CHAPTER VII
WHERE DESTINY SAID "HALT!"
"The bugler of Destiny has sounded 'Halt!'"
In these words, the hunchback summarized the news of the defeat of theGermans at _Le Grand Couronne de Nancy_ (Hill-Crest of Nancy), thedefeat which duped the German High Command and nullified their plansfor the supreme effort on Paris.
It was evening, the evening of September 4. Horace and his fellowfugitive, safely arrived in Paris, were sitting at the window of a tinyroom, looking at the night sky, across which the cones of searchlightswandered.
The tightening of the French lines, the reestablishment of regularcommunications and military discipline had combined to relegate bothCroquier and Horace from the front, though they had begged to beallowed to stay. They had been in Paris for over a week, now, thehunchback having offered his tremendous strength for heavy work in amunitions factory.
The "captive Kaiser" never left Croquier's sight. He took it to thefactory in the morning and carried it back at night. He slept with thesteel chain of the cage fastened to his wrist. In the quarter wherethey lived, the hunchback had already become a familiar figure, andboys tramped up the stairs in the evening with rats and mice for theeagle's dinner. Under the agile pens of newspaper paragraphists, thestory of the "captive Kaiser" had brought merriment and superstitioushope to hearts heavy with listening for the tramp of the ever-nearingGerman feet.
Paris was silent but courageous. Fear brooded heavily over the city,but the terrible tales of individual suffering never robbed the Frenchcapital of a simple heroism and a fine devotion that were worthy of itsbest traditions. The removal of the government to Bordeaux, two daysbefore, had shown the people how narrow was the margin of safety bywhich Paris rested untaken. They accepted the dictum of their militaryleaders that it was a measure to allow greater freedom in handling thearmies for the great action about to begin.
"Has the spring tightened at last?" asked Horace, remembering theveteran's prophecy that the strategic diamond would be pressed back tothe reserves, and that then the counter-attack would come.
"Tightened to its last spiral," answered Croquier. "It must reboundnow, or smash. And the Germans have got a blow right between the eyes,at Nancy!"
Horace pressed him for details. The boy was eating his heart outfrom inaction. He had sent a cablegram to his father, according tohis promise to Aunt Abigail, but he did not go to see the Americanminister, feeling sure that he would be sent back to America. He didnot want to go. While he had taken his fill of battle, not for worldswould he have left Paris without seeing, as he phrased it, "the end ofthe war."
Under Croquier's guidance, the boy had followed every officialbulletin and news dispatch with avid and intense excitement. His fieldexperience and the veteran's lessons on strategy, when with the gunsback of Givet, had given him an insight which enabled him to piece thescraps of information together. He was thus able to grasp the realsignificance of the victory at Nancy.
The defense of Le Grand Couronne was of tenfold more importance than itseemed at the time, for it formed the starting-point of the greatestbattle of modern times, known as "The Battles of the Marne," the seriesof victories which saved France. Croquier, who knew that part of thecountry thoroughly, was able to give Horace an exact picture of thatfirst great success on the hills south of Verdun.
"They've done well, the Germans," the hunchback began, "but if they'regoing to try to keep up this drive of theirs, they'll soon findthemselves in a pickle for the lack of that chief need of a modernarmy--a short, strong Line of Communication. You remember how the fortsof Liege tied up everything, even after the city was taken?"
Horace nodded vigorously. He was not likely to forget Liege.
"Already, the Germans are beginning to get into difficulties. Maubeugeis holding out, controlling the railway there, so all their suppliesare coming by Belgium. It's a long way, and wastes a lot of men to holdit. There is, though, a good railway line from Metz, which is six timesas short as the line they're using. But to take that, they've got totake Toul, and to take Toul, they've got to take Nancy, and to takeNancy, they've got to take Le Grand Couronne."
_Courtesy of "The War of the Nations."_
ATTACK ON A STRANDED TANK.
The Germans bombed it, fired through loopholes, tried to break itsmechanism, but failed. Finally the tank grunted and moved away.]
"But why just exactly there," asked Horace, "if the position is sostrong?"
"It isn't, it's the weakest point," the hunchback answered. "As youknow, the French-German frontier is the most strongly fortified linein the world. The forts are in four groups, Belfort and Epinal tothe south, Toul and Verdun to the north. Belfort and Epinal are indifficult, mountainous country, further away from Paris and lessvaluable for railway purposes. It would be bad strategy, too, to breakthrough at the southern fort and leave the northern forts unreduced,for it would cut the attacking army in two and give the northern fortsa chance to snip the Line of Communication. Verdun is enormouslystrong. That leaves nothing but an assault on the sector of Toul.
"Now," continued the hunchback, "you've got to understand theAlsace-Lorraine campaign. On August 10, while the forts of Liege werestill holding out and Leman was peppering Von Emmich, we invadedGermany. We had nothing but victories for nine days. It was too easy.On August 20 one of our air scouts came back with the news that therewas a huge German army gathering at Metz. On August 21, five army corpswere hurled on our flank. We were surprised, partly surrounded andcrumpled up. The Boches got thousands of prisoners and scores of gunsand Field Marshal Von Heeringen drove us clear back out of Germany. OnAugust 25, the Crown Prince of Bavaria drove us back from before Nancy,and the German Crown Prince finally burst into France through Longwy.That was the beginning and the end of our Vosges campaign."
As the hunchback pointed out, however, while this campaign was oflittle military value, it had a vast political and strategic value.It mistakenly convinced the German High Command that France hadconcentrated the larger part of her armies on the frontier in thehope of retaking Alsace-Lorraine. This made more difficult, but alsorendered more important, a victory at Toul.
Le Grand Couronne is a series of little hills, not more than 600 feethigh at any point, lying north and a little east of Nancy. It was nouse to take the city unless the heights were captured. If, however, theGermans took Le Grand Couronne, the French must evacuate Nancy and theinvaders could then bring their heavy siege guns into place to demolishToul.
