Various - The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915

V >> Various >> The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915

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At 9 o'clock the bombardment of the city suddenly ceased and we
understood the Burgomaster had by this time reached German headquarters.
Still we waited, painfully anxious to learn what would be the ultimate
fate of Antwerp. The Belgian soldiers hurried by on their way to the
front. A number paused just as they reached a tobacconist's shop which
had been wrecked by shells, scattering the stock in the street. There
were cigars hurled across the pavement and roadway, and soldiers who had
halted picked up a few of the cigars. A Belgian workman, taking
advantage of this, entered the shop and began to stuff his pockets full
of cigars and cigarettes, but immediately gendarmes hurried to the place
and arrested him, the last arrest the Antwerp police will make for some
time.

At 10:30 o'clock proclamations were posted on walls of the Town Hall
urging all in the city to surrender any arms in their possession and
begging for a calm demeanor in the event of German occupation. The list
was also posted of several prominent citizens who were appointed to look
after the interests of those Belgians who remained.

Just before noon a patrol of cyclists and armed and mounted gendarmes,
who had escorted the Burgomaster to the gate of the city, informed Fox
and myself that the Germans were entering by the gate of Malines. We
hastily took our bicycles with the intention of making our way over the
Dutch frontier. As we passed along the quay by a most timely stroke of
luck we found a motor boat standing by. It was manned by a Belgian, and
his mate.

"Can you take us to Flushing?" we asked.

"Yes," answered the Belgian.

"How much?"

"One hundred and fifty francs each."

We were in that boat in thirty seconds and in another thirty seconds had
started down the Scheldt. By this time the Germans were in the city.

At a good ten knots we raced down the river. In twenty-five minutes we
had reached the bend which blotted Antwerp from view. As we rounded the
corner I turned for a last glimpse of the disappearing city. The
Cathedral was still standing, its tower dominating surroundings. Here
and there volumes of smoke were rising to the sky.

It took us twelve hours to get to Flushing. On either side of the river
thousands of refugees were fleeing from the invaders. They swarmed along
the banks in continuous lines, a vast pilgrimage of the hopeless, many
laden with household possessions which they had been able to gather at
almost a moment's notice. Numbers were empty-handed and burdened at that
in dragging their weary bodies along the miles which seemed never
ending. It was a heartrending spectacle. Infinite pity must go out to
those broken victims of the war, bowed veterans driven from home, going
they knew not where; women with their crying children, famished for lack
of food, all or nearly all leaving behind men folk who were still
fighting their country's battle or mourning the loss of loved ones who
had already sacrificed their lives.

Where the Scheldt becomes Dutch property we were stopped by customs
authorities and submitted to a rigorous examination. Dutch officials for
a time believed we were either Belgian or English officers escaping, but
eventually they were satisfied.

Upon arriving at Flushing we found the town in a tremendous state of
excitement. Great crowds of refugees were there, 10,000 or more, and
the hotels were choked. Many wretched people had left their homes
absolutely without any money and were forced to camp in the streets.
There was a vast crowd waiting to get on the Flushing-Folkestone boat,
and it appeared we would be balked in our endeavor to get to England
that night. However, we discussed our position with the Superintendent
of the line, and he very kindly got us a berth.

*As the French Fell Back on Paris*

*By G.H. Perris of The London Daily Chronicle.*

[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

CHATEAU [Transcriber: original 'Chateau'] THIERRY, Sunday, Sept. 13.--We
first realized yesterday, in a little town of Brie which lies east of
Paris, between the Seine and the Marne, how difficult it is to get food
in the rear of two successive invasions. As in every other town in the
region, all the shops were shut and nearly all the houses. It was only
after a long search that we found an inn that could give us luncheon.

There, in a large room with a low-beamed roof and a tiled floor, our
stout landlady in blue cotton produced an excellent meal of melon,
mutton, macaroni, and good ripe pears. Dogs and cats sprawled around us,
and a big bowl of roses spoke of serenities that are now in general
eclipse. At a neighboring table a group of peasants, too old for active
service, were discussing their grievances.

