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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4900b33 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68970 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68970) diff --git a/old/68970-0.txt b/old/68970-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1dac087..0000000 --- a/old/68970-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6526 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Passed by the censor, by Wythe -Williams - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Passed by the censor - The Experience of an American Newspaper Man in France - -Author: Wythe Williams - -Contributor: Myron T. Herrick - -Release Date: September 11, 2022 [eBook #68970] -[Last updated: October 19, 2022] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Graeme Mackreth and The Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASSED BY THE CENSOR *** - - -[Illustration: MYRON T. HERRICK - -UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR TO FRANCE - -From a hitherto unpublished drawing by Royer] - - - - - PASSED BY THE CENSOR - - THE EXPERIENCE OF AN - AMERICAN NEWSPAPER MAN IN FRANCE - - BY - - WYTHE WILLIAMS - - PARIS CORRESPONDENT OF THE NEW YORK TIMES, - OFFICIALLY ACCREDITED TO THE FRENCH - ARMIES ON THE WESTERN FRONT - - WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - MYRON T. HERRICK - FORMER UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR TO FRANCE - - NEW YORK - E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY - 681 FIFTH AVENUE - - - - - Copyright, 1916 - By E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -_TO VIOLA_ - - - - -PREFACE - - -Special correspondents in great numbers have come from America into the -European "zone of military activity," and in almost equal numbers have -they gone out, to write their impressions, their descriptions, their -histories, their romances and songs. - -Other correspondents who are not "special," but who by the grace of -the military authorities have been permitted to enter the forbidden -territory, and by the favor of the censor have been allowed to tell -what they saw there, have entered it again and again at regular -intervals. - -These are the "regular" correspondents, who lived in Europe before war -was declared, and who during many idle hours speculated on what they -would do with that great arm of their vocation--the cable--when the -expected hour of conflict arrived. - -Few of their plans worked out, and new ones were formed on the -minute--on the second. For the Germans did not cut the cable, as some -of the correspondents, in moments of despair, almost hoped they would -do, and the great American public clamored insistently for the "news" -with its breakfast. - -It is a journalist's methods in covering the biggest, the hardest -"story" that newspapers were ever compelled to handle, that this book -attempts to describe. - - Wythe Williams. - -Paris, October, 1915. - - - - -AN ENDORSEMENT - -By Georges Clemenceau - -Former Premier of France. - - -"In the crowded picture which this American journalist has presented we -recognize our men as they are. And he pronounces such judgment as to -arouse our pride in our friends, our brothers and our children. Such -a people are the French of to-day. They must also be the French of -to-morrow. Through them France sees herself regenerate. - -"Of our army, Mr. Wythe Williams says: - -"'It seems to me to be invincible from the standpoints of power, -intelligence and humanity.' - -"Is there not in that something like a judgment pronounced upon -France before the people of the world? Where I am particularly -surprised, I admit, is that the eye of a foreigner should have been so -penetrating, and that our friendly guest should have coupled the idea -of an 'invincible' army with the supreme ethical consideration of its -'humanity.' - -"Mr. Wythe Williams is right to proclaim this, even though it is -something of a stroke of genius for a non-Frenchman to have discovered -it."--(From an editorial in _L'Homme Enchainé_.) - - - - -LETTER TO THE AUTHOR FROM SENATOR LAFAYETTE YOUNG - - - _My Dear Williams_: - - I am glad to know that you are going to write about the war in book - form. In doing this you are discharging a plain duty. You have been - in the war from the start. You have studied the soldier in the - trench, and out. You have witnessed every phase of battle. The war - is in your system. You are full of it. Therefore, you can write - concerning it with inspiration and fervor. - - I remember our long marches in and near the trenches in Northern - France in April and May, last. I know how deeply you are interested; - therefore, I know how well you will write. - - A thousand historians will write books concerning the present great - conflict, but the real historians will be the honest, independent - observers such as you have been. - - Newspaper reports will be the basis of every battle's history. - - Take the battle of the Marne, for instance. Who knows so well - concerning it as men like yourself, who were in Paris or near it - during the seven days' conflict? - - The passing years may bring dignified historians who will compose - sentences which shall sound well, but none of them will be so full of - real history as your volume if you write your own experiences. - - I never knew a man freer from prejudice, and at the same time fuller - of enthusiasm than yourself. I want you to write your book with the - same free hand you write for the _New York Times_. Forget for the - time that you are writing a book. - - I am pleased to know that you have been with the army several times - since I parted company with you. This, with your experience as an - ambulance driver, when the first hostilities were on, has certainly - made you a military writer worth while. - - I count you to be one of the three best and most truthful American - correspondents who have been in the war from the start. - - I am hoping the time will come when these wars shall end, when bright - men like yourself shall return to the work of journalism in America. - - With greatest affection, I subscribe myself, - - Lafayette Young. - - - - -TABLE OF CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - Introduction by Myron T. Herrick xiii - - - PART ONE - - THE HECTIC WEEK - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I The Day 1 - - II The Night 9 - - III Herrick 19 - - IV Les Américains 31 - - V War 39 - - - PART TWO - - THE GREATEST STORY - - VI The Actuality 49 - - VII The Field of Glory 55 - - - PART THREE - - THE ARM OF MILITARY AUTHORITY - - VIII The Field of Battle 73 - - (A) Sentries in the Dark - - (B) The Wounded Who Could Walk - - (C) A Lull in the Bombardment - - IX "Detained" by the Colonel 94 - - X The Cherche Midi 110 - - XI Under the Croix Rouge 120 - - (A) Trevelyan - - (B) The Rue Jeanne d'Arc - - (C) Those from Quesnoy-sur-Somme - - - PART FOUR - - WAR-CORRESPONDING DE LUXE - - XII Out with Captain Blank 145 - - XIII Joffre 157 - - XIV The Man of the Marne and the Yser 172 - - XV The Battle of the Labyrinth 184 - - XVI "With the Honors of War" 193 - - XVII Sister Julie, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor 209 - - XVIII The Silent Cannon 226 - - XIX D'Artagnan and the Soul of France 230 - - - PART FIVE - - THREE CHAPTERS IN CONCLUSION - - XX A Rearpost of War 245 - - XXI Myths 256 - - XXII When Chenal Sings the "Marseillaise" 264 - - - - -AN INTRODUCTION - -By Myron T. Herrick, - -Former United States Ambassador to France. - - -The rigid censorship placed on journalism upon the declaration of -war in Europe brought the representatives of the American press into -close relationship with the Embassy. The news which they brought to -the Embassy and such news as they received there, required unusual -discretion, frankness and confidence on the part of all concerned in -order that the American public should receive accurate information, -while avoiding the commission of any improprieties against the -countries involved in the great conflict. - -In this supreme test the American newspaper representatives appreciated -that they were something more than mere purveyors of news; they -arose to the full comprehension of their responsibility, and were of -invaluable assistance to the Embassy, and through it to the nation. - -While there has been no opportunity to read the advance sheets of -this book, my confidence in the character and ability of the author, -begotten in those days when real merit, and demerit as well, were -revealed, makes it a pleasure to write this foreword, and to commend -this volume unseen. - - (Signed) - -[Illustration] - - Cleveland, Ohio, October 19th, 1915. - - - - -A FOREWORD - - -At the outbreak of the European war, the author, who was then stationed -in Paris as the correspondent of the _New York Times_, was refused, -with all other correspondents, any credentials permitting him to -enter the fighting area. He entered it later, immediately after the -battle of the Marne, with what were in Paris considered sufficient -credentials. But he was arrested, returned to Paris as a prisoner of -war and lodged in the Cherche Midi prison, the famous military prison, -where Dreyfus was confined. He was released upon the intervention -of Ambassador Herrick, but still baffled in getting to the front as -a war correspondent, he volunteered for service in the Red Cross as -an orderly on a motor ambulance. A few of the descriptions in the -following pages are written from notes made during the two months he -remained in that service. - -At the beginning of 1915, the author was officially accredited as a -correspondent attached to the French army, and at the beginning of -February sent to his paper the longest cable despatch permitted to -pass the censor since the beginning of the war, and the first authentic -detailed description of the French forces after the battle of the Marne. - -The following spring, at the height of the first great French offensive -north of Arras, the famous ground, every yard of which is stained with -both French and German blood, the author was selected by the French -Ministry of War as the only neutral correspondent permitted there. The -first description given to America of