash. In one place there was a pile of eleven dead Frenchmen who had
evidently been killed in a desperate last stand.

Throughout this action the French had manifestly stood their ground
very stubbornly, despite desperate losses, and had at no time broken
or retreated. There were only ten dead behind their firing-line and
these had been killed with the bayonet while fighting in the open.
Another French regiment adjacent to them, in some woods farther west,
had suffered no less heavily, and the woods were here literally dotted
with the bodies of the dead. Our conclusion was that all the Frenchmen
had been put out of action. It should be remembered that the ratio of
wounded to killed is at least four to one. Colonel Allen said that he
could not imagine worse destruction than these two regiments suffered.
Evidently it was part of the price the French army so willingly paid
for their great victory.

       *       *       *       *       *

We followed along the Petit Morin and the marshes of St. Gond. Here
not far from Soizy-aux-Bois had been a furious bayonet fight in which
a French colonial brigade had carried the German positions. At one
point a regiment of Turcos had advanced across the Petit Morin and
charged to the bare hill toward a long well-made trench held by a
battalion of German infantry whose fire had not deterred them. As the
Turcos closed in, the Germans jumped out of their trench and re-formed
in a line behind it, but broke at the first shock of the Africans, who
came on screaming, their knives and bayonets much in evidence. A scene
of frightful carnage ensued as the rout spread along the hill. The
Turcos chased the Germans over the fields and through neighboring
woods, killing them right and left. The total casualties in the
neighborhood must have been more than three thousand, the Germans
being much the heavier losers.

I have read of such bayonet fights, but have always doubted their
possibility in modern war. I have supposed that in close-range
fighting a few men might be bayoneted, but that the majority of the
casualties would be from gunshot wounds. In this mêlée, however,
most of the wounds were inflicted with the bayonet, and frightful
wounds they were. Many on both sides had been pierced through the
face, neck, and skull. The head of one German officer who had not
fled with his men, but had bravely fought on single-handed, had
been completely transfixed by a bayonet, which had entered through
the eagle on the front of his helmet and passed through his skull
and out behind.

[Illustration: THE COMMON GRAVE OF NINE HUNDRED DEAD NEAR
SOIZY-AUX-BOIS]

       *       *       *       *       *

After passing through many scenes of horror, we arrived at the castle
of Mondemont which is near Allemant, and caps the summit of a steep
wooded hill overlooking the marshes of St. Gond. It was a Louis XV.
château, but is now a mass of shattered ruins. Around it had been
elaborate gardens with many paths, alleys, carp ponds, flower-beds,
hedges, and walls. From its elevated position it commanded the valleys
beneath. It had without much difficulty been captured by the Germans
as they advanced southward, and when they later retreated to the north
again they had left here a rearguard to hold back the victorious
French.

All through the disastrous afternoon of Wednesday the 9th, these
Germans had defended Mondemont against a furious cannonade and in the
face of infantry assaults which, in some cases, had to be repulsed
with the bayonet. Meanwhile, the main German armies retreated many
miles until on Thursday morning this heroic rearguard found itself
hopelessly surrounded on all sides. The French commanders summoned the
place to surrender, explaining that further resistance was madness,
but were met by a firm refusal, whereupon the Germans were subjected
to a most terrific bombardment by cannon, large and small. In all at
least ten thousand shells were fired at the château until it was
reduced to a pile of rubbish. Even the garden walls remained standing
only in isolated spots, and the surrounding forest was so completely
wrecked that great boughs and whole trees lay criss-crossed in an
inextricable tangle.

Near the château there was a field several acres in extent and in it
alone we counted about a thousand craters which had been made by big
shells. The road which passed in front of the château was full of
great holes twenty feet in circumference blown out of the solid
macadam. After this bombardment, a desperate infantry assault rolled
up the hill and captured it, but only after a frightful mêlée in
which the defenders fought and died to the last man. I noticed a
shutter remaining upon one window of the château which had been
pierced by fifty-two bullets. By a singular chance there was one room
which had been little damaged. In it as we entered there stood a table
at which the German officers had been eating when interrupted by the
final attack; their knives and forks lay on the plates, which still
held meat and carrots, partly eaten, and wine half filled the glasses;
two of the chairs had been hurriedly pushed back from the table, while
a third, overturned, lay upon its side.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Sunday, September 13th._ We spent the night at Bar-sur-Seine,
sleeping in the hallway of a little hotel, and next morning went to
the headquarters of General Joffre which, during the battle, were at
Châtillon-sur-Seine.

       *       *       *       *       *

We returned to the battlefields in the neighborhood of Fère
Champenoise early in the afternoon.

       *       *       *       *       *

We entered Fère Champenoise for the second time after dark, meaning to
spend the night there. The town was packed with transport wagons and
troops. All the houses were dark, the only illumination being from
lamps on wagons and automobiles which stood in the market-place and
along the main highway through the town.

It had rained nearly all day and was still raining, and although we
were loath to sleep outdoors or in the automobile, we at first saw no
possibility of finding lodgings elsewhere. Captain Parker and I left
the machine and started to reconnoitre through the side streets. The
rain, the low-hanging clouds, and the high walls of the houses, all
combined to make the bottom of the deep narrow streets blacker than
any blackness I have ever experienced. The darkness was so dense that
it seemed to have body and solidity, and one walked as if totally
blind. The streets were alive with invisible soldiers, whom one heard
breathing in the damp darkness and with whom one continually collided.
High above the roofs of the houses a distant glow was reflected upon
the falling rain by fires where they were burning the dead.

Few of the inhabitants had yet returned to the town and we were unable
to find anyone who could tell us where to locate the Mayor. All the
houses were tightly shuttered and nearly all were empty, though
occasionally a faint suggestion of light showed through the crack
under the door. When we beat a summons on such an entrance we never
gained anything more satisfactory in the way of a response than a
gruff and muffled statement that "la maison est déjà toute pleine de
soldats." We persevered, however, and our efforts were finally
rewarded, for we at last met an old woman to whom we could explain our
dilemma. She seemed interested in our plight and, pointing to a man
who was approaching and whom we discerned by the faint light of a
dingy lantern which he was carrying, said: "Voila mon patron. Je lui
expliquerai ce que c'est!" A whispered conversation followed, and then
we were introduced to M. Achille Guyot, one of the leading citizens of
the town, a champagne manufacturer of prominence and a man who proved
to be a splendid example of French fortitude and chivalry.

In the darkness we groped for each other's hands, and M. Guyot, with
the greatest politeness, said that he would be charmed to have us
sleep beneath his roof. He apologized because he had little but the
roof to offer since "Les Allemands ont tout bouleversé." He suggested
hesitatingly that we should also sup with him before retiring, and
again apologized, saying: "Les Allemands ont tout pris." We remarked
that we possessed a great many potatoes and would gladly contribute
them to increase the bulk of the repast. This greatly relieved his
mind, as he confessed that he had almost nothing to offer, but since
we had so many potatoes they would be gratefully accepted.