"A Boche skull is thick," Croquier went on, "and even the slaughter ofLiege didn't teach them the waste of life in sending masses of troopsagainst artillery. They hadn't any idea, either, of the powers of our'Soixante-Quinze.' For a week they did nothing but pile up hills of theiron-gray dead on the slopes leading up from the River Seille. They'llnever take it now."
There Croquier was right. On that evening of September 4, where thetwo were sitting, chatting, in the little attic room, Von Heeringenknew that further attack was hopeless. Two days later, however, theKaiser was seen in person on the hills overlooking the battle, inwhite uniform and silver helmet, waiting for his triumphal entry intoNancy--which never happened.
It was this decisive and unexpected defeat which convinced the Germansthat the French were in great strength at this point and which causedthem to send their heaviest reenforcements on the eastern end of theattacking line, instead of reenforcing Von Kluck and Von Buelow whowere nearest to Paris.
"It's the same old combination which smashed us at Charleroi, then,"said Horace, "which threatens Paris."
"Yes," the hunchback agreed, "and, what's more, it's the same oldclash between German and French strategy. The diamond, now, has beensquashed nearly flat, but you can see the formation, still."
"How?" asked Horace, "it looks like a straight line to me."
"It isn't, though," Croquier answered. "I'll show you. Paris, insteadof being 'home base' is now 'third base' and the Verdun to Belfortline is 'first base.' Then the Fourth and Fifth French ar
mies are theoperative corner or 'third base,' while the great armies of reserve,under General Foch, swinging into line on the south, are 'home base.'The military point of Paris, as 'third base' is the new Sixth Army asorganized under General Manoury."
"Well, then," said Horace, "if the battlefield works out according toFrench ideas, we ought to win by the rebound given by Foch's army."
"A few days will show," said the hunchback. "I only wish that I couldhelp in the actual fighting. But, I suppose, I'm just as useful makingshells as firing them."
"One minute," said Horace, as they were about to separate for thenight, "where are the British?"
"The Expeditionary Force is tucked away between Paris and theFifth Army, with more than two thirds of its men lost. However,reenforcements are pouring over from England."
Early next morning, before Horace was awake, Croquier left the houseto pick up the first news of the day. When he returned to the frugalbreakfast the lad had prepared, however, he had very little information.
"All that I can find out," he said, "is that the Sixth Army, underManoury, is wheeling up to Von Kluck's west flank."
"I don't seem to know much about the Sixth Army," said Horace. "Who arein it?"
The hunchback gave the details of the divisions as far as they wereknown.
"That's a mighty weak army," commented the boy.
"It is," the hunchback agreed, "but it's only supposed to be a coveringarmy, so far as I can make out. It can fall back on the defenses ofParis."
"But couldn't Von Kluck surround Paris, then?"
The hunchback shook his head.
"Impossible," he said. "Von Kluck would have to stretch his line outon a circle ninety miles long--for that's the circumference of theadvance trenches beyond the outer fortifications of the city--and to dothat would make his line so thin that it could be broken like the paperin a circus-rider's hoop.
"I think," he continued, "mark you, I don't know, that Manoury's armyis intended to do the same thing that Le Grand Couronne did--to makethe Germans think our line is strongest at the two ends, when, inreality, it is strongest in the middle."
"Is Joffre doing that so as to weaken the German opposition to ourrebound?"
"It looks like it," Croquier admitted, "but that sort of thing is hardto find out until weeks, sometimes months, afterward. A generalissimonever lets his plans be known. To-night's news may give some clew. Now,I'm off."
As soon as Croquier had started for the factory, Horace set out to putinto effect a resolution to which he had come during a wakeful night.
He was not going to sit at home idle when Paris was in danger!
It was still a little early, so Horace strolled out into the streets.He was living in the northern quarter of the city, and the marketswere choked with the vast stores of supplies being hurried in for usein the event of a siege. Enormous herds of cattle were being driveninto Paris to graze on the waste spaces kept free of buildings, not tointerfere with the fire of the inner forts.
A steady stream of people had their faces turned to the southwest,women and children escaping from the threat of war, trekking fordistant points of safety, with their goods piled into the bullockcarts of the peasant, the pony carriages of the rich, or even inwheelbarrows. In almost every group there were tiny children andbabies. It was for their sakes that the flight was made.
Where were the men?
None were to be seen save those who labored mightily with the suppliesbeing brought in a steady stream into the city.
Where were the men?
Out on the fortifications, digging trenches, putting up barbed wireentanglements or dynamiting houses in the suburbs which would interferewith the line of fire.
There may have been a man in Paris that Saturday morning who wasengaged in his own affairs instead of those of his country. There mayhave been--but Horace did not see one.
It was not too early now, the boy thought, to carry out his plan. Hereturned to the house, wheeled out his motor-cycle which he had cleanedand oiled and put in perfect shape during his days of inaction, andwhizzed up to the headquarters of General Gallieni, Military Commandantof Paris, and in supreme control now that the government had moved toBordeaux.
"Volunteering as a dispatch-rider, sir!" said the boy to the firststaff officer before whom he was brought. He showed the paper "onspecial service" which had been given him at the time he had donned thedead man's uniform, which he was still wearing.
At headquarters there was no English red tape or delay.
"Good," said the officer, "we can use you." He went into an inner roomand returned a moment later. "Take this!" he said, and gave Horacedirections and orders.
The boy shot off through the streets of Paris, thronged with refugees.Signs of the French high-spiritedness were not lacking. On one storewindow was written:
"Closed until after my visit to Berlin!"
Another, a watchmaker's, referring to the difference in time betweenFrance and Germany, had a sign which read:
"Gone to put German watches right!"
The streets leading to the railway stations were thronged, but, ashe reached the outskirts of the houses, the streets were empty. TheSorbonne glowered upon streets of empty shops. The workmen were onthe battlefield, the schools were closed, many of them turned intohospitals.