the battle of the Labyrinth was -the result. - -Since then the author has made a number of trips to the front, always -under the escort of an officer of the Great General Headquarters Staff, -and has seen practically the entire line of the French trenches, up -to the moment of the autumn offensive in Champagne. He was the first -American correspondent to foreshadow this offensive in a long cable to -his paper at the end of August, in which he asserted that the attack -would commence "before the leaves are red," that being the only wording -of the facts permitted by the censor, but which exactly timed the date -of the action. A few of the following chapters have been rewritten -from the author's article published in the _New York Times_, to which -acknowledgment is made for permission to use such material. The author -however wishes alone to stand sponsor for the sentiments and opinions -expressed throughout the volume. - - - - -PART ONE - -THE HECTIC WEEK - - - - -PASSED BY THE CENSOR - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE DAY - - -A member of the Garde Republicaine, whose duty was to keep order in -the court, was creating great disorder by climbing over the shoulders -of the mob in the press section. He ousted friends of the white-faced -prisoner in the dock, to make room for a fat reporter from _Petit -Parisien_, who ordinarily did finance but was now relieving a confrère -at the lunch hour. The case in court was that of the famous affaire -Caillaux and all the world was reading bulletins concerning its -progress as fast as special editions could supply them. - -I was sitting in the last of the over-crowded rows allotted to the -press, but filled with whoever got there first. I was one of the few -Americans permitted to cover this important "story" first hand, instead -of having to write my nightly cables from reports in the evening -papers. - -As the _Petit Parisien_ man wheezed and jostled his way to a seat on -the bench just in front of me, I caught some words he flung to a friend -in passing. Maitre Labori was proclaiming the innocence of the prisoner -with all the fervor for which he is celebrated, and I was wondering how -soon an adjournment would let us escape from the stifling heat of the -room. It was the latter part of July, 1914; and true to French custom -all of the windows were shut tight. - -The words of the fat reporter pricked my flagging attention, "There is -a panic on the Bourse." - -The words caused a buzz of comment all around me. One English -journalist, monocled and superior, even stopped his writing, and the -financial reporter, his fat body half crowded into his seat, paused -midway to add: "The Austrian note to Serbia that has got them all -scared." - -Another French newspaperman some seats away overheard the talk and -joined in loudly. It did not matter how much we talked during the -proceedings of the affaire Caillaux. Everybody talked. Often everybody -talked at the same moment. This journalist prefaced his remarks by a -derisive laugh. - -"They are crazy on the Bourse," he said. "You may be sure that nothing -matters now in France but this trial. No panic, or Austrian note, or -Russian note or anything, will rival it as a newspaper story, I am -certain." - -The fat reporter again wheezed into speech. - -"I do not know very much concerning this affaire Caillaux," he replied, -"but I will bet you money that the verdict will not get a top headline." - -"Why?" cried some of us, mocking and incredulous. - -"Because of what I've told you. There is a panic on the Bourse." - -The presiding judge announced the luncheon adjournment; we trooped -to the basement restaurant of the Palais de Justice. I found myself -sitting at a table with the superior Englishman. We discussed the -qualities of French cuisine for a moment; then he said: - -"It will be jolly annoying if this Bourse business develops into war, -you know." - -This was the first mention that I remember of the word "war" in -connection with the events that followed so fast for the next few -weeks, that now as I look back upon them, they do not seem real at all. -One week to the day following this luncheon, I remember saying to a -fellow newspaper correspondent, "Is it a week, or is it a year, since -we had Peace in the world?" But at the first mention of the word--the -first premonition of the nearness of the tragedy that was descending -upon Europe--I remember signaling somewhat abstractedly to a waiter, -and giving him an order for food. - -Every one of the Americans who covered that session of the Caillaux -trial had lived in Europe for years; and the majority were to remain as -onlookers of the great war that had been so long predicted. But on this -day none of us realized, and none of us knew; and that was the greater -part of all our troubles. - -I remember a conversation only a few weeks before all this happened, -with Mr. Charles R. Miller, the editor of the _New York Times_, who was -passing through Paris on his return to New York from Carlsbad. He asked -me when I intended going home, and I replied to him as I had to many -others: - -"Not until they pull off this war over here. I have been in the -newspaper game ever since I left college, but I have never been lucky -enough to cover a war. So I do not propose to miss this one." - -Then came the invariable question: - -"When do you think it will come?" - -I had my reply ready. All of us had made it many times. - -"Oh, perhaps in a few years. Perhaps it will not be so very long." - -The next remark of at least half the persons with whom I discussed -the question was, "Pooh, pooh, there'll never be a European war." Mr. -Miller only said, "What will you do when it comes?" - -Again the reply was pat to hand, but how vague it seems now, in the -light of then fast approaching events! It was: - -"There will be warning enough to make our plans for beating the censor, -I am certain." - -It is easy enough to look back now and declare that incidents such -as Agadir, the Balkan war and Sarejebo should have been sufficient -handwriting on the wall. All those affairs were exactly that, but we -simply could not grasp the idea, that actual Armageddon could come -without at least months of announcement--time enough for all of us to -make our plans. In this I do not think we should be blamed, for we -followed so exactly the fatuous beliefs of even foreign ministries. -That the great moment should come in a week never entered our -imaginations. - -We filed back to the court room on that afternoon of the Caillaux -trial and fought for the last time the twice daily battle for our -seats. I sat beside the superior Englishman. We listened idly to famous -politicians and famous doctors and famous lawyers garbling as best -they could the dead question of the murder of Gaston Calmette, and the -more burning though irrelevant one as to whether Joseph Caillaux was a -traitor. - -My companion and I discovered that our arrangements for a summer -vacation included the same tiny Brittany hamlet by the sea. We passed -a portion of the afternoon making mutual plans for the coming month, -and at the adjournment drove away from the ancient building on the -banks of the Seine in the same fiacre, both trying to align the chief -features of the day's sitting, and planning the writing of our night's -despatches. - -After an hour at my desk that evening, I remember turning to Mr. Walter -Duranty, my chief assistant, and saying, "It is about two thousand -words to-night. With all the direct testimony that the Associated Press -is sending, it ought to lead the paper to-morrow morning. Mark it -'rush.'" - -"But about this panic on the Bourse story! Don't you think we should -send a special on that?" Mr. Duranty asked. - -"Why?" I questioned. - -"Because there is an Austrian brokerage firm that has been selling like -mad--started all the trouble; it is the identical firm that two years -ago--" His voice broke off suddenly. "Listen!" he then shouted. We made -a rush to the front windows looking upon the Boulevard des Italiens -near the Opera. - -The street was seething, which signified exactly nothing, for the -Caillaux case had kept the boulevards stirred up for days. - -"They are yelling, 'Down with Caillaux!'" I said, as we tore open the -window sashes. - -"No--it's something else." - -We leaned far out. Under the lights moved thousands of heads. Hundreds -were reading the latest editions, but in the middle of the road a mob -was surging, and we heard a monotonous cry. It was a cry heard that -night in Paris for the first time in forty-four years. - -The mob was shouting, "To Berlin!" - -I slammed shut the window. "Cut that Caillaux cable to a thousand -words," I yelled, as I seized my hat, ran down the stairs, and plunged -into the crowd, snatching the latest editions as I ran. - -The Austro-Serb and Russian news had become worse within a few hours, -and there were already rumors of Franco-German frontier incidents. I -hurried along the boulevards, calling at the offices of the _Matin_ and -the _London Daily Mail_, but could get no inside information; nothing -but official announcements which would be cabled by the news agencies, -and did not interest me, the correspondent of a paper receiving all -agency matter. - -Later I returned to my office, cabled a story that pictured the scene -in the boulevards and gave some details concerning the Austrian -brokerage firm that had precipitated the trouble on the Bourse by -its selling orders. My paper alone carried the next morning the -significant information that this same Austrian house, with high Vienna -connections, had made an enormous fortune just two years before, when -it had accurate and precise information concerning the hour that the -conflict in the Balkans would begin. - -This story was a "beat"--probably it was the first "beat" of the -European war, but it was almost lost in the mass of heavy despatches -that on that night began crowding the cables from every capital in -Europe. The next morning probably every newspaper in the world led its -columns with the subject of war. Even in Paris the affaire Caillaux was -relegated to the second page. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE NIGHT - - -A "beat" or a "scoop," otherwise known as exclusive news, is a -great matter to a newspaper man. To "put over a beat" gives soul -satisfaction, but to be beaten causes poignant feeling of another sort. - -There have been some great beats and a multitude of little ones, but up -to the beginning of the European war, the greatest beat that was ever -put over came from a Paris correspondent. - -This was the occasion when Henri de Blowitz, the famous representative -of the _London Times_, gave the full text of the treaty of Berlin -before the hour when it was actually signed. That was a real beat, -not to be classified with the majority of beats of later years, which -were often scandalous, more often paltry, and which often caused us to -wonder whether they were worth the cable tolls. - -In ante-bellum discussions, the Paris correspondents often opined that -the coming conflict would open a more important field. At least we -would no longer chronicle the silly ways of fashion and the crazy ways -of society. The turf, the mannequin, the Rue de la Paix, and those -who drank tea at the Pré Catalan would give way to real and stirring -matters. We all schemed to put over a real beat as soon as the war -drums began to roll and the new Paris was revealed. The old Paris, in -the minds of American editors, had only been an important place for -unimportant things. - -Looking back now at the beginnings of Armageddon, and at the particular -corner in which I performed a minor rôle, I can say generally that all -our schemes went wrong and that there were no "beats" of the slightest -importance secured by anybody. Remember, I am only speaking of Paris -and France. There were a few great beats elsewhere. There was the -famous "scrap of paper" interview given to the Associated Press. There -were some exclusive interviews secured in both Germany and England. -But France, the real theater of action, where beats were expected, was -quite the equal of Japan in her sudden tight sealing of every crevice -from which news either big or little might leak. - -France had learned several lessons from the year 1870, but this one she -learned almost too well. So far as the neutral opinion of the world -was concerned, it was scarcely known that France had an army. Later, -but much later, and then very gradually, some real stories were passed -by the censor--but even then very few of them were beats. - -But during the hectic week when France went to war the censorship was -almost overlooked and there were a few precious hours during which -the correspondents and their methods of communication were free. The -first sign of the censor was the shutting off of the telephone between -Paris and London. It had been my custom to talk with our London office -nightly in order that the news of the two capitals might be checked, -and that we might not duplicate stories. - -The second night following the events of the foregoing chapter I talked -to our London bureau for the last time. All that day my mind had been -busy with one idea: "If war is declared, how can we beat the censor?" - -The first answer that probably occurred to every correspondent was: -"Code." Alas, events moved too quickly. A secret code was a matter -that might have been arranged had we been given our expected months of -notice, but there was no time now. - -I gave the call for our London office, however, with this idea still -uppermost in mind. I waited a quarter of an hour to be put through. -Then I heard the voice of my colleague. It sounded harassed. I shall -never forget his first remark after the communication was established. -I could almost see him pass a hand over a fevered brow; I could almost -hear the sigh that I am sure accompanied the words which were: - -"My gracious, I never expected to live to see such days as these!" - -It was quite natural that he should have said just that, but somehow -there did not seem any fitting reply. Also it seemed rather hopeless to -talk about codes. So I said: - -"I am told that we will not be allowed to telephone after to-night." - -He replied: "That's a fact. I guess this is good-by for a while." He -paused--then as an afterthought, added: "I think you would better just -send everything you can from Paris without paying any heed to whether -London does or not." - -Inasmuch as a moment had arrived when there was only one possible way -to do many things, I quite agreed with him. - -The conversation lagged. - -"Well, good-by," I shouted. - -"Good-by," he replied, "and good luck." - -That was the end of the telephone as an adjunct to transatlantic -journalism. I have never spoken with our London office from that night. - -After hanging up the receiver I had an idea. - -It did not and does not now seem a particularly brilliant one; but, -again, it was the only possible thing to do. I turned to Mr. Duranty -and said: - -"We will have a little race with the censor. We will crowd everything -possible on the cable before he gets on the job." - -All the late editions were on my desk. I clipped and pasted everything -of interest on cable forms and sent them to the Bourse. Mr. Duranty -took them himself, "just to see if there were any signs of the censor," -as he expressed it. Then I began to write, interrupted continually by -my dozen extra assistants. I had hired every freelance newspaper man -I could find--and I had also a number of volunteers, young American -visitors, too interested in events to be in a hurry to get out of the -city. - -The night was warm and the windows all open. The boulevards were dense -with shouting people. There was no mistaking the cries on this night. -"À Berlin--À Berlin," echoed above the roar of the traffic and the -mob. Cuirassiers frequently rode through the streets but the crowd -immediately surged in behind them. - -At ten o'clock the concierge mounted to protest against the street door -being open. She was afraid. She was alone in the _loge_. I told her -that the business of the office required the doors kept unlocked. She -went away and in a few moments came back with the proprietor of the -building, whom she had called by telephone. He insisted on closing the -street door. I told him this was a violation of my lease. In view of -the circumstances he persisted in his demand. I wheeled my chair about -and said to him: - -"This office remains open--all night if I desire. It is a newspaper -office and we cannot close. If you interfere with me I guarantee that I -will keep a man there, but if necessary that man will be a soldier." - -"What do you mean?" he asked. - -"I mean that I will apply to the American Embassy for the protection of -my rights as an American citizen." - -He went away and that difficulty ended. - -I turned back to my work. I wrote thousands of words that night; when -not writing I was dictating, and piecing together the reports of my -assistants. - -Mr. Duranty returned from the Bourse. His clothes were awry and he was -trembling with excitement. He had diverged, in his return trip, to the -Gare du Nord, to get a story of the stormy scenes there--thousands, -chiefly Americans, fighting for places in the trains for England. He -had been arrested, he explained. Oh, yes, he had been surrounded by a -mob at the Gare, who spotted him as a foreigner, and the police had -rescued him. He explained his identity and was released. - -At the end of the story he suddenly leaped across the room to the -window. I leaped at the same moment and so did the stenographer. Across -the boulevard was a store that dealt in objects of art. The proprietor -was a German. During the day he had boarded the place with stout -planks. As we reached the window the sound of splitting and tearing -planks sounded above even the cries and roars of the angry people. One -look and Duranty was out of the office and in the street. - -I sat in the window and watched the mob do its work. The torn planks -were used as battering rams through the plate glass, through the -expensive statuary and costly vases. In five minutes the place was -a ruin. Then the cuirassiers came and drove the crowd away. Duranty -returned with the details of the story. I asked him what the police -had said to the crowd. - -"A man came out holding a marble Adonis by the arm," he replied. "A cop -said to him, 'Be good now--be good!' and the chap replied, 'Well, if I -can't smash it, you smash it!'--So the cop took it and leaped upon it -with both feet." - -"Write it," I said; "also the Gare du Nord story." - -It was midnight and the uproar was greater than ever. Processions -blocks long wended through the middle of the streets singing the -"Marseillaise," the "Carmagnole" and other fire-eating songs of the -Revolution. Through it all I worked, and steadily sent messenger after -messenger to the Bourse with the latest news from the various scenes of -action. No signs yet of the censor. - -About one o'clock the crowd concentrated just below my window. The -cries grew fiercer and louder, with a more terrible note. I went to -the window. The faces of the mob were turned to an upper window of the -building next door. Some rash voice had shouted from that window a cry -that no man might shout that night in Paris with safety. He had cried: -"Hurrah for Germany!" - -I crawled out on my window ledge and watched. The crowd filled the -street completely. They watched that upper window, they yelled their -rage and they battered against a great grilled iron door that baffled -their efforts. The police tried to disperse them, but as soon as the -street was partly cleared they surged back again. They hung about that -door, their faces turned up, the hate showing in their eyes, their -mouths open, bellowing forth their rage. They waited as patiently as -wolves that have surrounded a quarry that must come out to meet them -soon. But the waiting was so long that I crawled back from my window -ledge into the office. - -I finished a despatch that I had compiled from various documents given -out to the morning papers by the Foreign Ministry, and of which I had -secured a copy. They were an undisputable proof that Germany meant -war on France, for they noted a dozen incidents proving that German -mobilization had been under way for days. The dawn was breaking as I -pushed my chair from the desk. - -I told the stenographer and other assistants to go home and get some -sleep--not to report again until late afternoon. Duranty, who, like -myself, kept no hours but worked always while there was work to do, -sauntered into the private room. He had counted the words of copy that -had been filed that night--nearly twenty thousand. - -The yelling of the mob below had given way to low rumbling. We had -ceased to think about it. We lighted our pipes and yawned. - -"Shall we cut it out for a few hours?" Duranty asked. - -"Think so," I replied. "We will hunt a cab and go home until noon." - -I stifled another yawn and relighted my pipe. - -A scream came from the sidewalk--my pipe dropped to the floor and we -were out on the window ledge. - -A man was struggling in the middle of the street. He was the man who -had so rashly shouted "Vive l'Allemagne" from the window. - -He fell and passed out of sight under a mass of bodies. The crowd -opened once. The man struggled to his knees. His face was covered with -blood. Again we lost sight of him. Then cuirassiers charged down the -street. One of them lifted a broken body across his saddle. That story -never reached New York. The censor was on the job. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -HERRICK - - -On the morning of September 3, 1914, an "official statement," so -called, was inserted by the American Ambassador, Myron T. Herrick, in -the Paris edition of the _New York Herald_. This announcement read: - -"The American Ambassador advises, as he has done before, that all -Americans who can go, leave Paris, for obvious reasons." - -The French Government was then most anxious to get every foreigner -possible out of Paris. A siege was imminent and the food question -might become very grave. Preparations were made for taking out the -British residents. Mr. Herrick arranged with General Galliéni, then the -Military Governor, for trains to transport a thousand of them a day, -the British Government furnishing the money. - -I now have Mr. Herrick's permission to state for the first time, -that the American Embassy was then in receipt of a telegram from Mr. -Gerard, our Ambassador in Berlin, in which he said in substance that -the German General Staff "advises you and all Americans to leave Paris -at once by Rouen and Havre." - -For a considerable length of time there was practically no doubt that -there would be a siege, and very many believed it would be followed by -a German entry into Paris. What happened at Louvain seemed reasonably -likely to be repeated at the Louvre; in fact, it was well known to the -Government that the German plan was to blow up Paris section by section -until the French were forced to capitulate. - -When the ministry changed and Delcassé and Millerand came into power, -there was a change also in policy, and it was determined that the city -should be defended. - -On the morning of September second, the President of the Republic -summoned Mr. Herrick to the Elysée, to thank him for remaining in -Paris. He added that "We propose to defend the city at the outer gates, -at the inner gates, and by the valor of our troops, and there will be -no surrender." - -Under these circumstances the advice to Americans was inserted in -the _Herald_. I called on Mr. Herrick immediately after the notice -was written. He said to me: "What explanation can be made if no -such warning is given, and if there is a siege, with many killed and -wounded, in face of the situation as it is to-day, and of the warning -telegram I have received from Berlin?" - -The question has since been asked, sometimes critically, as to why -this warning was given, since after all the Germans did not enter -Paris. I have therefore given these heretofore unpublished facts at -the beginning of this chapter, in order that it shall be known just -how faithfully our ex-ambassador guarded his trust to the American -people, to give an insight into the character of the man who was easily -the most remarkable figure in Paris at the beginning of the war, who -was not only the rock upon which the thousands of Americans leaned so -heavily, but was also an outstanding favorite of the Paris public. - -On one of the nights just preceding mobilization, when the boulevards -were at the zenith of their frenzy, I looked out my office window and -saw an open carriage, with footmen wearing ambassadorial livery and -cockades, driving slowly along the Boulevard des Capucines. Voices -snarled in the crowd. Certain ambassadors were not popular in Paris -in those days; so just who might this ambassador be, at that moment -straining his eyes to read a paper under the electric arc lights? - -He looked up as he heard the hoots directed at himself--then smiled and -shouted something at the crowd. - -"Ah, l'Ambassadeur Americain!" they passed the word. Then rose cries -of "Vive l'Amérique!--Vive Herrick!" Men jumped on the carriage steps -and Mr. Herrick shook their hands. Banter was exchanged on all sides, -and cheers followed him down the boulevard. The Paris public felt then -what they came to know later, that he liked them almost as much as "his -Americans." They knew, when the French Government went to Bordeaux, -that the American Embassy remained--that the eye of the great neutral -republic would see what happened should the Germans enter their city. - -The later significant comment made by Mr. Herrick, when a German taube -dropped bombs on a spot he had just passed, that "A dead ambassador -might be more useful than a live one," has been written in the -history of France. And when the war is over I believe that the names -of Franklin, Jefferson and Herrick will constitute a triumvirate of -American ambassadors to France, that all French school children of the -future will be taught to remember and respect. - -I passed much time at the Embassy during the first weeks of war, for -it was a real center of news for an American newspaper. And I remember -quite distinctly a statement that I made at home during one of the -rare moments when I was able to reach it and which I repeated many -times afterwards. It was a simple "Thank God that Myron T. Herrick is -the American Ambassador." To the mild inquiry "why?" I could only say: -"Because he is such an honest-to-God sort of man." - -Mr. Herrick was undoubtedly shrewd in his friendships for newspapermen -and he was clever in his use of them. But he always knew that we -understood his cleverness and he always saw to it that we got value -received in the way of "copy" for the praise that was often bestowed -upon him as the result of it. - -Mr. Herrick often said to us, in a manner quite casual, things that he -had thought over carefully before our arrival. He knew just how those -cables would look in the newspaper columns, and what the effect would -be upon the reader, long before he handed out the subject matter. But -if I ever argued to myself that I was receiving a rather _intime_ -portrait of a clever and an astute diplomat, I could always honestly -say, especially during the eventful days I am attempting to describe, -that he was one man in Paris whose poise was undisturbed by the rapid -succession of giant shocks, and that all the things which he did and -said were to his everlasting credit and honor. - -The American correspondents were sometimes referred to as "journalistic -attachés" of the Embassy. We went there regularly, and it was ordered -that our cards be taken to "His Excellency" the moment that we arrived. - -He sometimes revealed to us "inside information" which, had we been -able to print it, would have been, to say the least, sensational. On -one occasion when he did not extract the suspicion of a promise that -I preserve secrecy, Mr. Herrick told me a story which, if published -to-day, would cause one of the biggest sensations of the war. But it is -a story that can be printed only when the war is over, and perhaps not -then, unless Mr. Herrick himself then gives permission. - -Since leaving Paris, however, he has "released for publication" some -things that could not for various reasons be printed at that time. For -instance, when the French Government moved to Bordeaux, the American -banks in Paris were inclined to follow them and in fact did send -considerable amounts of money there. Mr. Herrick told them that he -wished them to remain; that their services were necessary to carry -on the relief work for the German and Austrian refugees, and other -charities of which he was in charge. He told them they might use the -Embassy cellar for their money, that there was a row of vaults across -the cellar and under the sidewalk. At one time, when the German peril -was most extreme those vaults contained more than three million dollars -in gold, which was guarded night and day by six marines from the U.S.S. -_Tennessee_. - -Also, in order to avoid panic, we could not print at that time, that -the Embassy expected any day a rush of refugees; Mrs. Herrick had -stocked the Embassy cellars with provisions for a thousand persons -for several weeks. Mrs. Herrick, too, proved herself an excellent -executive, for not only did she take this entire burden of preparing -for the Americans, should the Germans enter Paris, but at the same -time she organized a hospital at the American Art Club and vigorously -assisted French as well as American charities. - -I feel now that a sufficient period has passed for the publication in -more detail of some of the memorable interviews that took place in -the private room of the Embassy. At the time some of them were printed -in the form of short cable-grams, but more often lost in the rush of -events. - -I shall never forget a talk that took place just two days before the -declaration of war. - -Mr. Herrick was sitting at his big, flat-topped desk smoking a -cigarette and looking out of the open window. He waved his hand toward -the cigarette box as he greeted me and pointed at a chair. He continued -looking out of the window, but I knew that he saw nothing. There were -no preliminaries; only one subject interested every mind in Paris. - -"What do you know?" I asked. - -"It's bad," he replied. - -"Any fresh developments?" - -"None you don't already know--but come again to-night and I'll tell you -anything I learn." - -"What will you do with the