We followed him to his residence, which proved to be a very large
mansion with a great garden in front and a larger one behind.
As we entered the house the rays of the lantern revealed a most
extraordinary sight. All the villagers who had remained in town agreed
that this house had been occupied by German officers and that in
leaving they had carried out much loot. The Teuton taste has been
chiefly for enamels and lingerie. The interior of the house looked
more like a pig-sty than a human dwelling. The Germans had broken all
locks and emptied the contents of all bureaus, closets, and desks upon
the floor, the more easily to pick and choose what they wanted. The
floors were covered ankle-deep in the resulting litter which was
composed of everything from lace to daguerreotypes, from bric-à-brac
to hosiery. The relics and treasures of past generations of the
owner's family carpeted the house, until each room seemed in a worse
state than the last, and the whole was altogether a most superlative
mess. M. Guyot had shoveled paths through the different rooms as one
shovels through several inches of newly fallen snow.

We stood in amazement that anyone could so completely have turned
upside down an orderly house. As an example of absolute disorder, the
dining-room was a veritable work of art. The German orderlies had
evidently prepared and served four or five meals to their officers.
Each time they had set the table with fine linen and old china and
then as soon as the repast was over had taken up the tablecloth by its
edges and corners and had thrown it with the china, bottles, linen,
tableware, dirty dishes, and remnants of food, into a corner of the
room. At each succeeding meal the process had been repeated with a new
setting of china and fresh linen from the nearly inexhaustible
supplies with which the house was furnished. This was housekeeping
reduced by German "efficiency" to its simplest terms. The same
"efficiency" had been employed in the kitchen where each meal had been
prepared with a fresh set of cooking utensils which, after use, had
been piled up under the tables and sinks, together with such débris as
potato peels and coffee grounds. Perhaps a good housekeeper would have
been most disgusted by the condition of the kitchen; to me the
dining-room, where the post-mortems of meals were added to the results
of pillaging, seemed the more shocking.

The house contained a dozen large bedrooms and all the beds had been
slept in by Germans, some of whom had not taken pains to remove their
boots. M. Guyot told us we might sleep where we chose and showed us
where the fresh linen was kept, apologizing for the fact that we would
be obliged to make up our own beds.

He introduced us to three French aviators who were already quartered
in the house and who came in as we were preparing to depart for
supper. They were Captain B----, Chevalier de la Legion, Lieutenant
the Vicomte de B----, and their orderly. The officers immediately took
possession of the lantern and conducted us out into the gardens to
behold the piles of broken bottles which the Germans had strewn
about. They informed us that these were some of the remains of fifteen
thousand bottles of champagne which had been taken by the invaders
from the warehouse cellars of our host alone. M. Guyot had not
volunteered this information, but now confirmed that fact and added
with simplicity that his champagne business and the prosperity of his
house would be much curtailed for some time to come.

Our host's residence was in such disorder that he suggested that the
supper table should be laid at the house of one of his employees who
lived near-by in the village, and we all started together through the
darkness, taking stock of our provisions as we walked. The French
officers had tea and two loaves of bread which they had obtained from
the Commissariat; M. Guyot, in the expectation of having guests, had
managed to amass three pigeons, five eggs, and several tomatoes, and
we Americans excavated such endless quarts of potatoes from our
automobile that the Frenchmen amidst roars of laughter had cried
"Assez! Assez!"

Our host and his friends decided that the repast should be called a
dinner and should be given in honor of the new France and of the
glorious victory just won, the first to rest upon the French arms in
more than sixty years. What more fitting, they asked, than that we
neutrals should witness this celebration? The Vicomte de B---- busied
himself with reciting the menu: entrée, omelette parmentier; game,
pigeon rôti; plat de résistance--pommes de terre Marseillaise; Salade,
tomate--not to speak of toast and tea. M. Guyot hinted darkly and
mysteriously that he would attend to the wine list; we should have
laughed at this had we not realized that a wine merchant who has lost
his entire store of wine is not a fit subject for jest.

When we took our places at dinner, our host sat at one end of the
table and Colonel Allen at the other. The former then explained that a
little cellar where he kept his most precious wines had been
undiscovered by the invaders and that the wine list would include the
precious champagne of '93 and a very old Bordeaux. His aged employee,
who had served the meal, then entered amid loud acclamations, her arms
full of bottles, and we drank to "La France" in Bordeaux of the color
of a ruby.

The table was set with wooden-handled knives and forks, as no others
remained, and was lighted by candles set in bottles and broken
candlesticks; no gas, electricity, or kerosene having survived the
invasion. The French aviators had in their possession five spiked
helmets which they had taken as trophies from the heads of dead
Germans. It was suggested that since all ordinary means of lighting
had been destroyed by these same Germans, their casques might
fittingly be used as candlesticks, and each bear a taper upon its
point. This suggestion was about to be put into effect when M. Guyot,
whose business had been so recently ruined and whose house had been
ruthlessly pillaged by these invaders, quietly made objection and said
that it was not fitting or proper that the headgear of fallen soldiers
should be used as candelabra.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, September 14th._ One's respect and affection for horses is
greatly increased after seeing them in war. They are there so
essentially necessary. They share so patiently and faithfully on
almost equal terms the good and ill fortune of the men; they work with
their masters, go into battle with them, and the two die side by
side, killed by the same shell. It is a stirring example of unity to
see men and horses straining and striving and pulling together to get
a gun out of difficulties. The horses do not understand what it is all
about and going to war was not of their choice, but the same things
may usually be said of the men beside whom they live and die.

The feeling which the French soldiers on the firing-line have for the
Germans is very different from the bitterness one finds in the
civilian population of France. We have heard more than one French
soldier say in a voice tinged with admiration, "Ah, ce sont de bons
soldats!" At the front and in the trenches one gets down to basic
principles and realizes that "the other man" is a fellow human being
and not something with horns and a forked tail. The French soldier is
grimly determined to go through the war to the bitter end and to
accept nothing short of a complete victory, but at the same time he
realizes that this mutual slaughter is indeed a sorry business. I
shall never forget the face of a serious French Territorial soldier of
forty with whom I spoke today. He was one of a burying squad on the
scene of the charge of the African brigade near Soizy-aux-Bois. Nine
hundred dead were being buried in one big trench and as I came to
inspect it, my Territorial and a comrade were about to pick up a dead
German who lay face down in a muddy field, with arms outstretched. A
hundred others lay close about us. I offered the Territorial
cigarettes and, as he took one, he indicated the field about us with a
sweep of his arm and said sadly: "If Guillaume could have foreseen all
this, do you think that he, one man, would have begun this war?" And
he looked down with an expression full of sorrow and brotherly
compassion at the dead German who lay at his feet.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the four days of our trip we have had innumerable punctures and six
blow-outs, in consequence of which we were finally forced to return to
Paris today. The Germans raided all the wine cellars throughout this
whole region and when they retreated left broken bottles along all the
streets and roads.