At a railway crossing just out of town we were blocked by a train of
about a dozen big horse trucks and two passenger carriages, carrying
wounded and prisoners to Paris from the fighting lines in the north. It
had been a gloomy morning, and the rain now fell in torrents.
Nevertheless the townsfolk crowded up, and for half an hour managed to
conduct a satisfactory combination of profit and pity by supplying big
flat loaves, bottles of wine, fruit, cigarettes, and jugs of water to
those in the train who had money and some who had none. One very old
woman in white, with a little red cross on her forehead, turned up to
take advantage of the only opportunity ever likely to fall in her way. A
great Turco in fez, blouse, and short, baggy breeches was very active in
this commissariat work.

Some of the Frenchmen on board were not wounded seriously enough to
prevent their getting down on the roadway; and you may be sure they were
not ashamed of their plaster patches and bandaged arms.

There were about 300 German prisoners in the train. We got glimpses of
them lying in the straw on the floor in the dark interior of the big
trucks. I got on the footboard and looked into the open door of one car.
Fifteen men were stretched upon straw, and two soldiers stood guard over
them, rifle in hand. They all seemed in a state of extreme exhaustion.
Some were asleep, others were eating large chunks of bread.

In the middle of the car a young soldier who spoke French fairly well
told me that the German losses during the last three days had been
enormous; and then, stopping suddenly, he said:

"Would it be possible, Sir, to get a little water for my fellows and
myself?"

"Certainly," I replied; and a man belonging to the station, who was
passing with a jug, said at once that he would run and get some. The
prisoner thanked me and added with a sigh:

"They are very good fellows here."

One jocular French guard had put on a spiked helmet which he was keeping
as a trophy, and, so much does the habit make the man, he now looked
uncannily like a German himself.

As we passed through the villages to the northeast the contrast between
abandoned houses and gardens rioting with the color of roses and dahlias
and fruit-laden trees struck us like a blow.

In Gourchamp a number of houses had been burned, and the neighboring
fields showed that there had been fighting there; but it was Courtacon
which presented the most grievous spectacle. Eighteen of its two dozen
houses had been completely destroyed by fire. The walls were partly
standing, but the floors and contents of the rooms were completely
buried under the debris of roofs that had fallen in. In a little Post
Office the telegraphic and telephonic instruments had been smashed. Just
opposite is a small building including the office of the Mayor and the
village school. The outside of the building and the outhouses were
littered with the straw on which the Uhlans had slept. In the Mayor's
office the drawers and cupboards had been broken open, and their
contents had been scattered with the remnants of meals on the floor.

But it is a scene in a little village school that will longest remain in
my memory. The low forms, the master's desk, and the blackboard stand
today as they did on July 25, which was no doubt the last day before the
Summer vacation, as it was also the last week before the outbreak of the
war. On the walls the charts remained which reminded these little ones
daily that "Alcohol is the enemy," and had summoned them to follow the
path of kindness, justice, and truth. The windows were smashed, broken
cartridge cases lay about with wings of birds and other refuse. Near the
door I saw chalked up, evidently in German handwriting, "Parti Paris,"
("Left for Paris.")

The invaders had sought to burn the place. There was one pile of partly
burned straw under the school bookcase, the doors of which had been
smashed, while some of the books had been thrown about. They had not
even respected a little museum consisting of a few bottles of metal and
chemical specimens; and when I turned to leave I perceived written
across the blackboard in bold, fine writing, as the lesson of the day,
these words: "A chaque jour suffit sa peine," ("Sufficient unto the day
is the evil thereof.")

One of the villagers gave us the following narrative of the experiences
of the past week:

"It was last Saturday, Sept. 5, that about 15,000 Uhlans arrived in the
village with the intention of marching on Provins on the morrow. They
probably learned during the night that the British and French lay in
force across their road, and perhaps they may now have received orders
to fall back.

"At any rate, early Sunday morning they started to retire, when they met
at the entrance to the village a regiment of chasseurs. This was the
beginning of fighting which lasted all day. Under the pretext that we
had learned of the presence of the French troops and had helped them to
prepare a trap, the Germans sacked the whole of the village.

