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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




Only this could save Paris--the rapid strengthening of the allied front
by enormous reserves strong enough to hold back the arrow-shaped
battering ram of the enemy's main army.

Undoubtedly the French Headquarters Staff was working heroically and
with fine intelligence to save the situation at the very gates of Paris.
The country was being swept absolutely clean of troops in all parts of
France, where they had been waiting as reserves.

It was astounding to me to see, after those three days of rushing troop
trains and of crowded stations not large enough to contain the
regiments, how on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday last an air of profound
solitude and peace had taken possession of all these routes.

In my long journey through and about France and circling round Paris I
found myself wondering sometimes whether all this war had not been a
dreadful illusion without reality, and a transformation had taken place,
startling in its change, from military turmoil to rural peace.

Dijon was emptied of its troops. The road to Chalons was deserted by all
but fugitives. The great armed camp at Chalons itself had been cleared
out except for a small garrison. The troops at Tours had gone northward
to the French centre. All our English reserves had been rushed up to the
front from Havre and Rouen.

There was only one deduction to be drawn from this great, swift
movement--the French and English lines had been supported by every
available battalion to save Paris from its menace of destruction, to
meet the weight of the enemy's metal by a force strong enough to resist
its mighty mass.

It was still possible that the Germans might be smashed on their left
wing, hurled back to the west between Paris and the sea, and cut off
from their line of communications. It was undoubtedly this impending
peril which scared the enemy's Headquarters Staff and upset all its
calculations. They had not anticipated the rapidity of the supporting
movement of the allied armies, and at the very gates of Paris they saw
themselves balked of their prize, the greatest prize of the war, by the
necessity of changing front.

To do them justice, they realized instantly the new order of things,
and with quick and marvelous decision did not hesitate to alter the
direction of their main force. Instead of proceeding to the west of
Paris they swung round steadily to the southeast in order to keep their
armies away from the enveloping movement of the French and English and
drive their famous wedge-like formation southward for the purpose of
dividing the allied forces of the west from the French Army of the East.
The miraculous had happened, and Paris, for a little time at least, is
unmolested.

That brings me back to the fighting at Creil and Compiegne, which
preceded from last Tuesday until two days later.

The guns were at work at midnight on Tuesday when I passed the English
Headquarters. This battle had only one purpose so far as the Germans
were concerned. It was to keep our British soldiers busy, as well as to
hold the front of the French allies on our right, while their debordant
movements took place behind this fighting screen.

Once again, as throughout the war, they showed their immense superiority
in mitrailleuses, which gives them marvelous mobility and a very deadly
advantage. They masked these quick-firers with great skill until they
had drawn on the English and French infantry and then spilled lead into
their ranks. Once again, also the French were too impetuous, as they
have always been, and as they still are, in spite of Gen. Joffre's
severe rebuke.

Careless of quick-firers, which experience should have taught them were
masked behind the enemy's advance posts, they charged with the bayonet,
and suffered needlessly heavy losses. One can only admire the gallantry
of men who dare to charge on foot against the enemy's mounted men and
who actually put a squadron of them to flight, but one must say again:
"C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre."

There have been many incidents of heroism in these last days of
fighting. It is, for instance, immensely characteristic of the French
spirit that an infantry battalion, having put to flight a detachment of
German outposts in the forest of Compiegne, calmly sat down to have a
picnic in the woods until, as they sat over their hot soup, laughing at
their exploit, they were attacked by a new force and cut to pieces.

But let me describe the new significance of the main German advance.
Their right army has struck down to the southeast of Paris, through
Chateau Thiery to La Ferte-sur-Jouarre and beyond. Their centre army is
coming hard down from Troyes, in the Department of the Aube, and the
army of the left has forced the French to evacuate Rheims and fall back
in a southwesterly direction.

It would not be right of me to indicate the present position of the
British troops or describe the great scenes at their base, which is now
removed to a position which enables our forces to hold the eastern
approach to Paris. It is a wonderful sight to pass the commissariat
camp, where, among other munitions of war, is a park of British
aeroplanes, which are of vital importance to our work of reconnoissance.