Here was a gate, with a real control of traffic, but small show ofarmament.
"Dispatches from General Gallieni!"
"Pass!"
Out through the gate to the green belt which cried aloud in stridenttones the transition from peace to war.
Here were the men of Paris!
The aged ragpicker worked with pick and shovel beside the wealthyexquisite, as irreproachably dressed in the ditch as in his luxurioushome, necessarily so, for he had no old clothes to wear. The literaryscholar had risen from his books to tear his hands in stretching barbedwire with the keeper of a dive for his companion. The consumptivecarpenter had brought his tools, the still vigorous blacksmith, tooold for military service, had loaded anvil, forge-frame and coal on awagon and was sharpening pickaxe heads.
Here, too, were the women of Paris.
Frenchwomen of noble birth worked in extemporized kitchens beside thepeasant mothers of the outer suburbs and the midinettes of Montmartreto feed this new-sprung army of workers.
One thing Horace saw, and saw that clearly--Germany might take Paris,but as long as one Frenchman or one Frenchwoman was left alive, theGermans would not take France. The boy dimly felt that France was not aterritory, it was a soul.
He delivered his dispatch and waited.
A dirty, unshaved, mud-bespattered figure digging near by, spoke to himwith a cultured voice and a gay laugh.
"It is nothing, my little one," he said to Horace, "what if they come?We shall bite their heads off. Those boches are going to put themselvesin a _guetapens_, a veritable death-trap. We shall have them at last!"
It was the same gallant French spirit which had been demonstrated a fewdays before by Colonel Doury. When ordered to resist to the last gasp,he said to the dragoon who brought the order,
"Very well, we will resist."
Then, turning to his soldiers, he said,
"We are to resist. And now, my boys, here is the password--'Smile!'"
It was the same gallant French spirit found in a soldier who, whenreenforcements reached him and asked whether a certain regiment was notsupposed to hold the village, answered,
"It holds the village!" and pointed to his lone machine-gun. He was theonly survivor.
It was the same gallant French spirit seen in the little drummer, who,when his hand and drum were shot away, sang "Rat-tat-a-tat!" at the topof his throat to the advancing troops until his throat was still forever.
Horace had seen the wonder of war in the field. Here he saw it in thedefense of Paris and felt anew the depth of the hunchback's saying thatvictory lies in the spirit of men, not in its machinery. He rememberedthe master's saying that the strength of a country is in proportion
asits women are strong.
In the defense of Paris, the boy felt that he had his place. Howeverirregular might be his position as a dispatch-rider, especially at thefront where military discipline prevailed, he was invaluable in thevoluntary work of aiding to strengthen Gallieni's defenses. Moreover,he learned indirectly some of the tactics planned for that veryafternoon.
Le Grand Couronne had shown that the Germans could not break through atNancy. The German line, therefore, could not drive bodily forward tothe southwest, as apparently had been intended. It became necessary forthe invading armies to concentrate further to the east.
Von Kluck's army had been facing southwest, to attack Paris. Onreceiving news of the repulse at Le Grand Couronne, he was compelled topivot his line on the Marne, so that it faced southeast. This maneuver,reported by the French air-men, revealed that the German plan hadchanged. They dared not try to take Paris.
Nothing remained but to endeavor to engulf the French armies. TheGermans deemed this impossible in the east, because of the supposedheavy concentration of French troops there, because of the strengthof Verdun and because of the defeat at Nancy. The flanking movement,therefore, must be made in the west. This could only be done bydriving a wedge down between Paris and the Fifth French Army, heavilyreenforced and now under the command of General d'Esperey. This gap washeld by the British, against whom the Germans had a special hate.
Von Kluck and Von Buelow had not reached their advanced positionseasily. They had been severely mauled in two defeats, at Le Cateauand at Guise. In a war of less magnitude, these would have appearedas great Allied victories, but Joffre preferred to lose the advantageof following up these victories for the greater advantage of fallingback strategically in good order. Moreover, the forts of Maubeuge stillheld. It was not until the grim old warrior Von Zwehl, with superhumanenergy, brought up the great siege-guns, that Maubeuge fell. It wasthen too late for the guns to be of any service in the Battle of theMarne.
That Saturday afternoon, learning from air scouts that Von Kluck hadmassed his forces to the south, in order to attack the British on themorrow and pierce the gap, Manoury determined to force the issue. Helaunched his small and war-wearied army against the reserve which VonKluck had left behind to guard the crossing of the Ourcq. The westernend of the Battles of the Marne had begun.
Two important results developed immediately. One was Manoury'sdiscomfiting discovery that the German heavy artillery gave theinvaders a tremendous advantage when great mobility was not needed, as,for example, in defense of the crossings of a stream. The other wasVon Kluck's discomfiting discovery that Manoury's army, attacking hisreserves, was far stronger in fighting power than he thought. Each ofthese surprises counterbalanced the other.
This same Saturday afternoon, moreover, at the time that Manouryattacked, Von Kluck, from the other wing of his army, had sent ascouting party of cavalry to find out the location of the British Army.It was an excellent opportunity to cut them up, but the British FieldMarshal had drawn his troops into cover of the forests and he let thescouts go by. A courier, detached from time to time, took to Von Kluckthe welcome news that the British were nowhere to be seen and thatthe hoped-for gap existed. The British chuckled with glee. Von Kluck,surer every moment of flanking the Fifth French Army, hurried his mensouthward.
Suddenly, however, that Saturday evening, Von Kluck received word ofthe Manoury attack and realized that his reserves were threatenedand his own flank was in danger. His men had marched all day. A largesection of his army had to march back all night to reenforce thereserves attacked by Manoury.