Americans--the town is full of them? What -about them if it comes?" I next asked. We always referred to the war as -just "it." - -"Take care of 'em," he announced briefly--then a pause; and he laughed. -"Don't know yet that they'll need it--let's hope it won't come." - -"But you expect it?" - -He looked me directly in the face as he slowly answered: - -"Yes--it's only a question of days--or hours." - -We both drew long breaths. - -"And--" I began; but he went on talking slowly and heavily. - -"It's what the Orient has waited for--waited for all these -centuries--the breaking down of Occidental civilization--" He drew -himself up with a jerk. "But that's too much like pessimism. Have -a cigarette. I've got to keep smiling, you know. That's part of an -ambassador's job." - -And he did keep smiling. There were few moments during all those days -when there was not a smile upon his face and an honest welcome in his -manner. But once I saw him angry. - -He was furiously angry at certain information I had brought to the -Embassy. It was the first day after the military order that all -foreigners residing in Paris should register at their local police -commissariats within twenty-four hours. The city was no longer a city -officially. It was an intrenched camp. Only military law prevailed. -The penalty for not obeying orders was severe, and for the thousands -of Americans to obey the order in question was manifestly impossible. -I myself had no police permit--not even a passport. I had no time to -go near a police station. My wife telephoned that at our commissariat -the line of waiting foreigners was about eight hundred. She flatly -declined to take her turn--permit or no permit. I suggested that she go -home; but later I heard disquieting rumors, that there had been several -arrests of foreigners unable to show a _permis de séjour_. I did not -blame the police, for the city was full of spies; but I could see no -good reason why the Americans should suffer and I went full speed to -the Embassy to put the facts before the Ambassador. - -His face changed color. His hands gripped the sides of his chair. - -"Say that over again," he said quietly. - -I repeated. Suddenly both his hands left the arms of his chair, and -doubled into fists, crushed down upon his desk. - -"By God," he shouted, half rising, his jaw thrust forward. "By God, -they won't arrest any of _my_ people." - -He pushed a button on the desk, at the same time calling the name of -one of the Embassy secretaries. Rapidly and explosively outlining the -situation, the Ambassador finished with the order: - -"Now you get to the Foreign Office quick; and let them know that if -one American is arrested for not having his papers, until this rush at -the commissariat is over, it means trouble--that they'll answer to me -for it." - -I believe this incident more correctly illustrates the character of -the ex-ambassador than anything one could say or write about him. -When he came first to France, with a reputation as a successful Ohio -politician, no one knew whether he was a real diplomat or not. I do -not believe Mr. Herrick knew himself; but I do not believe that either -then or later he ever thought much about it. He had sufficient _savoir -faire_ to make him greatly admired and respected by the French people, -and his record proves whether or not he was a good diplomat. But there -were moments, such as the one I have described, when he did not stop to -consider whether or not an ambassador was supposed to be a diplomat. - -I can picture other ambassadors I have known going over in their -minds the rules of diplomacy and then delicately, oh, how delicately, -approaching the subject. Herrick sometimes rode roughshod over all -rules of diplomacy. He did it successfully, too--for there were no -Americans arrested in France for not having their _permis de séjour_. - -I have seen multi-millionaires standing in line at the Embassy, waiting -their turn to get temporary passports; and I have seen powerful -politicians and trust magnates waiting in the hall outside that famous -private room, while Mr. Herrick talked to a little school teacher from -Nebraska who had arrived earlier in the morning and secured a position -ahead of them in the line. - -I have seen him walk through the salons of his residence, which he -kept open night and day to hundreds of Americans who felt safer just -to be there, smiling, shaking hands and telling stories, although I -knew he had not slept for twenty-four hours. And I have waked him up -at midnight to tell him details concerning American refugees and their -suffering which only he could alleviate and which he did alleviate -without sleeping again until the work was done. - -I witnessed many things in company with Mr. Herrick behind the scenes -of the mighty drama as it was unfolding; most of them I am sure it -would not be good "diplomacy" on my part to repeat. But all of them -combined to make more fervent my thanks to the Almighty that in those -days Myron T. Herrick was the American Ambassador to France. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -LES AMÉRICAINS - - -My first and most poignant recollection of the thousands of Americans -caught in France at the outbreak of war is in connection with a cable -containing some five thousand of their names, which was killed by the -censor on the ground that it was code. I worked hard on that cable, -too. I compiled it in the hope that it would relieve the anxiety of -friends and relatives at home. But the censor, after pondering over the -Smiths, Jones, Adamses and Wilsons in the list, believed that I had -evolved a scheme to outwit the authorities and that important war news -would be published if it were allowed to pass. - -I have lived long enough in France to know when not to argue. In this -case I was meekly and respectfully silent. The censor said it was -code--therefore it must be code. He even refused to pass a private -message to my editors, who had asked for all the names of Americans -that I could get, in which I said that I had tried to meet their -wishes but had failed. This, too, the censor thought had a hidden -meaning. - -The story of the Americans alone would have been almost the biggest -that a newspaper man ever had to handle, had it not been for the fact -that after all they were only incidental to a far bigger matter. -Naturally they did not consider that they could be of lesser importance -than anything. Also, the New York editors thought them almost, if not -quite, as important as the declaration of war. Unfortunately newspaper -correspondents, even Americans, located in the capital of a belligerent -power, had officially to think with the authorities, and let the story -of the Americans take what place it could find in the jumble of greater -and lesser news. True, their story was covered--after a fashion--and -the world knew what a real sort of a man the American Ambassador was in -the way he protected his people. But most of the tragedy and nearly all -of the comedy--much of it was comedy--was lost in the roll of drums. - -In those days Europe was for Europeans. As I recall the Americans now, -it seems to me that no nation finding herself in such a position as -France, could have treated so patiently, so unselfishly, so kindly, as -she, the strangers within her gates. As for the strangers, alas, many -of them felt distinctly aggrieved that war should come to spoil their -summer holidays and bitterly resented their predicament. They ignored -the fact that France was fighting for her life. - -Their predicament, after all, was not so serious. After all, no -American died; no American was wounded; no American even starved. -Their troubles were really only inconveniences; but none of them would -believe that Uhlans would not probably ride down the Champs Elysées the -following morning, shouting "hands up" to the population. - -I visited one afternoon the office of the White Star Line, jammed as -usual with white-faced, anxious-voiced Americans seeking passage home. -The veteran Paris manager of the line was behind the counter. He was -speaking to a frightened woman in tones sufficiently clear to be heard -by everybody. - -"I speak from personal experience, madam," he told the woman. "I -know that there will be plenty of room for everybody just as soon as -mobilization is over. In two weeks the situation will be much easier." - -"How do you know?" was the question. "What is your experience?" - -His answer should have brought assurance, had assurance been at all -possible. - -"I was here in eighteen-seventy," he replied. - -The prediction was nearly right. It took longer than two weeks to clear -the ways; but when the battle of the Marne began, almost the last batch -of tourists were at Havre, awaiting their boat. - -The American newspaper correspondents who remained were looked upon -as fools. The tourists could not understand our point of view that -perhaps, after all, Paris instead of Belgium would produce the biggest -story of the war. - -I was on one amusing occasion the "horrible example" of the man who -would not leave town, in a little sidewalk drama whose stellar rôle was -played by one of the best known American actors. On one of the first -evenings after mobilization I decided to go to our consulate, then in -the Avenue de l'Opera, in order to learn the number of people applying -for aid and learn if possible the approximate number of American -tourists in Paris. - -It was late. When I reached the consulate it was closed, but a large -crowd remained waiting on the sidewalk. I learned from the concierge -that the staff had departed for the night. As I turned to go I met -William H. Crane, the comedian, entering the building. I told him the -place was shut, and we stood in the doorway talking. - -The benevolent face and gray hair of Mr. Crane marked him with the -crowd, and they immediately decided that if he was not the Consul -General himself, he was at least a person of highest importance in -the affairs of our Government. A group of school teachers timidly -approached. I spoke to him quickly in French. - -"You can act off the stage, can't you?" - -He muttered something about getting away quickly, but I seized his coat -lapel, saying: "Look here, there are