Looking, therefore, at the extraordinary transformation throughout the
field of war in France, one thing stands out clear-cut and distinct.
Having been thwarted in their purpose to walk through the western way to
Paris by the enormous forces massed on their flanks, the Germans have
adopted an entirely new plan of campaign and have thrust their armies
deep down into the centre of France in order to divide the western
armies of the Allies from the army on the eastern frontier. It is a
menacing manoeuvre, and it cannot be hidden that the army of Lorraine is
in danger of being cut off by the enemy's armies of the left.

At the same time the German right is swinging round in a southwesterly
direction in order to attack the allied forces on the east and south.
Paris is thus left out of account for the time being, but it depends
upon the issues of the next few days whether the threatened peril will
be averted from it by the immense army now protecting it. I believe the
spirit of our own troops and their French comrades is so splendid that
with their new strength they will be equal to that formidable attack.

Nothing certainly is being left to chance. For miles all around Paris
trenches are being dug in the roads, and little sectional trenches on
the broad roads of France, first one on this side of the way, and then
one on the other side, so that a motor car traveling along the road has
to drive in a series of sharp curves to avoid pitfalls.

There was feverish activity on the west side of the Paris fortifications
when I passed between St. Germain and St. Denis.

Earthworks are being constantly thrown up between the forts, and the
triple curves of the Seine are being intrenched so that thousands of men
may take cover there and form a terrific defense against any attack.

Gen. Gallieni, the Military Governor of Paris, is a man of energy and
iron resolution, and no doubt under his command Paris, if it has to
undergo a siege, (which God avert!) will defend itself well, now that it
has had these precious days of respite.

After wandering along the westerly and southerly roads I started for
Paris when thousands and scores of thousands were flying from it. At
that time I believed, as all France believed, that in a few hours German
shells would be crashing across the fortifications of the city and that
Paris the beautiful would be Paris the infernal. It needed a good deal
of resolution on my part to go deliberately to a city from which the
population was fleeing, and I confess quite honestly that I had a nasty
sensation in the neighborhood of my waistcoat buttons at the thought.

Along the road from Tours to Paris there were sixty unbroken miles of
people--on my honor, I do not exaggerate, but write the absolute truth.
They were all people who had despaired of breaking through the dense
masses of their fellow-citizens camped around the railway stations, and
had decided to take to the roads as the only way of escape.

The vehicles were taxicabs, for which the rich paid fabulous prices;
motor cars which had escaped military requisition, farmers' carts laden
with several families and piles of household goods, shop carts drawn by
horses already tired to the point of death because of the weight of the
people who crowded behind pony traps and governess carts.

Many persons, well dressed and belonging obviously to well-to-do
bourgeoisie, were wheeling barrows like costers, but instead of
trundling cabbages were pushing forward sleeping babies and little
children, who seemed on the first stage to find new amusement and
excitement in the journey from home; but for the most part they trudged
along bravely, carrying their babies and holding the hands of their
little ones.

They were of all classes, rank and fortune being annihilated by the
common tragedy. Elegant women whose beauty is known in Paris salons,
whose frivolity, perhaps, in the past was the main purpose of their
life, were now on a level with the peasant mothers of the French suburbs
and with the midinettes of Montmartre, and their courage did not fail
them so quickly.

I looked into many proud, brave faces of these delicate women, walking
in high-heeled shoes, all too frail for the hard-dusty roadways. They
belonged to the same race and breed as those ladies who defied death
with fine disdain upon the scaffold of the guillotine in the great
Revolution.

They were leaving Paris now, not because of any fears for themselves--I
believe they were fearless--but because they had decided to save the
little sons and daughters of soldier fathers.

This great army in retreat was made up of every type familiar in Paris.

Here were women of the gay world, poor creatures whose painted faces had
been washed with tears, and whose tight skirts and white stockings were
never made for a long march down the highways of France.

Here also were thousands of those poor old ladies who live on a few
francs a week in the top attics of the Paris streets, which Balzac knew;
they had fled from their poor sanctuaries and some of them were still
carrying cats and canaries, as dear to them as their own lives.