CHAPTER V

ANALYSIS OF THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE


_Monday, September 14th._ The equipment of the German soldier is in
every detail a marvel of perfection. This impresses me more than any
other single element of the war excepting only the bravery of the
French, and the imperturbable _sang froid_ of the English. A striking
example of this perfection is the spiked helmet. Contrary to
appearance, it is not heavy, weighing indeed scarcely more than a
derby hat. Everyone who picks one up for the first time exclaims in
astonishment, "How light it is!" These helmets are made of lacquered
leather, are nearly indestructible, shed water perfectly, and give
excellent ventilation to the head by means of a clever arrangement of
holes under the flange of the spike. They also shield the eyes and the
back of the head from the sun, and are strong enough to break a heavy
blow.

The German uniforms are of a light gray with a slight green tinge,
and are virtually invisible against the greenish mist-gray fields of
Europe, excepting only when the sun is behind to project a deep
shadow.

The German bayonet is a formidable weapon with a heavy double-edged
blade twenty inches long. Both edges are extremely sharp. I easily
sharpened pencils with one which I picked up.

The German knapsacks are made of cowhide with the hair left on, the
grain of the hair pointing downward to shed rain. The hair may get
wet, but the leather seldom and the contents never.

The German military boot comes half-way up the calf of the leg and the
trouser is tucked into its top. They are without laces and pull on to
the foot like the American "rubber boot." They are made of heavy,
undyed leather, singularly soft and pliable, and thoroughly
waterproof. The soles are shod with hobnails, but the boot is not very
heavy. We often noted dead Germans who were bootless, their footgear
having been appropriated by some victorious Frenchman, who had left
near-by his own less desirable shoes.

The three-compartment wicker shell-containers in which field-gun
shells are carried from caisson to gun are as carefully and neatly
made as an expensive tea-basket. We saw thousands of them lying about
the battlefields and carefully examined scores, sliding shells in and
out of them as a test. Invariably we found that the shells went in and
out smoothly and without effort, and yet always fitted snugly. There
was never either the slightest friction or the least loose-play. This
nicety meant that the variation in an interior diameter of three
inches was certainly less than one thirty-second of an inch.
Wicker-work constructed with such unvarying accuracy is truly
marvelous.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Paris, Tuesday, September 15th._ Back in Paris, we are trying to
piece bits of evidence together into a clear picture and to draw sound
conclusions from what we have seen. We do not yet know what the battle
which we have studied will be named, but we ourselves call it the
Battle of Fère Champenoise. This is, however, an unsatisfactory title,
as it is too cumbersome and not comprehensive enough, for Fère
Champenoise was only the most intense and critical point in a series
of actions extending from Chantilly to Verdun, over a varied and
winding front of about one hundred and ninety miles. We have no
means of knowing how far the Germans have been driven back, but they
are across the Aisne and other Attachés tell us that frightful
fighting is going on at Soissons where the pursuing Allies are
attempting to throw large forces across the river. On our way home
yesterday, moreover, we ourselves heard much shooting in the direction
of Rheims.

[Illustration: "THE WOODS WERE ... DOTTED WITH THE BODIES OF THE
DEAD"]

My personal conclusions about the battle are based upon a thousand
bits of information carefully pieced together into a mosaic. First of
all we ourselves examined the territory included between the Marne,
the Seine, and a line from Méry-sur-Seine through Arcis to
Vitry-le-François, and made certain digressions across the Marne to
the northeast of Paris. We examined the battlefields while they were
comparatively fresh, and supplemented our observations by innumerable
conversations with the French troops and civilians, and with German
prisoners. At the Embassy we obtained from other Attachés many bits of
reliable information about the fighting directly north of Paris and
about the rearguard actions between the Marne and the Aisne.

Up to the time of this battle the German plan of campaign had worked
out almost perfectly. The Franco-German border is due east of Paris,
and the French mobilization took place there behind the fortresses of
Verdun, Toul, Epinal, and Belfort.

The Belgian frontier is north of Paris and the unexpected and
treacherous advance of the German armies through that neutral country
brought them immediately behind the French line of mobilization. The
violation of Belgium permitted the Germans to advance into France
before the Allies could reorganize into an effective resistance
against this unexpected attack. It is to be remembered that a
mobilization which it has taken years to plan out and which involves
millions of men and their equipment cannot be changed at a moment's
notice. Had the Germans attacked across the Franco-German border, they
would have found the French army awaiting them behind the fortresses
of Verdun, Toul, and Epinal, and it is almost certain that they would
never have arrived within two hundred marching miles of Paris. No one
knew this better than the German General Staff.

Had it not been for the unexpected and heroic resistance of Belgium,
and the masterly retreat of the small British army, Germany's foul
blow might have resulted in the capture of Paris toward the end of
August. These two things, combined with a desperate retarding action
executed along the Aisne by several French corps, delayed the Germans
long enough to enable General Joffre to organize and fight a single
battle upon which everything was staked. To lose it would have meant
utter ruin, for France has faced no such crisis since Charles Martel
repelled the Saracens at Tours in 732. To win would mean that
the Teutons' blow-below-the-belt had been survived and that a
recommencement of the war upon something like even terms would be
possible.

In preparing for the battle the French placed powerful forces in the
great fortress of Verdun, and also in and around the entrenched camp
of Paris. Their field army extended between the two from Paris through
La Ferté, Esternay, Sézanne, and Sommesous to Vitry-le-François, and
from thence bent northeastward to Verdun. Thus their two flanks were
strong and menacing and their center, about one hundred and eighty
miles in length, bent southward and was slightly concave.

It is evident that in this battle the Germans could gain nothing by
making their main attack against Paris or Verdun, but that if they
could rout the field army between the two, they might as an aftermath
sweep round behind each city and attack it from all sides, using for
the purpose the heavy artillery which had under similar circumstances
and with such celerity battered down Liège, Namur, Longwy, and
Maubeuge. Therefore, the logical thing was for the Germans to attempt
to break the French center. This operation was somewhat hazardous as
there was danger that the French might launch a powerful flank attack
from either Verdun or Paris. To attack the center was, in effect,
something like thrusting a dagger into a lion's mouth in the effort to
cut his throat. It was necessary to hold back the jaws Verdun and
Paris, whilst attacking the vulnerable throat at Fère Champenoise.

To accomplish this, Verdun was kept so busy by violent attacks made
upon three sides that its army had no time to think of any offensive
movement. The German defense against the French right thus in reality
took the form of an active attack, a feasible method because Verdun is
near the Franco-German frontier, being in fact less than forty miles
from the German fortress and mobilization center of Metz.

To protect their right from any flank attacks which might be hurled
against it from Paris, the Germans placed a strong army under von
Kluck in front of that city to hold the French left in check, as a
boxer in a clinch holds back his opponent's left arm. Von Kluck fought
his way to a position approximately defined by a line through Creil,
Senlis, Nanteuil-le-Haudouin, and Lizy-sur-Ourg. His cavalry advanced
even to Chantilly and Crécy. His army was not intended to have any
part in the main German offensive, its sole duty being to protect the
German right from any attack in flank which might be prepared and
launched from the entrenched camp of Paris. Von Kluck was not to
attack Paris, but to protect the Germans from Paris, and this he
successfully did.