"Naturally there was a panic. All the inhabitants--mostly women and
children, because since the mobilization there have been only nine men
in Courtacon--rushed from their cottages and many of them, lightly clad,
fled across the fields and hid themselves in the neighboring woods.

"In several cottages Germans, revolvers in hand, compelled the poor
peasants to bring matches and themselves set fire to their homes. In
less than an hour the village was like a furnace, the walls toppling
down one by one. And all this time the fighting continued. It was a
horrible spectacle.

"Several of us were dragged to the edge of the road to be shot, and
there we remained for some hours, believing our last day had come. A
young village lad of 21 years, who was just going to leave to join the
colors, was shot. Then the retreat was sounded, the Germans fled
precipitately, and we were saved."

I asked whether the cottages had not been fired by artillery.

"Not a cannon shot fell here," he replied. "All that"--pointing to the
ruined huts--"was done by incendiaries." And then he added:

"Last Tuesday two French officers came in automobiles and brought with
them a superior German officer whom they had made prisoner. They
compelled him to become a witness of the mischief of which his
fellow-countrymen had been guilty."

A peasant woman passed, pushing a wheelbarrow containing some
half-burned household goods and followed by her two small children.

"Look," she said, "at the brutality of these Germans! My husband has
gone to war and I am alone with my two little ones. With great
difficulty we had managed to gather our crop, and they set fire to our
little farm and burned everything."

Half an hour later we were at La Ferte Gaucher, a small town on the
Grand Morin, now first made famous by the fact that it was here that the
German flight began after the severe fighting last Monday. The invaders
had arrived only on Saturday and had the disagreeable surprise of
finding that the river bridges had been broken down by the retreating
French. The German commandant informed the municipal officials that if
the sum of 60,000 francs ($12,000) was not produced he would burn the
town. Then he compelled the people to set about rebuilding the bridge,
and they worked day and night at this job under the eyes of soldiers
with revolvers and rifles ready to shoot down any shirker.

The relief of these people at the return of the Allies may be imagined.
Here, as elsewhere, some houses were burned, but otherwise the damage
did not appear to be very serious.

*The Retreat to Paris*

*By Philip Gibbs of The London Daily Chronicle.*

[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

NEAR AMIENS, Aug. 30.--Looking back on all I have seen during the last
few days, I find it difficult to piece together the various incidents
and impressions and to make one picture. It all seems to me now like a
jigsaw puzzle of suffering and fear and courage and death--a litter of
odd, disconnected scraps of human agony and of some big, grim scheme
which, if one could only get the clue, would give a meaning, I suppose,
to all these tears of women and children, to all these hurried movements
of soldiers and people, to the death carts trailing back from unknown
places, and to the great dark fear that has enveloped all the tract of
country in Northwest France through which I have been traveling, driven
like one of its victims from place to place. Out of all this welter of
individual suffering and from all the fog of mystery which has
enshrouded them until now, when the truth may be told, certain big facts
with a clear and simple issue will emerge and give one courage.

The French Army and our English troops are now holding good positions in
a much stronger and closer line and stemming the tide of the German
hordes rolling up to Paris. Gen. Pau, the hero of this war, after his
swift return from the eastern front, where he repaired the deadly check
at Muelhausen, has dealt a smashing blow at a German Army corps which was
striking to the heart of France.

Paris is still safe for the time being, with a great army of allied
forces, French, English, and Belgians, drawn across the country as a
barrier which surely will not be broken by the enemy. Nothing that has
happened gives cause for that despair which has taken hold of people
whose fears have exaggerated the facts, frightful enough when taken
separately, but not giving any proof that resistance is impossible
against the amazing onslaught of the German legions.

I have been into the war zone and seen during the last five days men who
are now holding the lines of defense. I have been among their dead and
wounded, and have talked with soldiers marching fresh to the front. I
have seen the horrid mess which is cleared up after the battle and the
grim picture of retreat, but nothing that I have seen or heard from
either British or French leads me to believe that our army has been
smashed or the Allies demoralized.