There was one young woman who walked with a pet monkey on her shoulder
while she carried a bird in a golden cage. Old men, who remembered 1870,
gave their arms to old ladies to whom they had made love when the
Prussians were at the gates of Paris then.

It was pitiful to see these old people now hobbling along together.
Pitiful, but beautiful also, because of their lasting love.

Young boy students, with ties as black as their hats and rat-tail hair,
marched in small companies of comrades, singing brave songs, as though
they had no fear in their hearts, and very little food, I think, in
their stomachs.

Shopgirls and concierges, city clerks, old aristocrats, young boys and
girls, who supported grandfathers and grandmothers and carried new-born
babies and gave pick-a-back rides to little brothers and sisters, came
along the way of retreat.

Each human being in the vast torrent of life will have an unforgettable
story of adventure to tell if life remains. As a novelist I should have
been glad to get their narratives along this road for a great story of
suffering and strange adventure, but there was no time for that and no
excuse.

When I met many of them they were almost beyond the power of words. The
hot sun of this September had beaten down upon them--scorching them as
in the glow of molten metal. Their tongues clave to their mouths with
thirst.

Some of them had that wild look in their eyes which is the first sign of
the delirium of thirst and fatigue.

Nothing to eat or drink could be found on the way from Paris. The little
roadside cafes had been cleared out by the preceding hordes.

Unless these people carried their own food and drink they could have
none except of the charity of their comrades in misfortune, and that
charity has exceeded all other acts of heroism in this war. Women gave
their last biscuit, their last little drop of wine, to poor mothers
whose children were famishing with thirst and hunger; peasant women fed
other women's babies when their own were satisfied.

It was a tragic road. At every mile of it there were people who had
fainted on the roadside and poor old men and women who could go no
further, but sat on the banks below the hedges, weeping silently or
bidding younger ones go forward and leave them to their fate. Young
women who had stepped out so jauntily at first were footsore and lame,
so they limped along with lines of pain about their lips and eyes.

Many of the taxicabs, bought at great prices, and many of the motor cars
had broken down as I passed, and had been abandoned by their owners, who
had decided to walk. Farmers' carts had bolted into ditches and lost
their wheels. Wheelbarrows, too heavy to be trundled, had been tilted
up, with all their household goods spilt into the roadway, and the
children had been carried further, until at last darkness came, and
their only shelter was a haystack in a field under the harvest moon.

For days also I have been wedged up with fugitives in railway trains
more dreadful than the open roads, stifling in their heat and
heart-racking in their cargoes of misery. Poor women have wept
hysterically clasping my hand, a stranger's hand, for comfort in their
wretchedness and weakness. Yet on the whole they have shown amazing
courage, and, after their tears, have laughed at their own breakdown,
and, always children of France, have been superb, so that again and
again I have wondered at the gallantry with which they endured this
horror. Young boys have revealed the heroic strain in them and have
played the part of men in helping their mothers. And yet, when I came at
last into Paris against all this tide of retreat, it seemed a needless
fear that had driven these people away.

Then I passed long lines of beautiful little villas on the Seine side,
utterly abandoned among their trees and flowers. A solitary fisherman
held his line above the water as though all the world were at peace, and
in a field close to the fortifications which I expected to see bursting
with shells, an old peasant bent above the furrows and planted cabbages.
Then, at last, I walked through the streets of Paris and found them
strangely quiet and tranquil.

The people I met looked perfectly calm. There were a few children
playing in the gardens of Champs Elysees and under the Arc de Triomph
symbolical of the glory of France.

I looked back upon the beauty of Paris all golden in the light of the
setting sun, with its glinting spires and white gleaming palaces and
rays of light flashing in front of the golden trophies of its monuments.
Paris was still unbroken. No shell had come shattering into this city of
splendor, and I thanked Heaven that for a little while the peril had
passed.