No greater mistake can be made than to suppose that the German retreat
to Soissons and Rheims was precipitated by any victory over von Kluck.
A violent and heavy attack was, it is true, launched against him on or
about the evening of September 6th and was steadily maintained from
that time forward. At first he was pushed back for a number of miles
by the violence of this assault, but his counter attacks soon regained
most of the ground lost. Thus he advanced on the 5th, was pushed back
a little on the 7th, but advanced again on the 8th, driving the Allies
before him. On the 9th his left flank was threatened by the British
and he again retreated a little to consolidate his position. While so
doing he received news that the German army assigned to carry out the
main offensive in the neighborhood of Fère Champenoise had been
repulsed and was already beginning the retreat which later at many
points turned into a rout, and he then continued his own retreat until
he reached the Aisne.

Von Kluck advanced or retreated short distances as the fortunes of the
battle varied, but on the whole successfully maintained his ground and
only retreated for good when the Germans' principal attack had thus
been defeated at another and distant point. After the 6th he was at
all times heavily engaged and his losses and those of his opponents
were excessively heavy.

Since the battle of the Marne there has been an almost universal
tendency to declare that von Kluck was defeated and that Paris was
thereby saved. This verdict, though erroneous, is easily explained.
Von Kluck was nearest Paris, "everyone" was in Paris, and in an action
extending over hundreds of miles "everyone" saw only what was nearest
to him and drew his conclusions from that alone. The losses in von
Kluck's army and in the armies opposed to it were so heavy that it is
small wonder people concluded that they waged the main battle. In
truth, these losses were probably heavier than those of any previous
battle since ancient times. I wish to emphasize again that von Kluck
did not attack Paris and had no intention of so doing, but that Paris
attacked him and that he held this attack in check until it was no
longer necessary to do so, since the German strategy had failed at
other points.

       *       *       *       *       *

Let us now consider the main German offensive and its repulse. The
French center had taken a position on a plateau of rolling hills in
many places covered with pine forests, while several large swamps lay
in front of them. This country was for several weeks defended by
Napoleon in his despairing campaign of 1814. He had appreciated its
strategic value and somewhat developed its defensive possibilities. In
recent years the French had often held manoeuvres in this area and
had a permanent manoeuvre camp at Mailly, which was actually within
the battlefield of Fère Champenoise.

The German troops which were to make the great offensive movement
against the French center crossed the Marne in the section from
Epernay to Chalons without serious opposition. Their main attack was
launched against the Ninth Army of the French under General Foch along
a front of about fifteen miles, and probably close to a quarter of a
million Teutons were engaged. We saw dead Germans belonging to the
10th, 12th, 19th, 10th Reserve, and a Guard Corps.

The first contact took place at Fère Champenoise at three o'clock on
the morning of the 8th, when heavy forces advancing through the night
along the roads from Vertus and Chalons fell upon the French who were
encamped in the town and drove them out. The Germans continued
victorious throughout the day of the 8th, driving the stubbornly
resisting French back from the line through Sommesous, Fère
Champenoise, and Sézanne until, when the battle lulled late at night
after eighteen hours of combat, the French held a line through the
villages of Mailly, Gourgançon, Corroy, and Linthelles.

The fighting was very fierce, and terrible losses were sustained by
both sides as the possession of every foot of territory was hotly
contested. The French showed steadiness, determination, and efficiency
under the most trying conditions and under the most violent and
overwhelming attacks. We saw few signs or indications of any disorder
or weakness on their part. The Germans experienced particularly heavy
losses in driving the French from positions near the villages of Oeuvy
and Montépreux, while the French suffered most heavily in the
neighborhoods of Gourgançon and Corroy. Very little entrenching was
done by either side, as both armies were constantly shifting, and the
few trenches which were constructed had evidently been hurriedly built
at night.

On the 9th the Germans began the day with further successes and
apparently had forced a marked French retreat. At noon they considered
the battle as good as won. They had, however, apparently had no time
to entrench or to consolidate their forces, when, early in the
afternoon, General Foch suddenly ordered an attack by all his forces.
For six weeks the French had labored through a losing campaign and had
just fought through thirty-six hours of steady defeat, and yet they
turned about on the instant and attacked the astonished Germans with a
dash which could not have been surpassed by the troops of the First
Empire at the height of a victory. They would not be denied, but
attacked and attacked until the Germans were overwhelmed. We saw
fields where charging battalions had apparently been put out of action
up to the last man without deterring that last man from advancing.
By evening the French had retaken all the ground which they had lost
in the previous thirty-six hours, and on the morning of the 10th
their offensive was resumed with unabated fury and unfaltering
self-sacrifice. No number of casualties could stop them and in places
the retreat of the Germans became a rout. They left their wounded upon
the battlefields and abandoned their hospitals, caissons, and
supplies. Especially furious rearguard actions were fought in the
neighborhood of Pierre-Morains and Coizard and at Mondemont.

On the night of the 10th the German army pulled itself together, and
on the 11th, under the protection of magnificently executed rearguard
actions which held up the determined pursuit of the French, retreated
in good order to the Marne and across it. On the 12th they reached the
Aisne and have since been endeavoring to make a stand on the farther
side of Rheims.

The most conservative French officers with whom we talked estimated
that the total casualties of both sides in the fighting near Fère
Champenoise amounted to at least one hundred and fifty thousand. Some
thought it was as high as two hundred thousand, and I am inclined to
this latter figure. Perhaps we saw the field in its entirety more
thoroughly than did they. Certainly they were busy with many other
affairs, whereas we had nothing other to do than study and estimate.

Had the German attack succeeded in breaking the French center, the
French army would have been cut in two and both remnants would have
been compelled to retreat in order to save themselves from ruinous
flank attacks. In retreating they would have been obliged to leave
Verdun and Paris each to take care of itself, and the German armies
could have swung about to surround and lay siege to either or both of
them.

As far as we could observe, the German attack at Fère Champenoise had
been unsupported by any heavy artillery. This was probably a
contributing cause of their defeat, as was also their arrogant
over-confidence in themselves and their under-estimation of their
enemy. The French won the battle because their field artillery was
superior and because, man for man, they outfought the Germans. Having
staked the fate of their families and of their beloved _patrie_ upon a
single throw, the French gained one of the most desperate battles in
the world's history by the coolness and dogged determination of their
chiefs and by the sublime tenacity and self-sacrifice of their
soldiers. These outdid the best traditions of their race. At command
they threw their lives away as a man throws away a trifle, and to meet
new conditions they developed new qualities with which they have not
previously been credited, qualities of stubborn scientific stolidity.
They out-Germaned the Germans in the way their organization withstood
the shock and wrack of battle. It was the German machine which broke
down first. On that field a new France was born. Let no German ever
again say that she is effete. It was purely a French victory. This is
no aspersion upon the Belgians and the British; the slight part which
they played in this battle is explained by their small numbers. At
Liège and Namur, at Mons and St. Quentin they helped win for France a
fighting chance behind the Marne. All hail to them for that!