Horace, through his experience on the battle front, had learned thata motor-cyclist's greatest usefulness is at dawn or a little before.This is due to that fact that, when an army is on the move, telegraphcable is laid from division to brigade headquarters and from brigadeto battalion headquarters, as soon as these positions are determinedfor the night. This is done from cable wagons and the Signal Corps menare so deft that the cable can be laid as fast as horses can canter.At about three o'clock in the morning, if headquarters are going tomove, this cable is picked up, ready for use the coming night. Enemyassaults, however, are likely to begin at dawn and these may cause achange in the dispositions already decided on. It is then that themotor-cyclist dispatch-rider is especially valuable.
At three o'clock this morning of Sunday, September 6, Horace got up,put on the dead man's uniform, trundled out his motor-cycle and whizzedto General Gallieni's headquarters.
The place was buzzing with activity and Horace realized that grave newsmust have come in on the military telegraph wires. He was hailed atonce.
"You're just what we've been looking for!"
A list of addresses was handed him.
"These are the names of taxicab companies and garages who haven'tanswered their 'phones; probably shut up at night. Find some one, anyone, every one! Rout them out and tell them to rush every cab and carthey've got to those section points."
"What for?" asked Horace, already in the saddle, and moving off.
"Troop movements. Hurry!"
Through the still, night-enshrouded streets of Paris, the boy sped.It was a dangerous ride. Round every corner and shooting alongevery street, taxis and motors were speeding, driven by half-awakechauffeurs. All night long, troops had reached Paris by train. Theywere needed at Meaux, forty miles from Paris, where Manoury wasattacking. If they marched, they could hardly reach the battle thatday and would be too wearied to fight. But forty miles, to a fleet ofmotor-cars, was different.
By five o'clock that Sunday morning, four thousand taxis,motor-busses and motor-cars were speeding from Paris to Meaux. Menrode on the front, on the back and hung on to the springs. Twelve andfourteen men piled into and on a taxicab. The motor-busses carriedsixty and seventy, men hanging on by the straps of their rifles, jammedinto window frames. They looked like insects on a plant. Inside theywere packed like herrings in a cask. But they roared with delight attaking a taxi to the front. By noon, Manoury's army had been reenforcedby 70,000 troops. The army was, however, lamentably weak in artillery,for field guns cannot be loaded into taxicabs!
_Courtesy of "Panorama de la Guerre."_
THE MEN WHOM NO DANGER CAN DAUNT.
The voice of the High Command is in the hands of the Signal Corps:broken telephone and telegraph wires must be repaired in spite of shotand shell.]
Von Kluck was destined to get another surprise this Sunday morning.Despite the report of his Uhlans that the British were nowhere to beseen, the astute general had placed two bodies of cavalry, about 18,000men in all, as a precaution against a flank attack when he withdrewhis men northward to meet the surprisingly strong shock of Manoury.The unsuspecting cavalry were awaiting orders to pursue either theFifth or Sixth French armies, whichever one Von Kluck should decideto smash. They were dismounted and resting, when suddenly the westernwoods belched flame. The British had not fired a shot until sure ofthe exact range. Shrapnel poured like the blast from a furnace, men andhorses fell dead in inextricable confusion. The German cavalry had notime or means to reply, and, timed to the second, the English cavalryswept down and turned the scene to a rout.
In the north, despite Von Kluck's reenforcements, Manoury's army foughtwith great courage, at several places forcing the Germans back. Butthey could not cross the Ourcq against the heavy artillery.
That same Sunday, Foch, in charge of the great line of reservesofficially called the Ninth French Army,[19] did not attempt anadvance, but rather, deliberately, allowed his line to sag. This wasintended as a lure to lead the Germans on, in the hope that Manourywould be able to flank Von Kluck. But, on Sunday night, Manoury foundthat Von Kluck had brought back nearly all his army, and that he wasbeing outflanked, in his turn.
On Monday, reenforcements came to both sides, but more heavily to VonKluck, who was supported by heavy masses of artillery. Manoury, lackingartillery support, held his ground, and even advanced slightly, butVon Kluck moved further on his flank. On Tuesday the Sixth Army
wasdriven back, but fighting heavily, with all its reserves in action, VonKluck devoting only a part of his army to the frontal attack, whileone whole army corps commenced to encircle the flank. On Wednesday thedisaster was almost complete. Even as late as that day Von Kluck hadbeen able to throw in more men, released two days before by the fall ofMaubeuge. Nanteuil had been taken and the army was flanked. Manoury'sarmy was almost horseshoe shaped, with Von Kluck gathering it in as abag is clutched by its drawstring.
What would the morrow bring?
The morrow brought blank astonishment.
The morrow, Thursday, September 10, saw Nanteuil abandoned by theGermans and Von Kluck in full retreat.
What had happened?
Foch had happened!
"Find out the weak point of your enemy," Foch had said once, whentalking of strategy, "and deliver your blow there."
"But suppose," he was asked, "that the enemy has no weak point."
"Then make one!"
Joffre had made the weak point and Foch had delivered the blow. Itwas not without knowledge of his marvelous tactical ability that thegeneralissimo had selected Foch for the army of reserves, for the greatrebound.
In order that Foch might deliver the blow, it was necessary thatManoury should risk annihilation. Why? That, as Horace saw longafterward, was a part of the great strategical plan of the French HighCommand under Joffre.
The four-day engagement between Manoury and Von Kluck had drained thepower of the Sixth French Army to its last gasp, but--it had takenthe whole force of Von Kluck's right wing to do it. The British wereadvancing steadily (though so slowly that it imperiled the whole plan)on Von Kluck's left wing. Manoury and the British, then, like twoleeches, were sucking Von Kluck's forces westward, at a time when theGerman line was driving southeastward.
The Fifth Army, under General d'Esperey (who had taken Lanrezac's placewhen the army was reenforced) was a powerful force, containing six fullarmy corps, three of them fresh reserves. The Germans, believing it tobe the same army they had routed at Charleroi, esteemed it lightly.But on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, it steadily drove Von Buelow back,crossing the Marne and holding the bridgeheads. In this it was helpedby the British heavy artillery, an arm in which the French army wasweakest. At the same time, d'Esperey's pressure enabled the Britishadvance. There was magnificent fighting here, for Von Buelow was instrength with a full equipment of artillery.