It is impossible to estimate our own losses. Our wounded are being
brought back into Havre and Rouen, and undoubtedly there are large
numbers of them. But, putting them at the highest, it is clear to me,
from all information gained during the last five days, that there has
been no overwhelming disaster, and that in the terrible actions fought
on the four days from the 23d to the 27th, and afterward in the further
retirement from the line of Cambrai and Le Cateau, swinging southward
and eastward upon St. Quentin, our main forces, which were pressed by
enormous numbers of the enemy, succeeded in withdrawing in good order,
without having their lines broken, while inflicting a terrific
punishment upon the German right.

As I shall show in this narrative, retreats which seem fatal when seen
close at hand and when described by those who belong to broken fragments
of extended sections, are not altogether disastrous in their effect when
viewed in their right perspective, away from the immediate misery which
is their inevitable accompaniment.

German audacity of attack against the heroic courage of the French and
British forces, who fight every mile of ground during their retirement,
is leading the enemy into a position from which there will be no retreat
if their lines are broken. Unfortunately, there are hundreds of
thousands of people who know nothing of the great issues and who are
possessed by the great, blind fear which has driven them from their
towns, villages, and homes.

When the Germans swept around Lille they found, to their amazement, that
this town, surrounded by forts, had been abandoned, and they had only to
walk inside. This easy access to a town which should have been defended
to the last gasp opened the way to the west of France.

The left wing of the French, which was to the west of Mons, was
supported by the English troops, all too weak to sustain the pressure of
the tremendous odds which began to surge against them; and, realizing
this perilous state of affairs, the brain at the centre of things, the
controlling brain of Gen. Joffre and his Headquarters Staff, decreed
that the northwest corner of France was untenable and that the main army
of defense should withdraw into a stronger and closer formation.

It was then that the great panic began, increasing in speed and terror
during the end of last week. I was in the midst of it and saw
unforgettable scenes of the enormous tragedy. It was a flight of
hundreds and thousands of families from St. Omer and Roubaix, Bethune,
Douai, Valenciennes, and Arras, who were driven away from their northern
homes by the menace of approaching Uhlans. They are still being hunted
by fear from place to place, where they can find no shelter and no
permanent safety. The railways have been choked with them, and in these
long fugitive trains which pass through stations there is no food or
drink. The poor runaways, weary, filthy, and exhausted, spend long days
and nights shunted onto side lines, while troop trains pass and pass,
and are held up in towns where they can find no means of existence
because the last civilian train has left.

When the troops marched away from Boulogne and left it silent and
unguarded I saw the inhabitants, utterly dismayed, standing despondently
staring at placards posted up by order of the Governor, which announced
the evacuation of the town and called upon them to be ready for all
sacrifices in the service of their country. The customs officers left,
the civil police disarmed, while a flag with nine black spots was made
ready to be hoisted on the fort directly any Uhlans were sighted.

The people of Boulogne could not understand, no Frenchman of the north
can understand, why their ports and towns are silent after the tramp of
so many regiments who have left a great tract of country open and
undefended. In that corner of France the people listen intently for the
first clatter of hoofs and for the first cry "Les Uhlans." Rumors came
that the enemy has been seen in neighboring towns and villages. Can one
wonder that mothers and fathers rush from their houses and wander forth
in a blind, unreasoning way to swell the panic tide of fugitives,
homeless and without food, dropping here and there on the wayside in
utter weariness?

I was lucky in getting out of Boulogne on the last train bound for
Paris, though not guaranteed to reach the capital. As a matter of fact,
I was even more lucky because it did not arrive at its destination and
enabled me to alight in the war zone and proceed to more interesting
places.

I will tell at once the story of the French retirement when the Germans
advanced from Namur down the valley of the Meuse, winning the way at a
cost of human life as great as that of defeat, yet winning their way.
For France the story of that retirement is as glorious as anything in
her history. It was nearly a fortnight ago that the Germans concentrated
their heaviest forces upon Namur and began to press southward and over
the Meuse Valley. After the battle of Dinant the French Army, among whom
were the Second and Seventh Corps, was heavily outnumbered and had to
fall back gradually, in order to gain time for reinforcements to come
up.