During our trip we found no evidence of German acts deserving to be
called "atrocities." The word "atrocity" has been so carelessly used
that it will be useful to re-define what that word means in relation
to war. It should be limited to instances where unnecessary violence
is used toward the enemy's soldiers and civilians. It has a meaning
distinct from the inevitable destruction and vandalism which seem to
be necessary integral parts of all wars. The burning and destroying of
buildings by shell-fire or for reasons of military expediency and the
confiscation of food supplies for military purposes are allowed by all
rules of war. The use of the word "atrocity" should be limited to such
acts as the killing of prisoners, the mutilation of civilians, and
the violation of women. Of such deeds we personally found no instance,
although we carefully cross-questioned the inhabitants of many towns
which had been occupied by Germans.

Food and wine had been pretty generally confiscated, a thing to be
expected; also we found several instances of pillaging in which
especially desirable articles had been carried off. Wanton breakage
was rare and not extensive, and in most cases appeared to have been
more mischievous than malicious. It was probably due to a somewhat too
liberal use of pillaged wine. In general, the worst charges against
the Germans in France were that they had been exceedingly rude and
boorish. There were, however, some instances which came to my notice
where German officers had shown consideration for the civilians, had
politely apologized for their unwelcome but "necessary" intrusion into
French families, and had carefully paid for their board and lodging.
We talked with several French surgeons who were captured early in the
war and had since, according to The Hague rules, been returned to
France. These all acknowledged the consideration and good care which
their captured wounded had received from the Germans.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the Germans were retreating northward towards Rheims after their
defeat in the Battle of the Marne, notices (about twenty by thirty
inches) printed on green paper were posted in the streets of the city,
of which the following is a literal translation:

               "PROCLAMATION.

     "In case a combat should take place today or in the
     immediate future in the environs of Rheims or within the
     city itself, the inhabitants are forewarned that they must
     remain absolutely inactive and must not attempt in any way
     to take part in the battle. They must not attempt to attack
     either isolated German soldiers or detachments of the German
     army. It is hereby officially forbidden to construct
     barricades, or to tear up the streets in such a manner as to
     hamper the movements of our troops. In a word, it is
     forbidden to undertake any act whatsoever which might be in
     any manner a hindrance to the German army.

     "In order thoroughly to insure the security of the German
     troops and to act as sureties for the inactivity of the
     population of Rheims, the personages named below have been
     seized as hostages by the General commanding the German
     army. At the least sign of disorder these hostages will be
     hanged. Also the city will be entirely or partly burned and
     its inhabitants hanged if any infractions whatsoever of the
     above orders are committed.

     "On the other hand, if the city remains absolutely quiet,
     the hostages and inhabitants will be protected by the German
     army.

          "By order of the German Authorities,

               "The Mayor, DR. LAUGHT.

      "Rheims, September 12, 1914."

Below was appended a list of names and addresses of ninety-one leading
citizens, officials, and ecclesiastics, and, as if that were not
enough, this list was finished by the words "and others."

       *       *       *       *       *

_Paris, Thursday, September 17th._ During my absence at the Battle of
the Marne last week, the powers-that-be at the Embassy decided that I
was too much needed in Paris for the German-Austrian affairs to be
allowed to go to the front again.

[Illustration: THE CHÂTEAU OF MONDEMONT]

Therefore, when another expedition departed today, I was not permitted
to be one of the party.

On our trip I took rough field notes during the daytime and sat up at
night into the early morning hours in order to expand these jottings
into an accurate and comprehensive diary. I am now arranging this
material into a report to be forwarded to Washington.

       *       *       *       *       *

The whole "deuxième étage" of the _Chancellerie_ is now given over to
the Austrian, German, and Hungarian affairs. The arrangement of rooms
is the same as in the American _Chancellerie_ on the floor below. Mr.
Percival Dodge, ex-first-assistant Secretary of State, is now head of
the department and occupies the room over Ambassador Herrick. I have
the room over the First Secretary, and Mr. Hazeltine the room over the
Second Secretary. Lieutenant Donait is to be chief of the office
staff, which consists of three stenographers and two messengers. We
have, in addition, three personal stenographers. This arrangement will
be a great improvement, as our rooms on the ground floor were much too
cramped for the volume of business.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, September 21st._ The immense amount of effective work
accomplished under Mr. Herrick would have been impossible had he not
been so ably supported by the two Secretaries of the Embassy, Mr.
Bliss and Mr. Frazier, past-masters of the intricate technique of
their profession. In the emergency of the war crisis the usefulness of
the numerous subordinate members of the Embassy staff absolutely
depended upon the skill and patience with which these two Secretaries
trained them for the work of the various departments to which they
were assigned, and prevented any divergence from correct diplomatic
methods. It is most fortunate that our foolish American habit of
replacing Ambassadors whenever some one else has a stronger political
"pull" does not extend to our first and second secretaries.

Five of the younger men of the Embassy have formed a little luncheon
club for the purpose of exchanging news and discussing and studying
the military situation. They are Lieut. Boyd of the Cavalry, Lieut.
Hunnicutt of the Artillery, Harry Dodge, the Ambassador's private
Secretary, Lieut. Donait of the Infantry and Ordnance Departments, and
myself. We meet each noon at a little pension near the Embassy and
there we argue and debate for an hour or more. These daily conferences
give us a much better comprehension of the war as a whole and a more
exact knowledge of its important details. We have all been more or
less at the front and usually some one of us has just returned with
first-hand data as to what is going on at the moment. Whenever any
outsider is discovered who has recent war news of value, we invite him
to luncheon and proceed to cross-question him in general and in
particular.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Wednesday, September 23d._ A little sadly I took supper this evening
at the Café du Commerce where the members of the atelier used to meet
in the days of student life. As I was eating, who should walk in and
sit down beside me but my friend Daumal, _sous-massier_ of the atelier
when war broke out, whom I had not seen since he departed for the
front as a private.

He is now Sergeant Daumal of the First Line Regiment, wounded at
Longwy and just out of the hospital, homeward bound on a two weeks'
convalescent leave. As he described it, "une de ces marmites à
28-centimètres" had exploded a little distance from him. Although he
had not been struck by any fragments, the shock had rendered him so
thoroughly unconscious that for a day he had been passed over by the
ambulance orderlies as dead and had finally been discovered by a
burying squad to be not in need of a grave but of a hospital.

       *       *       *       *       *

The bombardment of Rheims Cathedral has stirred France to indignation,
but apparently not nearly as much as it has stirred the outside world.
The capacity of the French for being "stirred to indignation" has lost
some of its elasticity by this time. It is an action so vivid, so
neat, so concise, that it turns the sympathies of neutrals more than a
thousand "routine" accounts of burnings and killings. _They bombarded
Rheims Cathedral!_ These four words need no elaboration. I myself find
it difficult to keep that neutral equilibrium which is necessary in an
Attaché who wishes to observe as much and as correctly as possible.
Whitney Warren, the architect, and several Attachés are to be sent to
Rheims in a day or two to make an investigation.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Sunday, September 27th._ I examine indigent Germans, Austrians, and
Hungarians every morning, and during the afternoon take special cases
to the police, and write up accounts.