The Ninth Army, under General Foch, had suffered heavily. Two Germanarmies opposed it: four army corps under Von Hausen, who was flushedwith victory and pursuit, and the independent command of the PrussianGuard, consisting of one entire army corps. Foch had three army corps,nearly all fresh troops, but he would not use them all. Von Hausen andthe Prussian Guard attacked savagely and heavily. Foch allowed his lineto sag, purposely, to thin the German line, but on Monday he was drivenback, and on Tuesday, the German drive was so vicious and powerful,that Foch's right wing was forced back for ten miles.
On Wednesday, then, the same day that Von Kluck was encircling Manoury,Von Hausen had all but pierced the French line at Foch's right wing.A bad gap had been formed because Langle de Cary, on the left wing ofthe Fourth Army, had held firm. There was almost a hole, therefore, tenmiles wide, running slantwise behind Langle de Cary's left rear.
The Battle of the Marne is the most important victory of modern times.It saved France. In a measure it saved the world. As the victoryhangs on a curious battle formation which developed that afternoon ofWednesday, September 9, its main features may be repeated. It is wellto see how the various armies stood at midday of this decisive day.
At midday, Von Kluck was encircling Manoury, having drawn his rightwing far to the north and west to do so. His left wing was in momentarydanger of attack from the British, who had crossed the Marne. This wingwas being driven north.
At midday, Von Buelow was being pushed northwards by the hammer blowsof d'Esperey, whose army was fighting in fine fettle, aided by theBritish heavy artillery. This army was strong enough to lend a corps tohelp Foch to sustain the central German push. Von Buelow, then, alsowas being pushed north.
At midday, Foch's left wing, stiffened by the extra army corps, washolding the right wing of the Prussian Guard, but his right wing hadbeen thrust ten miles out of the line by Von Hausen's drive. Von Hausenwas therefore exerting every pound of force he owned to break throughFoch's right wing, in other words, he was driving southeastward.
At midday, then, Von Buelow and Von Kluck, going northward andwestward, were being dragged away from the Prussian Guard and VonHausen, being dragged southward and eastward.
This thinned the German line, and it thinned it at a very dangerouspoint, just where the edge of the plateau of Champagne drops suddenlyto the marshes of St. Gond.
Possibly Von Hausen was aware of this, but if so, it is evident that hethought that the piercing of Foch's line was only a matter of hours. Inany case, Von Hausen was as certain of piercing the line next day asVon Kluck was certain of swallowing Manoury the next day.
At midday, Foch ordered the 42nd Division, one of the crack corps ofthe French Army, to fall back and rest. The order was thought to be ablunder and the men fumed, for, they thought, they were holding theGermans triumphantly. All through that sultry afternoon, while theskies grew blacker and blacker and the thunder rumbled in the distance,the 42nd Division waited with piled arms, hearing the sound of battleonly two miles away. And all through that afternoon, Von Hausensummoned his reserves from behind the Prussian Guard, gathered everyman he could get to hurl them into the gradually opening gap.
To the German Commander, the French feet were slipping, slipping,slipping on the brink of disaster and defeat.
At exactly four o'clock in the afternoon, when Foch's right wing washolding back the German fury of assault by sheer valor, the 42ndDivision, rested and eager, received its long-awaited orders. It wasbidden advance through the pine woods and burst upon the PrussianGuards, now forming a thin exposed flank to Van Hausen's army. At fiveo'clock, an order ran all along the whole line for a sudden stiffeningand a French counter-offensive.
At a few minutes after five o'clock, the pine-woods suddenly became asgreat green fountains of living warriors. For a moment the shouts ofadvancing hosts silenced the terrific roar of the artillery. Unnumberedbatteries of the ever-potent and death-dealing "Soixante-Quinze" camegalloping. As an avalanche sweeps away saplings, so was the PrussianGuard swept away. There was scarcely a pause as the armies joined. TheFrench went through with a thunderbolt's strength and vindictive power.
The wild thrill of victory ran along the line. The gap widened, brokeand shattered. The shouting lines went through.
Into the hole the Ninth Corps leaped, smashing and shivering theeastern corps of the Guards. All semblance of battle formation waslost, and the Guards were cut to pieces. There were no reserves behind.
The German line was broken, smashed, shattered irretrievably!
The Saxon offensive, under Von Hausen, still hoping to break throughbefore night fell, learned of the peril. Every moment spelt danger. TheFrench were sweeping in behind them. Langle de Cary was in position tocut off their other flank. The German Drive, to which forty-five yearsof military preparation had been given, weakened, halted, wavered andwent to pieces.
Now, into the battle Foch threw his reserves. Victory was in theirhands! A million men could not have stopped Foch's army now. Into thebewildered German ranks plunged the French, each man a giant with theintoxication of victory, each man a living vengeance for the atrocitiesinflicted on France and Belgium. Death was on Von Hausen's heels andthat too close for an ordered retreat.
The German feet were slipping, slipping on the brink of disaster anddefeat.
Von Hausen fled.
The storm held off long enough to make the smash complete and then therain fell in torrents. Woe for the heavy artillery now! Its very powerwhich made it so dangerous, made it immobile, and the roads, rapidlyturning to sticky mud, forbade its passage. There was light enou
gh forslaughter, and the 75's, mobile and easy to handle, chased the Saxons,unlimbered, mowed down the fleeing invaders, limbered up again, chasedforward, unlimbered and fired again. There were few wasted shells thatnight! Thousands of prisoners were taken, hundreds of guns captured,vast stores of ammunition seized.
Von Hausen had far to go. He had to get back, back, back into contactwith the German line or he would be wiped out absolutely. Von Buelowhad been driven far north by d'Esperey, Langle de Cary had stubbornlyheld the Duke of Wuertemberg. Von Hausen had far to go, and the French,fevered with success, would not stop. Hour after hour through thatpouring night, the dripping trees saw a slaughter grim and great.Not until nearly morning did the pursuers halt, and that night Fochestablished his headquarters in La Fere Champenoise, twenty-five milesin advance of his headquarters of the night before.