*A Zouave's Story*

*By Philip Gibbs of The London Daily Chronicle.*

[Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]


CREIL, Sept. 10.--I could write this narrative as a historian, with
details gathered from many different witnesses at various parts of the
lines, in a cold and aloof way, but I prefer to tell it in the words of
a young officer of the Zouaves who was in the thickest of fighting until
when I met him and gave him wine and biscuits. He was put out of action
by a piece of shell which smashed his left arm. He told me the story of
the battle as he sat back, hiding his pain by a little careless smile of
contempt, and splashed with blood which made a mess of his uniform.

"For four days previous to Monday, Sept. 7," he said, "we were engaged
in clearing out the German bosches from all the villages on the left
bank of the Ourcq, which they had occupied in order to protect the flank
of their right wing. Unfortunately for us the English heavy artillery,
which would have smashed the beggars to bits, had not yet come up to
help us, although we expected them with some anxiety, as big business
events began as soon as we drove the outposts back to their main lines.

"However, we were equal to the preliminary task, and, heartened by the
news of an ammunition convoy which had been turned into a pretty
fireworks display by 'Soixante-dix' Pau, my Zouaves, (as you see, I
belong to the First Division, which has a reputation to keep up, n'est
ce pas?) were in splendid form. Of course, they all laughed at me. They
wanted to get near those German guns and nearer still to the gunners.
That was before they knew the exact meaning of shellfire well.

"They did good things, those Zouaves of mine, but it wasn't pleasant
work. We fought from village to village, very close fighting, so that
sometimes we could look into our enemy's eyes. The Moroccans were with
us. The native troops are unlike my boys, who are Frenchmen, and they
were like demons with their bayonet work.

"Several of the villages were set on fire by the Germans before they
retired from them, and soon great columns of smoke with pillars of
flames and clouds of flying sparks rose up into the blue sky and made a
picture of hell there, for really it was hell on earth. Our gunners were
shelling Germans from pillar to post, as it were, and strewing the
ground with their dead. It was across and among these dead bodies that
we infantry had to charge.

"They lay about in heaps. It made me sick, even in the excitement of it
all. The enemy's quick-firers were marvelous. I am bound to say we did
not get it all our own way. They always manoeuvre them in the same
style, and a very clever style it is. First of all, they mask them with
infantry; then, when the French charge, they reveal them and put us to
the test under the most withering fire. It is almost impossible to stand
against it, and in this case we had to retire after each rush for about
250 meters. Then, quick as lightning, the Germans got their
mitrailleuses across the ground which we had yielded to them and waited
for us to come on again, when they repeated the same operation.

"I can tell you it was pretty trying to the nerves. My Zouaves were very
steady in spite of fairly heavy losses. It is quite untrue to say that
the Germans have a greater number of mitrailleuses than the French. I
believe that the proportion is exactly the same to each division, but
they handle them more cleverly, and their fire is much more effective
than ours.

"In a village named Penchard there was some very sharp fighting, and
some of our artillery was posted thereabout. Presently a German
aeroplane came overhead, circling round in reconnoissance; but it was
out for more than that. Suddenly it began to drop bombs and, whether by
design or otherwise, they exploded in the middle of a field hospital.
One of my friends, a young doctor, was wounded in the left arm by a
bullet from one of these bombs, but I don't know what other casualties
there were. The inevitable happened shortly after the disappearance of
the aeroplane. German shells searched the position and found it with
unpleasant accuracy. It is always the same. The German aeroplanes are
really wonderful in the way they search out the positions of our guns.
We always know that within half an hour of observation by aeroplane
shells will begin to fall above gunners, unless they have altered their
position. It was so in this fighting round Meaux yesterday.

"For four days this hunting among the villages on the left bank of the
Ourcq went on all the time, and we were not very happy with ourselves.
The truth was we had no water and were four days thirsty. It was really
terrible, for the heat was terrific during the day, and some of us were
almost mad with thirst. Our tongues were blistered and swollen, our eyes
had a silly kind of look in them, and at night we had horrid dreams. It
was, I assure you, intolerable agony.

"I have said we were four days without drink, and that was because we
used our last water for our horses. A gentleman has to do that, you will
agree, and a French soldier is not a barbarian. Even then the horses had
to go without a drop of water for two days, and I'm not ashamed to say I
wept salt tears to see the sufferings of those poor, innocent creatures
who did not understand the meaning of all this bloody business and who
wondered at our cruelty.