Today Paris had another visit from a German aëroplane which threw the
usual three bombs. One of them fell in the Avenue du Trocadéro near
the Embassy. It just missed demolishing the Ambassador and Mr. Frazier
who were in an automobile on their way to inspect the buildings and
grounds of the German Embassy. They had driven over the spot only two
minutes before the bomb struck. I was at the same time on my way to
the Embassy, having met them near the Pont d'Alma. I passed along the
avenue a minute later and had just turned the corner when the bomb
fell, killing an old man and tearing a leg off a little girl. The day
was very cloudy and the aviator was above the clouds; for this reason
no one seems to have discovered him and he must have thrown his bomb
at random.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Monday, September 28th._ At lunch today in the Café Royal I overheard
a Frenchman remark that although he and all his compatriots greatly
esteemed Mr. Herrick, it would nevertheless have been an excellent
service against the enemy had he tactfully allowed himself to be
annihilated by the German bomb which missed him yesterday. Later in
the afternoon I took tea with Mr. Herrick at the _Chancellerie_, and
he was much amused when I recounted to him this example of a somewhat
equivocal good-will.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Tuesday, September 29th._ The damage to Rheims Cathedral was largely
the result of fire. The Germans had, during the time they held the
city, converted it into a hospital; they had stacked the chairs
against the walls and covered the floor deep with straw upon which to
lay their wounded. During the spring and summer the front façade had
been undergoing repairs and was covered with heavy wooden scaffolding
similar to that which has for several years disfigured St. Sulpice in
Paris. The Cathedral was very famous for its choir-stalls and other
wood-carving, of which there was a great quantity, and the roof which
covered the vaulting was held up by a forest of great timbers many
centuries old.

After the Germans had been driven out of the city they bombarded it
from the hills outside, and their shells lit the straw on the
Cathedral floor. Over it the fire ran swiftly, ignited the chairs
piled against the walls, and then spread to the great masses of carved
woodwork; finally the scaffolding and roof caught fire and the famous
old Cathedral burned in one great conflagration. It has been
particularly famous for three things: its woodwork, its front façade,
and its stained-glass windows. The woodwork went up in smoke, the
front façade was all scorched and disintegrated by the intense heat so
that the surface of the stone detail is blowing off in fine dust,
while the glass to the last particle was shattered by the concussions
of bursting shells. The Cathedral stands like a great skeleton of its
former self. Its flesh, as it were, is gone although few of its bones
are broken.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Saturday, October 3d._ This is the first war in modern times in which
whole nations have gone to battle; in this conflict every man in a
nation is a soldier. In Napoleon's day France had about the same
population--forty millions--that she now has, but Napoleon's
professional armies numbered, at most, only two hundred thousand men,
while today France has put fifteen or twenty times as many in the
field. In the present war, when an army sustains a 10 per cent. loss
it is not merely 10 per cent. of the army, but actually of the
able-bodied men of the nation.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Wednesday, October 7th._ A German aëroplane again threw bombs on
Paris today.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Thursday, October 8th._ Another Taube came today and threw bombs in
the neighborhood of the Gare du Nord. These machines in flight look
very much like sparrow-hawks and have a singularly sinister
appearance.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Sunday, October 11th._ We had a record-breaking flock of Taubes today
when a number came together and dropped about twenty bombs. Their
combined score was twenty-two people killed and wounded; as usual, all
women, children, and old men.




CHAPTER VI

THE BATTLE OF THE AISNE


_Paris, Monday, October 12th._ In writing about the German, Austrian,
and Hungarian subjects of whom we have had charge, I have spoken of
them _en masse_. In reality there have been many cases in whom I have
been personally interested and to whose safety I have given much time.
Their history alone would fill a book. One of these is the case of the
Countess X., member of an old and powerful Hungarian family.

The Count, her husband, was desperately ill in Paris when the war
broke out and he was kept alive only through the devoted care of his
wife. We arranged with the French authorities that the Countess might
remain in Paris with her husband, although all other Hungarian people
were, without exception, being shipped off to detention camps. Later
the Countess twice received notice from the Prefecture that she was to
be immediately imprisoned, and each time by enlisting the personal
assistance of Ambassador Herrick I managed to have the decree delayed.

The children of the family, of whom there were seven under ten years
of age, were living at a château on the French coast, at Paris-Plage,
near Boulogne. When the German army began to sweep towards the coast
in a seemingly irresistible flood, the Countess came to me to say how
fearful she felt for the safety of her children, left in the care of
servants and governesses. Yesterday, when the fall of Antwerp was
confirmed and when even the official announcements went so far as to
talk of fighting in the neighborhood of Arras, she came again. I went
to Mr. Herrick and asked if I might be allowed to go to the coast and
bring the children back to Paris. The permission was the more readily
granted because there were several other errands to be done in the
same direction, notably to carry communications to our Consular Agent
in Amiens, who had remained in that city during the German occupation
and from whom little had since been heard.

The necessary permits have been obtained and these will incidentally
allow me to see something of the front on my way north. I expect to
leave this evening.

Two machines will be needed to bring back the children and their
attendants. There are several young Americans who have given their
services and the use of their private automobiles for Embassy service.
On all previous expeditions I have been conducted by Melvin Hall. He
is at present assigned to other business, but I have secured the
services of another volunteer chauffeur, Francis Colby. I shall travel
in his touring-car and bring back in it the older children and their
English governess. The second machine, a large limousine, will be
driven by the French chauffeur of Countess X., and into it I shall
pack the smaller children and their two nurses.

       *       *       *       *       *

The condition of the front along which we must pass for eighty miles
is as follows: the battle of the Aisne has now turned into a race for
the coast; each army is trying to outflank the other, the Germans,
according to present indications, getting much the better of the
contest. Everyone's attention seems to be concentrated for the moment
on Calais, and the Allies evidently feel that the chief danger point
is there. I notice with special concern, however, that farther south
the German army is at Bethune thrusting out a wedge toward Abbeville,
on the coast, only thirty-eight miles away. If they can advance these
thirty-eight miles they will win not only all the triangle containing
Nieuport, Calais, and Boulogne, but will cut off such of the Allied
armies as are now concentrated in this area, and also radically
shorten their own lines. Their front, as it now extends from Compiègne
to Holland, measures nearly two hundred miles. If reorganized from
Compiègne to the coast at Abbeville, it would be less than sixty-five
miles. Of course the Allies fully appreciate this danger and are
guarding against it as best they can, but I agree with Countess X.
that the sooner we snatch her children out of the threatened area the
better.