France was saved!
The Battles of the Marne were won!
With the conclusion of the Battle of the Marne, Horace found hisoccupation gone. A victorious army is not in need of volunteerdispatch-riders, even though they may be partly accredited. This theboy felt himself to be by reason of having the right to wear a Frenchuniform under special conditions and by having been entrusted withdispatches.
None the less, Horace was convinced that he could pass the sentries,at least, and he could follow behind the advance. He would at leastbe seeing the war for himself, and, if he were successful in makinghis way to the rear of his old army, the Fourth, he might be givensomething to do. Anything was better than idling his time away inParis, and Croquier, working over-time, was never home except to sleep.
On Sunday, September 13, just one week from the day when Gallienihad sent his fleet of taxicabs to reenforce Manoury at Meaux, Horacestarted forth once more on his motor-cycle. The sentries at the gateknew him and he passed by with a cheery word of greeting. The uniformof the dispatch-rider passed him by many sentries, but one, either morecareful or more curious than the rest, stopped him.
"Dispatch-rider formerly with the Fourth Army, temporarily attachedto the army defending Paris, returning to my own command," the boyanswered. The facts were true enough, though the implication was alittle forced. He thanked his stars that the sentry did not ask forhis identification disk, which, of course, he did not possess. Inquirymight have caused him to be suspected of being a spy.
Out through the suburbs of the city, Horace rode at slow pace, enjoyingthe fair weather after the rain. Beyond the suburbs he passed throughlittle villages, as yet untouched by war. Then, as he trended farthernorth and east, he suddenly entered a region still panting with horrorand dismay.
This was Horace's first sight of a battleground that had been sweptby two armies. The retreat he had witnessed from Givet, was a retreatfrom an advance-guard shock, and while the roads had been covered withdebris and flocked with refugees, it had shown little of the signs ofactual warfare. In his participation in the retreat from Mons, he hadseen a fighting retreat. The ground between the Marne and the Aisne wasnot like either of these. It was a battle-swept desolation.
A land of terrible contrasts! Gardens filled with a riot of color,where, here and there as it chanced, the flower-beds had not beentrampled down, while in the middle stared the ruined walls and eye-lessorbits of a shell-rent house. The trees were scarred with shell, theroads littered with broken boughs. Here and there, in the fields oneither side, shallow trenches had been scraped. Hay stacks and strawstacks had been torn down for cover.
Near and far lay stiffened figures in the German iron gray, and, insome places, whole groups of them, yet unburied. Furrows all along theroadside marked fresh graves. At one place, evidently, a corps ofbicyclists had been caught by a sudden storm of shell and decimated,the twisted and broken bicycle frames having been dragged into theditch, so as not to interfere with traffic.
At one place, Horace had a fearful fright.
Running through a wood at low speed, he came out on a small openstretch of garden. In one corner, near a shattered pile of brick, was ahalf-overturned but still recognizable grand piano, and crouched halfbehind and half on it, the sun throwing his iron-gray uniform in strongcontrast to the red wood and the light glinting on his rifle-barrel,was a German soldier, a sniper.
It was too late to turn.
The boy jumped the cycle to high-speed, thinking thus to dodge the aim.As he skimmed by, he cast a backward look at the soldier.
He had not moved.
The gray uniform still lay crouched behind and across the piano, andthe hands still rigidly held the rifle, but there were no eyes in thesockets of the dead man. They had been pecked out by the crows.
Many fields in France will be haunted by ghosts when the war is over.
The road was greasy and covered with debris, requiring slow riding. Itwas not wise to look too closely at the piles along the way.
Overhead the September sun shone brightly, here and there a clump ofwild-flowers which had escaped destruction waved in the wind, thearching trees were green, for, over this battlefield mainly shrapneland rifle-fire had been used and no high-explosive shell with loopingtrajectory had stripped the branches. On through the beech-forest tothe desolation beyond and Horace, looking down, saw the road a meretangle of beams, stones and scrap-iron. He got off, to lead his wheel,and saw, under his foot--a paving stone.
This, then, was a street!
Yes, bit by bit, he could see the outlines of a tiny village. It couldnot have held more than a dozen houses, but not a wall, not a fence wasstanding. Here the Germans must have made a stand and the ground wasleveled flat for their pains. Over a horrid pile, a trellis-work ofroses had fallen. It made the boy think of the gardener's reply to arecruiting sergeant, when he joined the colors:
"The only plants that France is interested in growing now are--laurels."
Few villages were as wholly devastated as this, though in many of themthe houses were piles of brick and plaster, with walls standing hereand there. Everywhere were graves, bearing thin wooden crosses, withthe soldier's kepi or a few faded flowers hanging on them. A village offormerly a hundred houses had but one left habitable. Like most of theplaces in the march of the retreating army, it had been deliberatelyset on fire for revenge.
A sudden whistle made the boy duck his head.
A bullet?
No, a blackbird singing.
"In spite of all, he knows it is French soil again!" said Horace, halfaloud, and laughed at his own thought.
On through a little town where, two nights before, a squadron ofChasseurs d'Afrique and a regiment of Zouaves in motor-cars and taxishad surprised the Germans at dead of night and where--never mindwhy!--the captured German officer had been quietly but expeditiouslyshot. On through a farm-yard, marked by a shell-hole in which someducks were dabbling. Swift must have been the pursuit that did notlinger to seize them for the cooking-pot!
On through an almost deserted country, with scarcely any people to beseen save little groups here and there. All these groups were engagedin the same occupation--digging graves. It was one of these agedvillagers, who, when a German officer asked him why he troubled to diggraves instead of burning the bodies, answered fiercely.
"From every French soldier's grave, ten soldiers will grow!"