French artillery was up on the wooded heights above the river and swept
the German regiments with a storm of fire as they advanced. On the right
bank the French infantry was intrenched, supported by field guns and
mitrailleuses, and did deadly work before leaping from trenches which
they occupied and taking up a position in new trenches further back,
which they held with great tenacity.

In justice to the Germans it must be said they were heroic in courage
and reckless of their lives, and the valley of the Meuse was choked with
their corpses. The river itself was strewn with the dead bodies of men
and horses and literally ran red with blood.

The most tremendous fighting took place for the possession of the
bridges, but the French engineers blew them up one after another as they
retired southward.

No less than thirty-three bridges were destroyed in this way before they
could be seized by the German advance guard. The fighting was extended
for a considerable distance on either side of the Meuse and many
engagements took place between French and German cavalry and regiments
working away from the main armies.

There was, for instance, a memorable encounter at Marville which is one
of the most heroic episodes of the war. Five thousand French soldiers of
all arms, with quick-firers, engaged 20,000 German infantry. In spite of
being outnumbered, the French beat back the enemy from point to point in
a fight lasting for twelve hours, inflicting tremendous punishment and
suffering very few losses.

The German officer captured expressed his unbounded admiration for the
valor of the French troops, which he described as superb. It was only
for fear of getting too far out of touch with the main forces that the
gallant 5,000 desisted from their irresistible attack and retired with a
large number of German helmets as trophies of the victorious action.

Nevertheless, in accordance with the general plan which had been decided
on by the Generals, in view of the superior numbers temporarily pressing
upon them, the Germans succeeded in forcing their way steadily down the
Meuse as far as Mezieres, divided by a bridge from Charleville, on the
other side of the river. This is in the neighborhood of Sedan and in the
"trou," as it is called, which led to the great disaster of 1870, when
the French were caught in a trap and threatened with annihilation by
the Germans, who had taken possession of the surrounding heights.

There was to be no repetition of that tragedy. The French were
determined that this time the position should be reversed.

On Monday the town of Charleville was evacuated, most of its civilians
being sent away to join the wanderers who have had to leave their homes,
and the French troops took up a magnificent position, commanding the
town and the three bridges dividing them from Mezieres. Mitrailleuses
were hidden in the abandoned houses, and as a disagreeable shock to any
German who might escape their fire was a number of the enemy's guns, no
fewer than ninety-five of them, which had been captured and disabled by
French troops in a series of battles down the river from Namur.

The German outposts reached Charleville on Tuesday. They were allowed to
ride quietly across the bridges into an apparently deserted town. Then
suddenly their line of retreat was cut off, the three bridges were blown
up by a contact mine, and the mitrailleuses hidden in the houses were
played on the German cavalry across the streets, killing them in a
frightful slaughter.

It was for a little while sheer massacre, but the Germans fought with
extraordinary tenacity, regardless of the heaped bodies of comrades and
utterly reckless of their own lives. They, too, had brought quick-firers
across the bridges, and, taking cover behind houses, trained their guns
upon the houses from which the French gunners were firing. There was no
way of escape for those heroic men, who voluntarily sacrificed
themselves, and it is probable every man died, because at such a time
the Germans were not in the habit of giving quarter.

When the main German advance came down the valley, the French artillery
on the heights raked them with a terrific fire, in which they suffered
heavy losses, the forefront of the column being mowed down. But under
this storm they proceeded with incredible coolness to their pontoon
bridges across the river, and although hundreds of men died on the
banks, they succeeded in their endeavor, while their guns searched the
hills with shells and forced French gunners to retire from their
positions.

The occupation of Charleville was a German victory, but was also a
German graveyard. After this historic episode in what has been an
unending battle the main body of French withdrew before the Germans, who
were now pouring down the valley, and retired to new ground.

It was a retirement which has had one advantage in spite of its
acknowledgment of the enemy's amazing pertinacity. It has enabled the
allied armies to draw closer together, its firm front sweeping around in
a crescent from Abbeville, around south of Amiens, and thence in an
irregular line to the eastern frontier.

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