       *       *       *       *       *

_At the Front, Tuesday, October 13th._ We left Paris last
evening at half-past six and at first made only slow progress owing
to heavy traffic, worn-out roads, and destroyed bridges. We stopped
for supper in poor, wrecked Senlis. This town is no farther from
the gates of Paris than Van Cortlandt Park in New York is from the
Battery, and yet the German armies were in Senlis in September,
battles raged in its streets, shells burst in its houses and
destroyed whole blocks. Indeed, one of the fiercest fights of the war
took place at night in its streets when, during the attack made by the
garrison of Paris upon von Kluck's army, troops were hurriedly rushed
out of Paris in trams, wagons, and taxicabs to fall pell-mell upon the
Germans who occupied Senlis. French colonial infantry played a large
part in this conflict. A weird and awful sight it must have been:
taxicabs and automobiles from Paris charging up the streets vomiting
bullets in all directions, houses catching fire from the bursting
shells, and by the light of their flames the men of both armies
fighting hand to hand, chasing one another through the doors and
windows of burning and collapsing houses, or making desperate stands
behind dead horses, street-barricades, or wrecked taxicabs. It is
said that in every such mêlée Turcos were to be seen exulting in
their favorite sport, close-range fighting.

       *       *       *       *       *

After supper we passed through Fleurines, Pont Ste. Maxence, and
Blincourt to Estrées-St. Denis, where we spent the night. Along this
road had recently passed a great German army, and their engineers had
constructed new roads to the right and left of the original one, so
that their regiments had been able to march steadily three abreast,
probably no small factor in their successful retreat.

       *       *       *       *       *

This morning we got under way at half-past six. The day was hazy,
threatening rain; mists rising from the ground made it impossible to
see clearly for any great distance. The heavy atmosphere muffled the
sound of guns so that it was difficult to judge their location even
when we were fairly close upon them. The day was, however, a most
advantageous one on which to move about near the front, provided one
were careful to ascertain where, off in the mist, the enemy's
batteries lay.

We first reached the front at Roye-sur-Matz, which we found was
occupied by a French colonial brigade. This place is about three miles
from Lassigny, which is far within the German lines, and from which
they have recently organized heavy attacks against the French forces.
In Roye-sur-Matz the German shells were bursting, punctuated by the
muffled slump of falling walls. The place had been deserted by its
inhabitants, but Turcos and black Senegalese wandered about the ruined
streets indifferent to the shell fire. For a week past there has been
heavy fighting in the vicinity of Roye and Lassigny, probably the
heaviest that has taken place in the Battle of the Aisne since the
latter part of September. We drove slowly down the main street of the
village looking for an officer who could tell us about the local
geography. We finally met the acting brigadier, a French colonel, who
informed us that it was not safe for us to continue more than a block
farther in the direction in which we were going, as the far end of the
village was "between the lines" and we would there come under the
observation of the German sharpshooters. This officer said that the
best way to follow the battle-line would be to turn back through the
village and take the first road to the right.

We stayed in the village for half an hour longer, and then, faithfully
following directions, went back and took the "first turn to the
right," which proved to be a narrow road whose existence the officer
had forgotten and which was not at all the one he meant to recommend.
We, ignorant of any mistake, went blindly on, down a little hill,
across a small brook, and up a knoll opposite. In doing so we had
actually passed out through the French lines and reached an elevation
squarely between the two armies. The French positions were, as usual,
concealed, and for the moment they were not firing, so that we
remained blissfully unconscious of our dangerous position. Fortunately
for us, the German lines were at this point half a mile away from the
French, and owing to the mist and distance we were apparently
unobserved, since we received no especial attention. As we reached the
top of the knoll it began to rain, making us still less conspicuous
and forcing us to stop and put up the top. We pulled up behind an
isolated barn in order to be somewhat sheltered from stray shrapnel.

As we stood behind the barn, the bombarded village which we had just
left lay below and behind us, and in front featureless fields sloped
away toward some low wooded hills half a mile distant. Suddenly the
constant rumbling of guns was interrupted by four quick, sharp
explosions, and we perceived little wisps of smoke bluer than the
mist trailing up through the tree tops of these hills. These
explosions were French shells bursting over the German trenches, but
we, naturally supposing ourselves to be within the French lines, at
the moment thought it was a French battery firing a salvo.

While we were putting up the top, two French soldiers on picket duty
came by and, lured by the unfailing bait of cigarettes, stopped to
talk to us. Taking it for granted that we knew where we were, they did
not mention our being between the lines, but told us of a great fight
which had last Sunday taken place about two miles to the right of
where we stood. They said that the German and French trenches there
faced one another across a low field and were so near together that at
night the French could hear the Germans singing. Some peculiarity in
the contour of the land had led the enemy to think that here was a
promising point to break through the French lines; consequently a
series of violent attacks had been launched from Lassigny against this
position. These attacks had repeatedly been repulsed with heavy losses
and thousands of dead Germans lay in the field between the two sets
of trenches.

I decided to ask permission to go over this recently contested area,
and therefore turned back to Brigade headquarters in the village of
Roye-sur-Matz, which we had just left. There, in a second talk with
the officer who had previously directed us, I learned for the first
time that we had taken the wrong road and been for a considerable time
between the French and German armies, and only a few hundred yards
from the German trenches. That we had there seen no signs of armies,
guns, or entrenchments, indicates the curious characteristics of
modern warfare, and the invisibility of all combatants even when
actively engaged. The permission which I had desired to obtain to
inspect the ground of the recent battle was refused as being too
dangerous.

       *       *       *       *       *

We later passed through the village of Guerbigny. Here, as at all
times during our trip, the guns could be heard booming in the
distance. At the farther end of the place a family of peasants, led by
the grandfather, were packing their humble worldly goods into a big
cart to which was hitched an exceedingly old white horse. They were
very sad and explained simply, "C'est dur de partir." They pointed
across a field to a little church tower about a mile away, only dimly
visible through the haze, which still hung low over the landscape,
saying pathetically: "On bombarde ce hameau; c'est là les avant-postes
des Français." Our maps showed that the church tower was in the
village of Erches. A straight road ran down to it from where we stood.
The mist seemed to favor the possibility of our reaching this village
without being too quickly observed by the Germans. We therefore
promptly put on all speed and in a few seconds drew up under the lee
of a battered house, which was on the advance line of the French army,
and were in the midst of the battle. A French officer, who appeared
out of the house, informed us that we were then actually within two
hundred yards of the German trenches, so near, he said, that his men
"knew the Germans in the opposing trenches by their first names."

Seeing a modern battle demolishes all one's preconceived ideas derived
from descriptions of previous wars. One at least expects some sort of
rapid and exciting action. In reality, as we stood in the very midst
of the Battle of the Aisne, there was, in our immediate neighborhood,
only a dead silence. At intervals an angry rumbling would break out
somewhere in the distance, but in the trenches close to our elbows
there was no sound or movement. No birds, no beasts, no men were
anywhere to be seen. This uncanny silence would continue for twenty or
thirty interminable seconds and then a shrapnel would burst close by,
with a sharp, ugly, threatening bang which had no echo; then all
lapsed into silence again. Each shrapnel only made the subsequent
silence more intense, just as a man's footsteps crunching through the
snow-crust of a winter wilderness seem like a brutal intrusion on the
absolute stillness.