Gutted houses, torn and charred hayricks, scraps of clothing, brokenmotor-cars, scraps of shells, and fires where the bodies of scores ofhorses were being burned, marked the line of the storm of war.
Ah! There is a farmhouse standing, almost untouched. The road to it iscovered with shell-splinters. There are white figures there.
Turned into a hospital, of course, with doctors, orderlies and--nurses.So soon! So near the battlefield! Later, when the war was systematized,the nurses were not found in such advanced positions, but at thiscrisis for France, the red cross on the sleeve was but little lesseager to plunge into its work than the arm that thrust the bayonet.
Are the Germans returning? They do not know.
Will that farmhouse be shelled in the next half-hour? The
y cannot tell.
Nor do they greatly care. For they know that they, too, are savingFrance.
Horace throbbed on, his thoughts vibrating to the tune of hismotor-cycle, and, as he thought of the Red Cross of the Battlefield,the master's voice rang again in his ears,
"A nation's strength is in proportion as its women are strong."
Here, too, lies the Wonder of War, more, a thousand times more, thanin any invention of a larger gun, a more deadly shell, or a moreabominable method for taking life.
Now the lad found himself approaching the battling armies.Chateau-Thierry, abandoned by the Germans only two days before, hadalready become a supply depot for the right wing of Manoury's army,for Manoury had taken advantage of Von Kluck's defeat to cross theRiver Aisne and was holding the whole northern side of the river,from Compiegne to Soissons. While lunching in the little town, Horacelearned of the magnificent attack which had established Manoury on thenorthern side of the river, ready to assault the heights the next day.
His eastward journey took him to the south of the British Army. Thememory of the "human icicle" still lingered, and though Horace knewthat he would not find all the English officers of the same stripe,yet he kept away, passing south of Epernay. He learned, however,that though Manoury had crossed, Sir John French had not, and theGerman heavy artillery forbade any attempt to force the Conde bridge.The British were, in fact, at the most impregnable point of thatimpregnable barrier, the ridge above the Aisne.
Still the boy pushed on, his course now being south of the Fifth Army,under d'Esperey. This army had also crossed the Aisne, but had not beenable to establish a firm footing on the other side, and its positionwas precarious. The long afternoon had shown sights as desolate and insome cases more horrible than those he had seen in the morning and hewas glad to find a little village where he might sleep, wearied andheartsick with the sights of the day.
"The only thing more sad than a great victory," Wellington said once,"is a great defeat."
Though Horace was some little distance from the front, the cannonadingthat night was heavier and more sonorous than any he had heard before.There was a good reason. General Von Zwehl, one of the grimmestwarriors in all the German Army, had brought the great siege-guns upthe heights overlooking the Aisne, after four nights and three days ofcontinuous marching. The thirteen traction-engines couldn't move theguns, for there had been wet weather, and General Von Zwehl had tailedthe infantry on with long ropes. Like the slaves of Egypt who hauledblocks of stone for the pyramids, the German soldiers slaved underblows, curses, and threats of death. During the last twenty-four hoursof this march, the 18,000 troops and the guns covered 41 miles. Humannature rebelled and red mutiny showed its head for a second, but VonZwehl had a nature as hard as the steel of his guns. Every murmurer wasshot dead in his tracks. The guns crawled on.
All night long, searchlight bombs were thrown. All night long, angrystreams of flame flickered like serpents' tongues on the sky and thejagged gash of explosions lit up the black smoke of burning buildingsor the white puff-clouds of hungry shrapnel.
Von Zwehl knew what was going forward. He knew that it was the nightset for the crossing of the Aisne. He knew that no matter what might bethe fury of flame and bursting chemicals that poured down on the banksof that river, engineers would be laboring to construct bridges andbodies of troops would be trying to cross. The searchlights, like eyeswhite with hate, peered here and there, the discovery of a crossingparty being a prelude to a tornado of lead which opened the gate ofdeath, a gate which swings, alas! too easily on its hinges in war time.
On Monday Horace passed south of Rheims, not dreaming, as no one inthe world dreamed, that it was to be shelled two days later, and thatits shelling would be deliberate. That there might and there wouldbe cruelty, butchery, massacre, that, of course, he knew, but thatabsolute and reckless vandalism should also be ordered, neither his norany civilized mind would have expected. No one, save a Teuton, everdreamed that deliberate destruction of one of the world's marvels wouldbe sanctioned, permitted, even deliberately determined, and that forpetty revenge, spite and foiled rage. The German point of view was putby Major-General Von Ditfurth:
"It is of no consequence," he wrote, "if all the monuments evercreated, all the pictures ever painted, and all the buildings evererected by the great architects of the world were destroyed, if, bytheir destruction, we promote Germany's victory over her enemies.The commonest, ugliest stone placed to mark the burial place of aGerman grenadier, is a more glorious and perfect monument than all thecathedrals in Europe put together."
If it be asked why Rheims was bombarded, the answer must be given inthe terms of the Battle of the Aisne, the essential details of which,however, are simple.
The main factor in the Aisne battlefield is contained in this sentence:
"Strategists have said that from the Ural Mountains to the AtlanticOcean there is no natural line so strong as the line occupied by theGermans."
When to this natural strength was added the skill of Field Marshal vonHeeringen, sent to assume the duties of a generalissimo over Von Kluckand Von Buelow (Von Hausen being disgraced and relegated to the rear),the iron craft of General Von Zwehl, the extraordinary concentrationof artillery and the vast ammunition supplies, it can be seen whythe Allies were never able that winter to take the heights overlookingthe Aisne. For, from Rethel to Compiegne, are bluffs 450 feet highoverlooking the river with natural spurs jutting out from point topoint to enfilade the stream. Every place of crossing is defended bya natural spur, and every spur mounted a terrific array of artillery.Every road on the north bank was in German hands, every road on thesouth bank was an easy and direct mark for artillery.
_Courtesy of "L'Illustration."_
THE ENDLESS LINE OF MOTOR CONVOYS.