many persons in this line and they -have picked you out to be the big chief. The consulate is closed and -if you don't play your part they will stand here all night. They are -desperate." - -Crane hesitated--then walked down the line, hearing each tale of woe -and giving advice. He remained an hour, until the last question was -asked and the last tourist satisfied. But he insisted that I remain -with him. He told them all that I was so unfortunate as to live in -Paris, that I had a house and family there, and that I had no possible -chance to get out. And so, he argued, how much better off were they -than "this miserable person," for they would surely get away in few -days or weeks at the latest. As they did. - -My last recollection of _les Américains_ with which the word poignant -might be used, was the morning before the battle of the Marne. It -appeared certain to all of us who remained that the entry of the -Germans could be only a question of hours. I, however, was fairly happy -that day, for at four o'clock that morning my family had left the -city for safety. The American Ambassador had told me confidentially -something I already knew--that Paris was no longer a safe place for -women and children. I had set forth my own belief for days, but my -wife had remained. However, she was a great believer in the American -Ambassador. So when I gave her the "confidential information"--and I -set it forth strong--she consented to go to England. - -I walked the streets that morning feeling a load off my mind. I had -been up all night, getting my little family off and inasmuch as the day -was too important for sleep, I took a refreshing bath and then strolled -along the empty Boulevard des Capucines. I had found a shady nook on a -sidewalk _terrasse_ when some one touched me on the arm. I turned and -looked into the terrified faces of an American friend and his wife. -"What are you doing here?" they inquired anxiously. - -"Why, I live here," I replied. "Won't you sit down and have something?" - -"Oh, no," the man answered. "We are on our way to the train; we were in -the country when the trouble began. It was awful. They arrested us as -spies. We only got here this morning. We have seats in the last train -for Marseilles and will sail from there." - -"Yes," I said, somewhat uninterestedly I fear, "but you have lots of -time--sit down." - -My friend grasped my shoulder. "Man, are you crazy?" he cried. "You -look as if you were going to play tennis. You come along with us to -America." - -"Can't do it," I replied. "I've got to stay." - -They stared at me silently. The woman took my hand. - -"Good-by," she whispered. - -The man took my hand in both of his. "Good-by," he quavered. "I'll tell -them in New York that I saw you." - -"Do," I replied. - -I was not at all courageous in remaining in Paris. I did not remain -because I so desired. I remained because, as a newspaper man appointed -to cover the news of Paris, I could not run away. Then, also, the -biggest news that perhaps Paris would ever know seemed so near. I -bought a number of American flags that day and hung them outside my -windows. - -I felt more fortunate than my fellow Americans who had gone away. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -WAR - - -A night spent sending despatches--a yelling, singing mob beneath -the windows making it almost impossible for messengers to cross to -the cable office;--a dawn passed in riding from one ministry to -another, wherever any portion of the war councils might still be in -session;--and a forenoon spent in a Turkish bath, brought me near to -the fateful hour on Saturday, August 1st, when France went to war. - -I went to the bath establishment for sleep; but insistently I heard -the voices of the night before--the yells, the cheers and the -"Marseillaise." They were just as audible in that Moorish room, with -dim lights and a trickling marble fountain. There was no such thing as -sleep. - -I went to my office and found a sum of gold awaiting me. I was glad to -get that gold. I had sent an urgent letter in order to get it, in which -I used such phrases as "difficulty of getting cash," "moratoriums, -etc." My debtor wrote back, "What is a moratorium?" but he sent the -cash. It saved the situation for me during the next month, while the -financial stringency lasted. I went over to my bank, The Equitable -Trust Company, to deposit it. Mr. Laurence Slade, the manager, was in -the hall. - -"Is it safe to leave this with you," I asked, "or must I go clinking -around town with it hung in a leather belt festooned about my person?" - -"Leave it," he suggested. - -"But the moratorium?" I inquired. - -"Won't take advantage of it with any of our customers and we will keep -open unless a shell blows the place up." - -I thrust it into his hands, thankful that I had always used an American -banking institution in Paris. All French banks took advantage of the -moratorium the moment it was declared. - -On the boulevards the crowds were thinner than the days before. I stood -watching them idly. Every one seemed to realize that the declaration of -war was hanging just over our heads. There was less excitement, less -feeling of all kind. I said to myself, "Well, it's coming, the greatest -story in all the world and there isn't a line to be written." It was -just too big to be written then--and except the official bulletins of -marching events I know of nothing that was sent to any newspaper on -that day either remarkable from the standpoint of writing or facts. - -After idling along the boulevard for a few moments, I decided to go to -my usual hunting ground for news--the Embassy. I hailed a taxi, and -just as I opened the door on one side to enter, a bearded Frenchman -opened the door opposite. I stated that the taxi was mine, and he -declared emphatically that it belonged to him. The chauffeur evidently -saw us both at the same instant and could not make up his mind as to -our respective rights. A crowd began to gather, as the Frenchman, -recognizing that I was a foreigner, began haranguing the chauffeur. - -"What do you mean?" he cried. "Do you propose to let foreigners have -taxis in times like this? Taxis are scarce." - -The crowd began to mutter "foreigner." In a minute they would have -declared that I was a German. But I had an inspiration. - -"I want to go to the American Embassy," I told the Frenchman. "If you -are going that direction why not come with me? We can share the cab." - -I have always maintained that a Frenchman, no matter how excited he -is--and when he is excited he is often almost impossible--will always -listen to reason if you can get his attention. My proposition was so -entirely unusual that immediately he listened, then smiled and stepped -into the cab, motioning me to do the same. - -"_L'Ambassade Americaine_," he bellowed to the chauffeur, and as we -drove away he was accepting a cigar from my case. - -He explained both his excitement and his hurry. When the mobilization -call came it would be necessary for him to join his regiment on the -first day. I wanted to tell the chauffeur to drive to his home first, -but he would not allow this, and when we arrived at the Embassy it was -actually with difficulty that I forced upon him the payment for the -taxi up to that point. - -I was soon in the famous private room of conference and confidence. The -Ambassador, as usual, was sitting with his face to the open window, and -smoking a cigarette. - -I placed my hat and stick upon the desk and seated myself in silence. -We remained quiet for quite a full minute. Finally Mr. Herrick said, -with a short laugh: - -"Well, there does not seem anything more to talk about, does there?" - -"No," I replied, "we seem to be at that point. There isn't anything -even to write about." - -A door behind us opened quietly, and Mr. Robert Woods Bliss, the first -secretary of the Embassy, entered. He walked to the desk. Neither the -Ambassador nor I turned. Mr. Bliss stood silent for a moment, then said -quietly: - -"It's come." - -"Ah," breathed Mr. Herrick. - -"Yes," replied Mr. Bliss, "the Foreign Office has just telephoned. The -news will be on the streets in a minute." - -It was the biggest moment, perhaps, the world will ever know. It was so -big that it stunned us all. - -I rose and took my hat and stick. - -"Well," I ejaculated somewhat uncertainly. - -"Well," said the Ambassador in much the same manner. - -Then we shook hands; and like a person in a trance I walked out of the -room and down to the street. - -The isolated Rue de Chaillot was quite deserted; I walked down to the -Place de l'Alma to find a cab. There the scene was different. Cabs by -the dozen whirled along, but none heeded my signals. A human wave was -rolling over the city. Fiacres, street cars, taxis filled with men and -baggage were sweeping along. Almost every vehicle was headed for one -or another of the railway stations. Already the extra editions had -notified the populace of the state of affairs and mobilization was -under way. - -Finally an empty fiacre came along and I signaled the driver, jumping -aboard at the same moment. Just as an hour earlier when I signaled a -cab, a Frenchman stepped in at the opposite side. Only, this time, the -Frenchman wasted no words concerning his rights to the carriage. - -He bowed. "I go to the Place de l'Opera," he said pleasantly. - -I bowed. "I go to exactly the same spot," I replied tactfully. - -We sat down and he directed the driver. We remained silent as we drove -down the Cours la Reine until we came opposite the Esplanade of the -Invalides. The sun was setting behind the golden dome over the tomb of -Napoleon. Then my companion spoke: - -"I will take the subway at the Opera station and go to my home. It will -be the last time. I join my regiment to-morrow." - -I looked at him for a moment, then asked curiously: "How do you feel -about it? Tell me--are you glad--and are you confident?" - -He looked me straight in the eye. "I am glad," he answered. "We are all -glad--glad that the waiting and the disappointments, the humiliations -of forty-four years, are over." - -"And will you win--you think?" - -"I do not know, but we will fight well--that is all I can say, and this -time we are not fighting