We looked behind us and could see no signs of French troops; we peeped
around the house corner and could perceive no indications of the
enemy. It was a monotonous landscape which faded away through the mist
to nothingness, and its only noticeable features were a few shell
craters and two French soldiers sitting close by in the end of a
trench. These men remained motionless so long before one of them moved
that we began to think they were dead. Their comrades were all hidden
in a bomb-proof trench which from any angle was invisible at a
distance of a few yards. Several more officers came out of the house
and chatted with us, or unconcernedly read newspapers which we
distributed and made not the slightest break in their conversation
when a shrapnel burst directly over our heads with ear-splitting
nearness.

The shrapnel arrived without any forewarning scream. This is a sign
that the guns are less than two thousand yards away. For the first one
or two thousand yards of its flight a 3-inch shell travels faster than
sound, but after that distance it so rapidly loses velocity that the
sound of its screech travels faster than the shell and arrives ahead
of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

We visited the field headquarters of a General, commanding a division
of twenty thousand men, whom we had the pleasure of meeting. Under a
great haystack which stood alone in the center of an open field had
been excavated several rooms used as the General's Headquarters. Some
yards away from the haystack a stove-pipe projected out of the sod in
a foolish unrelated manner; under it was the kitchen in which was
cooking the evening meal for the staff officers. A clump of trees
close by might be called the General's ante-room, for here hidden
among the branches were several officers receiving and sending
messengers and dispatches. Several telephone wires ran to the haystack
and one of them connected the trees with the General's underground
office. In a neighboring wood a troop of cavalry were encamped and
numerous automobiles and motor-cycles were parked, all hidden from
distant outlooks or from aëroplanes overhead.

       *       *       *       *       *

The area immediately in the rear of the battle-lines is most
interesting, for it is here that one really learns how a battle is
fought. One sees the reserves of men and munitions all hidden
carefully from the view of aëroplanes. Occasionally one catches a
glimpse of the guns, which are usually a mile or so behind the
infantry and are hidden and protected in the woods and valleys. The
artillery seldom sees its enemy or even its own front battle-line, but
fires across woods, hills, and valleys and over the heads of its own
infantry at the enemy beyond. The guns are aimed from mathematical
calculations and the results are checked and corrected by
observations telephoned back from the front.

       *       *       *       *       *

We arrived in Amiens in the middle of the afternoon and I went
immediately to see the American Consular Agent, M. Tassancourt, for
whom I had messages. I found him in splendid shape and very glad to
welcome me. I discovered later in the day that he had done exceedingly
effective work during the German occupation of the city, and was at
least partly responsible for the fact that there had been no friction
between the German invaders and the population. When our official
business was finished he took me for an inspection of the military
hospitals, which occupied several hours. The city is only fifteen
miles distant from the present battle-line and contains base hospitals
for some forty miles of battle front.

I took special pains to learn the details of the German occupation and
to search for any damage they might have done. There had been no
fighting within the city and it had not been shelled by either side.
The German armies had entered it unopposed and had retired from it
unpursued, both as the result of decisive actions fought at distant
points.

On entering the city the Germans had posted notices warning the
inhabitants to refrain from hostile actions and threatening them with
dire consequences if they did not obey orders. A considerable number
of the leading citizens were taken as hostages for the good behavior
of the populace and an exorbitant indemnity was demanded of the city.
As a result of bargaining and protest this was finally cut down until
the conquerors contented themselves with something like one hundred
and fifty thousand francs in gold, and supplies to the value of about
eight hundred thousand. All this levy was turned over within four
days, after which the hostages were released, the populace having
behaved in a manner satisfactory to the invaders.

       *       *       *       *       *

The headquarters of the British Red Cross Field Ambulance train of the
Section Beauvais-Lille were temporarily in Amiens. The Consul
presented me to Mr. Fabian Ware, the Commissioner in command, who very
kindly invited me to dine with him and his staff.

       *       *       *       *       *

_At the Front, Wednesday, October 14th._ We spent last night in Amiens
and after a day near the front returned again to Amiens in the
afternoon. On the way from Pas to Amiens the machine was running
rapidly down the slope of a hill toward a little village in the
valley, when an old white-haired woman detached herself from a knot of
peasants beside the road and suddenly threw herself in front of the
wheels. By putting on the brakes the driver managed to stop just in
time to prevent her being crushed. She then tried to crawl under the
car and was dragged screaming away by the villagers. It seems that
some twenty years ago this woman had been left a widow with one child,
a boy. With endless labor she had brought him to manhood and given him
more than an average education. When the war broke out her son was
immediately called to the colors, while she remained caring for her
tiny house, her chickens, and her cow. When the Germans came a battle
took place in her village, her house was knocked down, her cow blown
up by a shell, and finally her chickens disappeared down German
throats. The poor old woman, refusing to leave the locality in which
her life had been passed, had wandered about for days in the rain and
mud, until cold, hunger, and sorrow had made her light-witted. Then
while roaming aimlessly over the fields she had come upon the body of
her dead son.

       *       *       *       *       *

On this trip I have travelled along the front from Lassigny to a point
near Arras, or about fifty-five miles of battle-line.

       *       *       *       *       *

We left Amiens at six o'clock in the evening and passed through
Abbeville on the coast, this being the point before mentioned from
which the Germans were at the time only thirty-eight miles distant and
which they might have reached in two days had they advanced as rapidly
as they did at times during August, or as rapidly as they now seem to
be doing farther north in Belgium. I continued up the coast some forty
miles through Etaples to Paris-Plage, which I reached at ten o'clock.
I went immediately to the residence of the Countess X. and found to my
great satisfaction that the French chauffeur whom I had sent on ahead
to prepare the family for the trip to Paris had arrived safely with
the limousine the day previous and that the children and nurses were
all ready to leave at daybreak tomorrow.

Before going to bed I called on the Mayor and after a long conference
arranged for proper passes to get my charges out of the town the next
morning.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Thursday, October 15th._ We all got started this morning at half-past
six. I had told the chauffeur to warn the nurses to provide milk,
food, and everything the children would need for the long day's run,
as I planned to make Paris in one day and did not wish to stop except
for emergencies. I put the five youngest "kids" and the two nurses
inside the limousine and took the English governess and the two older
children in the back seat of my own car.

Despite my papers from the Mayor of Paris-Plage, my personal passes,
and a large sign across the front of the automobile reading, "In the
Service of the Ambassador of the United States," I had an exciting
time getting past the gendarmes of the town and the Prefecture of
Montreuil. The difficulty lay in the nationality of the children and
of one of the nurses, all of whom were Hungarians and therefore
officially enemies of France. As such they were not supposed to travel
about, especially not behind the French battle-line. The details of my
struggles are too numerous to relate, but finally we got through
successfully and at good speed ran towards Paris. The day throughout
proved a strenuous one with many detentions caused by suspicious
sentries and over cautious prefects, together with four blow-outs and
one breakdown. Each self-important petty official could see no reason
why I should not spend several hours explaining things for his special
benefit. It was manifestly impossible to keep the babies out
over-night, and therefore I overrode objections, answered innumerable
questions, and freely used the magic name of the American Ambassador.

The frequent tire trouble, which gave the rest of us much anxiety,
filled the heart of little Count Paul, aged seven, with unalloyed
delight, for when the machine stopped to shift tires, he could get out
in the road and li

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