Gasoline is king of that vast stretch of endless energy behind thebattle front. Movement of troops, munitions and provisions depend onthe unceasing operation of tens of thousands of trucks.]
As Horace found out that day, when his course took him south of Foch'striumphant army, the Battle of the Aisne was governed by the old ruleof war which declares that the army which chooses the battleground hasan advantage of almost two to one. The French had chosen the Valley ofthe Marne, the Germans chose the ridges commanding the Aisne.
Yet there was a great deal more than that involved. It would be gravelyunjust to German strategy to suppose that they had not considered thepossible results of a failure in their plan of attack. The GermanGeneral Staff was fully prepared with its defensive line in case Parisdid not fall. The sapping and mining corps, the engineer corps, did notjoin in the advance on the Marne. For a week they had been workingwith indomitable energy on the Aisne to prepare what proved to be aninvulnerable natural fortress, strong as the Rock of Gibraltar.
Months before the war began, Germany had not only laid out a basis ofbattle on a favorable terrain, but she had also laid out in detail themanner in which a defensive position was to be taken up, should thisprove necessary. She knew that if she failed at Paris, the loss oflife would have been fearful. The German system of fighting in massedformations ensured that. It would, therefore, be all the more necessarythat the defense should be made with machinery. If the heights were tobe taken, let flesh and blood do it. The Germans had been slaughteredin attacking Liege. Let the Allies be slaughtered in attacking theAisne. Every foot of land had been mapped and studied, the heaviestartillery in the world was available, and the ammunition supply systemwas in full operation. Let them come!
Germany had prepared a marvelous attack which was within an ace ofsuccess and was prevented from the accomplishment of its final andfull aim only by three things, each, in its way, a glory to one of theAllied Nations: the valor of the defense of the Belgians at Liege; thedogged courage of the British in the fighting retreat from Mons; andthe superb dash of the French when they shattered the German line atthe Marne. All three were needed to save France.
The battle of the Aisne consisted simply of the efforts o
f the Englishand French to gain those forbidding and strongly protected heights. VonKluck, given all the men and artillery he needed, drove back Manouryin the space of a few hours. The British crossed by a superb frontalattack, which ranks as one of the bravest deeds in modern warfare, andwere wiped out. D'Esperey crossed the Aisne east of Bourg, only to findthat the Craonne plateau was unassailable. By Friday, September 18,Joffre was compelled to realize that the bluffs above the Aisne hadbeen turned into an impregnable open-air fortress, not to be stormed byflesh and blood.
For Germany one thing was lacking, a strong Line of Communication.The main railroad to Coblentz, with a branch to Metz, passed throughRheims. If Germany were to have the vast supplies she needed, shemust take Rheims or content herself with the weeks of delay which theBelgian route required. Rheims was imperative.
But Foch held Rheims!
The keenest strategist of them all, with no natural defenses save twosmall hills at Pouillion and Verzenay, the great French general hadmade his line of defense so strong that it had become practicallyunassailable. Especially it bristled with battery upon battery of"Soixante-Quinze" guns. For four successive nights, waves of men, suchas those which were hurled at Liege, drove against Foch, striving byweight of numbers to break through.
It was in vain. The disposition of Foch's troops was deadly. Thepositions had been chosen by the best strategist in Europe, who hadanticipated this very attack, knowing the importance of Rheims to theGermans. There was not a foot of ground that was not covered as with aweb by the shrapnel and melinite shells. Only twice did those terrificattacks break through the "Soixante-Quinze" zone into machine-gun firerange and there they fell in heaps.
By the night of September 19, Field Marshal von Heeringen was compelledto realize that Foch's position could not be taken save by the useof heavy artillery. This could not be brought into position withoutexposing itself to destructive fire before he would have a chance tofire a shot. Battle was impossible. Savage revenge remained.
On Sunday morning, the German artillerists redoubled their fire on theCathedral--to France her most sacred building, where all her kingshad been crowned and to which Joan of Arc led the Dauphin, and to theart-lovers of the world, a work of transcendent beauty.
The cathedral was not being used as an observation station, as theGermans alleged. It was being used as a hospital for the German woundedand two large Red Cross flags were flying from it. A shell struck thescaffolding which had been erected for restoring the left tower. Thescaffolding flamed, and the fire spread to the old arched roof of oakbelow the roof of stone. The molten lead from the gutters fell on thestraw within, where the wounded Germans were lying. The interior becamea mass of flames, threatening to burn the wounded men alive.
Swift to the rescue sprang the gray-haired Archbishop Landreux. Theaged prelate, together with a young priest, rushed into the flamingfane. Within, the straw was ablaze, overhead the timbers werecrackling, glistening drops of molten metal menaced them every fewyards and shells were dropping steadily. The frail archbishop lenthis feeble strength to those who were able to stagger, and Abbe Chinotbodily picked up the wounded and carried them out.
A revulsion of mob fury seized the people. They saw their Cathedral inflames, they saw the shells deliberately aimed for it, they saw theirinoffensive dead in the bombarded streets and they saw a just vengeancein allowing the German wounded to burn alive in the pyre of their ownmaking. The mob, hoarse with rage and growing wilder every minute,raised its rifles to fire at the wounded men who had been carried out.
The gray-haired archbishop, a Prince of Men as well as a Prince of theChurch, stepped quietly between them.
"Very well, my children," he said, "but you will fire on me first."
The demon-shriek of the shells continued, the drumming of gunfirecontinued, but in the crowd there was silence. Then, with that suddenresponse to greatness which lies hid in the hearts of all men, thecrowd leaped forward as one man to save the wounded men for whom, amoment before, they had been clamoring to see burned alive.
And, through the whole scene, the statue of Joan of Arc looked on atthe brave act of a prelate she would have delighted to honor and therecognition of courage by the people she herself gave her own life tosave.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] By order of numbering, this was the 7th Army. Just why it wasofficially designated the 9th is still unknown.