"The nights were dreadful. All around us were burning villages, and at
every faint puff of wind sparks floated about them like falling stars.

"But other fires were burning. Under the cover of darkness the Germans
had piled the dead into great heaps and had covered them with straw and
paraffin; then they had set a torch to these funeral pyres.

"Carrion crows were about in the dawn that followed. One of my own
comrades lay very badly wounded, and when he wakened out of his
unconsciousness one of these beastly birds was sitting on his chest
waiting for him to die. That is war.

"The German shells were terrifying. I confess to you that there were
times when my nerves were absolutely gone. I crouched down with my men
(we were in open formation) and ducked my head at the sound of the
bursting shell, and I trembled in every limb as though I had a fit of
ague.

"It is true that in reality the German shells are not very effective.
Only about one in four explodes nicely, but it is a bad thing when, as
happened to me, the shells plopped around in a diameter of fifty meters.
One hears the zip-zip of bullets, the boom of the great guns, the
ste-tang of our French artillery, and in all this infernal experience of
noise and stench, the screams at times of dying horses and men joined
with the fury of gunfire and rising shrill above it, no man may boast of
his courage. There were moments when I was a coward with all of them.

"But one gets used to it, as to all things. My ague did not last long.
Soon I was shouting and cheering. Again we cleared the enemy out of the
village of Bregy, and that was where I fell, wounded in the arm pretty
badly by a bit of shell. When I came to myself a brother officer told me
things were going on well and that we had rolled back the German right.
That was better than bandages to me. I felt very well again, in spite of
my weakness.

"It is the beginning of the end, and the Germans are on the run. They
are exhausted and demoralized. Their pride has been broken; they are
short of ammunition; they know their plans have failed.

"Now that we have them on the move nothing will save them. This war is
going to be finished quicker than people thought. I believe that in a
few days the enemy will be broken and that we shall have nothing more to
do than kill them as they fight back in retreat."

That is the story, without any retouching of my pen, of a young
Lieutenant of Zouaves whom I met after the battle of Meaux, with blood
still splashed upon his uniform.

It is a human story, giving the experience of only one individual in the
great battle, but it gives also in outline a narrative of that great
military operation which has done irreparable damage to the German right
wing in its plan of campaign and thrust it back across the Ourcq in a
great retiring movement which has also begun upon the German centre and
left.




*When War Burst on Arras*

[A Special Dispatch to THE NEW YORK TIMES and The London Daily
Chronicle.]


A TOWN IN FRANCE, Oct. 7.--Arras has been the pivot of a fierce battle
which, commencing Thursday, was still in progress when I was forced to
leave the citadel three days later.

In that period I was fortunate enough to penetrate into the firing line,
and the experience is one that will never be dimmed in my memory. Like
the movements of so many pawns on a mammoth chessboard was the feinting
with scattered outposts to test the strength of the enemy.

I saw the action open with skirmishes at Vitry-en-Artois, and next
morning one of the hardest battles which make a link in the chain flung
right across France of the gigantic battle of rivers was being
prosecuted before my eyes.

The days that ensued were full of feverish and hectic motion. Arras
rattled and throbbed with the flow of an army and all the tragedy which
war brings in its train. There were moments when its cobbled streets
were threaded by streams of wounded from the country beyond. Guns boomed
incessantly, a fitting requiem to the sad little processions which
occasionally revealed that some poor fellow had sacrificed his life for
the flag which accompanied him to his grave.

I reached Arras on Sept. 29. The Germans had occupied it a fortnight
earlier. Now it was placid, sleepy, and deserted, and bore no outward
signs of having suffered from their occupation. I learned, however, that
although they had refrained from demolishing buildings, there had been
scenes of debauchery, and private houses had been ransacked.

It was declared that the only German paying for anything during the
whole of the fortnight's occupation was a member of the Hohenzollern
family, an important officer who had made the Hotel d'Univers his
headquarters.

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