alone." - -We arrived at the Opera. He jumped to the sidewalk and put out his -hand. "Good-by," he said, smiling. "May we meet again." I wrung his -hand and watched him dive down the stairs to the subway station. - -I remained at the office as the afternoon slipped into evening and -evening into night, writing my despatches on the actual outbreak of -war. As I sat by the window, I suddenly realized that instead of the -dazzling illumination of the boulevards I was gazing into the darkness. -I investigated this phenomenon and I wrote another despatch upon the -new aspect of the city of Paris on the first night of the war. It was -a cable describing the death of the old "Ville Lumière" and the birth -of the new French spirit. For not only were the boulevards dark, but -the voices of the city were hushed. It began to rain--a gentle, warm, -summer rain; the gendarmes put on their rubber capes and hoods and -melted into the shadows. - -I went out to take my despatches to the cable office. The streets were -quiet as death. A forlorn fiacre ambled dismally out of a gloomy side -street, the bell on the horse's neck giving forth a hollow-sounding -tinkle. I climbed in. The driver turned immediately off the boulevard -into a back street, when suddenly the decrepit horse fell to his -haunches in the slippery road. At once I felt, for I could scarcely -see, four silent figures surrounding us. The night before I would have -scented danger; but now I had a different feeling entirely. The four -shadowy figures remained silent, at attention, as the driver hauled the -kicking and plunging horse to his feet. - -"He thinks of the war," said the driver. - -A quiet chuckle came from the quartet, and I could now distinguish that -they were gendarmes. - -"You travel late," one of them said, addressing me. - -"_La presse_," I replied briefly. - -"_Bien_!" was the reply. We drove down the dark street, I astonished -at this city that had found itself; this nation that had got quietly -and determinately to business, at the very signal of conflict, to the -amazement of the entire world. - - - - -PART TWO - -THE GREATEST STORY - -[Illustration: WYTHE WILLIAMS OF THE "NEW YORK TIMES"] - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE ACTUALITY - - -On the sidewalk _terrasse_ of a little café a few doors from the -American Embassy I was one of a quartet of newspaper men on one of the -final afternoons of August, 1914. - -War news, thanks to the censor, had lapsed in volume and intensity; but -the troubles of refugee Americans still made our cables bulky, and we -continued to pass much time at the Embassy or in its vicinity. - -A man wabbled wearily down the street on a bicycle. I recognized him -as a "special correspondent" who had called on me ten days before, -asking advice as to where he should apply for credentials permitting -him to describe battles. He later disappeared into the then vague -territory known as the "zone of military activity," without any papers -authorizing the trip. - -He leaned his bicycle against a tree and joined us. He had little to -say as to where he had been, but told us that he had been a prisoner -of the British army for several days. He mentioned a town near the -Belgian frontier where, as he described the situation, "the entire army -came piling in before he had a chance to pile out." - -I do not know what made me suspect that Mr. Special Correspondent -was then the possessor of big news, for he gave not the slightest -suggestion of the direction in which the British army was traveling. -But I suspected him. In a few minutes he left us to call on the -Ambassador. Later, when I saw him ride away from the Embassy on his -bicycle, I sent in my card. - -Mr. Herrick was as bland as usual, but there was a worried look on his -face. I wasted no time. - -"Mr. ---- called on you this afternoon," I said, naming the special -correspondent. "He told you some real news." - -"Yes, that is so," the Ambassador replied. "How did you guess it?" - -I explained that I only had a suspicion, and the Ambassador continued: - -"He cannot cable it, you need not worry. He will not attempt it. He has -gone now to write an account for the mail. He told me so that I could -make some plans." - -"Some plans?" I interrupted. "The news is bad then." - -Mr. Herrick eyed me keenly for a moment--then he leaned over his -desk and spoke in a whisper. He kept the confidences of the "special -correspondent," but he gave me information that supplemented it, which -he had from his own sources. He told me no names--no details--but he -gave me the news appearing in the official communiqués three full days -later;--that the British had been forced back at Mons--the French -defeated at Charleroi, and that the entire Allied line was retreating. -I did not learn where the line was. But as I left the Embassy I -realized that France was invaded; I realized that the greatest story in -the world was at hand. The fear was upon me, although I failed to grasp -it entirely, that this was a story which in its entirety would never be -written for a newspaper. - -Mr. Special Correspondent passed two days in the seclusion of his hotel -writing a splendid chapter for which he received high praise, but he -was unable to get it printed until several weeks after the entire story -had gone into history. Other correspondents were able to write half and -quarter chapters which in a few instances received publication while -the story was in progress. - -I sat at my desk that night pondering on how to cable some inkling of -my information to America. I confess that I almost wished the cable -was cut and the loose ends lost on the bottom of the Atlantic. - -I studied the map of Europe facing me on the wall. Sending a courier to -England was as useless as cabling direct, for the English censor was -equally severe as the French. A code message was under censorial ban. A -courier aboard the Sud-express might have filed the news from Spain or -Portugal but the mobilization plans of General Joffre had arranged that -there would be no Sud-express for some time. - -There were undoubtedly other correspondents who knew as much concerning -the state of affairs as I. Many British correspondents, without -credentials, were dodging about the armies, getting into captivity and -out again. Several American correspondents were in Belgium following -the Germans as best they could. But none of them was at the end of a -cable. Had they been they would have been quite as helpless as I. For -had I been able that night to use the cable as I desired, I would have -beaten the press of the world by three full days with the story of the -danger that threatened Paris. - -The next night, although I was completely ignorant whether the news was -then known in America, I tried to beat the censor at his own game. I -succeeded to the extent of having my despatch passed, but unfortunately -it was not understood in the home office of my newspaper. This was my -scheme: - -During the day rumors of disaster began to spread; but the Paris -papers printed nothing of the truth, and officially the Allied armies -continued to hold the Belgian frontier. That night refugees from French -cities began entering Paris at the Gare du Nord. - -I began an innocent despatch that seemed hardly worth the cable -tolls. It ambled along, with cumbrous sentences and involved grammar, -describing American war charities. Then without what in cable parlance -is known as a "full stop," which indicates a complete break in the -sense of the reading matter, I inserted the words "refugees crowding -gare du nord to-night from points south of Lille," and continued the -despatch with more material of the sort with which it began. - -I went home hoping for the best and wondering if I had made myself -sufficiently clear to arouse the suspicion of the copy reader on the -other side of the ocean who handled my copy. If I had I knew that those -eleven words would be printed in the largest display type the following -morning. - -Two weeks later, when the next batch of newspapers reached Paris, I -read those words with interest. They were all there, but carefully -buried in the story of war charities exactly where I had placed them. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE FIELD OF GLORY - - -The battle of the Marne was fought by the Allies in the direct interest -of the city of Paris. The result was the city's salvation. At the time, -only a small percentage of the inhabitants knew anything about it. But -as all the world knows now, the battlefield of the Marne was the first -field of glory for the Allied armies in the great European war. When -the war is over, the sight-seeing motors will reach it in two hours, -probably starting from the corner of the Avenue de l'Opera and the Rue -de la Paix--a street that by now might have a different name had it not -been for the thousands who died only a few miles away. - -On one of the first days of September, 1914, the few journalists -who remained in Paris gathered at the Café Napolitain early in the -afternoon, instead of at the _apéritif_ hour. The Café Napolitain, -around the corner from the sight-seeing motor stand, is the rendezvous -for journalists, and always has been. At the _apéritif_ hour--just -before dinner--you may see all the best-known figures in the French -journalistic world, also the correspondents of the London and New York -press, seated on its sidewalk _terrasse_. - -I sat on the _terrasse_ on that never to be forgotten afternoon of -September. We were mostly Englishmen and Americans. The majority of -our French confrères were serving in their regiments. Some of them, -with whom we had argued only five weeks before concerning the trial of -Madame Caillaux, were now lying on the fields of Charleroi and Mons. -Some of the Englishmen had decided, because of the rumored orders of -the Kaiser concerning the fate of captured British journalists, that -Bordeaux was a better center for news than Paris, and had followed the -Government to their new capital, on the anniversary of Sedan. Several -of the Americans had also left town, but in order to better follow the -movements of the Allied armies. Owing to the vigorous unemotionalism of -General Joffre, none of them was any nearer the "field of operations" -than we who sat on the Café _terrasse_. - -I doubt if ever a world capital presented such a scene, or ever will -again, as Paris on that afternoon. The day itself was perfect--glorious -summer, not hot--just pleasantly warm. The sun hung over the city -casting straight shadows of the full leaves, down on the tree lined -sidewalk. But there was not an automobile, nor carriage, scarcely even -a person in the boulevards. The city was completely still. It had seen -in the three days previous probably the greatest exodus in the history -of the world. The ordinary population had shrunk over a million. -The last of the American tourists left that morning for Havre. The -railroad communications to the north were in the hands of the German -army. There were no telegraph communications. Even the telephone was -rigidly restricted. The censor made the sending of cables almost an -impossibility. We were in a city detached--apart from the rest of the -world. - -That morning, at the headquarters of the military government, we were -advised to get out quickly--on that same day in fact--or take our own -chances by remaining. Possibly all the bridges and roads leading out of -the city might be blown up before next morning. Uhlans had been seen in -the forest of Montmorency, only ten miles away. It seemed that Paris, -which has supplied so much drama to the world's history, was about to -add another chapter, and the odds were that it would be a final one. - -So, as I have said, I sat with my fellow journalists on the _terrasse_ -of the Café Napolitain that fateful afternoon--and waited. That is -why we were there--to wait. Several times we thought our waiting was -rewarded, and we strained our ears. For we were waiting to hear the -guns--the guns of the German attack. Through that entire afternoon, not -one of us, singly or in partnership, would have offered ten cents for -the city of Paris. We felt in our souls that it was doomed. It was an -afternoon to have lived--even though nothing happened. - -Toward nightfall we learned that the German forces had suddenly -diverted their march to the southeast. We sat on our _terrasse_ and -wondered. That night every auto-taxi in the city was conveying a -portion of General Maunoury's army out of the north gates, to fall on -the enemy's right flank. The next morning, bright and early, those of -us who were astir, heard very faintly--so faintly we could scarcely -believe, but we heard nevertheless, the opening guns of the battle of -the Marne. - -I know only one journalist who actually saw the battle of the Marne. -I know several who said they saw it, but I did not believe them, and -I know better than to believe them now. Of course there are French -journalists who took a military part in the battle, but they have not -yet had opportunity to chronicle their impressions--those of them who -live. This one journalist saw the battle as a prisoner with his own -army; he was lugged along with them clear to the Aisne. - -The week following the German retreat to the Aisne, I was permitted -to visit the field of glory. It was only after skilful maneuvres and -great difficulties that I secured a military pass. And then my pass was -canceled after I had been out of Paris only three days--and I was sent -back under a military escort. But I saw the battlefield before the hand -of the restorer reached it. - -The trees still lay where they fell, cut down by shells. Broken cannon -and aeroplanes were in the ditches and in the fields. Unused German -ammunition and food supplies were strewn about, showing where the enemy -had been forced to a hasty retreat. Sentries guarded every cross roads. -The dead, numbering thousands, lay unburied and dotted the plain as far -as the eye could see. It was still the field of glory. It was still wet -with blood. - -We who took that trip were thrilled by all the silent evidence of the -mighty struggle that had taken place there only a few days--only a few -hours before. It was easy for us to picture the mammoth combat, the -battle of the millions, across that wonderful, beautifully undulating -plain. The war was terrible--true. But it was glorious. The men who -died there were heroes. Our emotions were almost too much for us. And -in the very near distance the artillery still thundered both night and -day. - -On the third of February, 1915, five months from the time I sat on the -_terrasse_ of the Café Napolitain waiting to hear the guns, I travel -for a second time over the battlefield of the Marne. - -This time I do not have a military pass. It is no longer necessary. The -valley of the Marne is no longer in the zone of operations. I go out -openly in an automobile. There are no sentries to block the way. The -road is perfectly safe; so safe that I take my wife with me to show -her some of the devastations of war. She is probably the first of the -visitors to pass across that famous battlefield, perhaps soon to be -overrun by thousands. - -Our car climbs the steep hill beyond Meaux, which is the extreme edge -of the battlefield, about ten in the morning; and during the day -circuits about half the area of the fighting, a distance of about -seventy-five miles--or a hundred miles. - -The "Field of Five Thousand Dead" is what the majority of the tourists -will probably call the battlefield of the Marne, because of the tragic -toll of life taken on that one particular rolling bit of meadow. - -We stop at this field in the morning soon after leaving Meaux. As -we look across it we see none of the signs of conflict that I had -witnessed in September. There are none of the ruined accouterments -of war. No horses lie on their backs, four legs sticking straight in -the air. There are no human forms in huddled and grotesque positions -in the ravines and on the flat. True, every tree bears the mark of -bullets, every wall has been shattered by shells, but these signs are -not overpowering evidences of massive conflict. There is nothing to -make vivid the fearful charge of the Zouaves against the flower of Von -Kluck's army only five months before. - -Yes--there is something. As we look more closely we see far away a -cluster of little rude black wood crosses. They are not planted on -mounds, they just stick up straight from the level ground. There are -other little clusters throughout the field. Each cross marks a grave. -Each grave contains from a dozen to fifty bodies. Together the crosses -mark the total of five thousand dead. - -An old woman hobbles along the main road. She looks at us curiously -and stops beside the car. I ask if we can go close to the little black -crosses. She replies that we can but that the fields are very muddy. -I ask if any of the graves are marked with the names of the fallen -soldiers. She shakes her head. No, they are the unknown dead. The -regiments that fought across that field are known--that is all. There -are both French and German dead. The relatives of course know that -their men were in those regiments and they may assume, if they have -not received letters from them recently, that they have been buried -there--out on that vast, undulating, wind swept plain under one of the -little black crosses. But, of course, one can never be sure. They might -not be dead at all--only prisoners--or again, they might have died -somewhere else. It is all very confusing and vague--what happens to the -men who no longer send letters home. It is safe to believe they are -just dead--to determine where they died is difficult. - -The old woman suggests that we visit the little village graveyard, at -the corner of the field. The Zouave officers are buried there--those -who were recognized as officers. Some English had also been found and -carried there. She is the caretaker of the little graveyard. She will -show it to us. She says that it is much more interesting than the -field. The field is much too muddy. - -The world is as still as the death all around us when we enter that -little country graveyard. It has been trampled by a multitude. The five -months that have elapsed and the hard work of the little old woman have -not destroyed the signs of conflict there. But the time has taken the -glory. The low stone wall that surrounds the place has been used as a -barricade by the Zouaves. It is pierced with holes for their rifles. In -many places portions of the wall are missing, showing where the shells -have struck. - -In the center of the yard, one of them has opened a grave. It is a -child's grave. I look down into the hole about three feet below the -muddy surface of the yard. I see a weather-beaten headstone. It bears -the child's name. A hundred years, according to date, that stone has -silently borne witness of the few years of life before death, and -then it has been rudely crushed into the earth on a glorious day -in September. The graves of the soldiers who died there that same -glorious day are all fresh mounds. There are only twenty or thirty -mounds, but five hundred dead are buried beneath them. Above the -mounds are freshly painted crosses. On some of them are roughly -printed the names of the fallen officers. On several are wreaths or -artificial flowers--beads in the shape of violets and yellow porcelain -immortelles. In one corner under a little cross is inscribed the name -of an English lieutenant of dragoons--aged twenty. The old caretaker -says that his family may take his body to England when the war is -over--but, of course, he is not buried in a coffin--just put into the -ground on the spot where he was found clutching a fragment of his sword -in his hand. - -We drive away to the north. On both sides of the road little clusters -of black crosses are planted in the fields. Several times we pass great -charred patches on the earth. These are the places where the Germans -burned their dead before retreating. There are trenches too--trenches -and the dead. There are old trenches and new--those made in a few hours -while both armies alternately advanced and retreated, and those which -the French engineers have made since for use if the Germans again -advance. - -We are a dozen miles from the river Aisne when our chauffeur stops. If -we go nearer we will be in "the zone of operations" where passes are -rigidly required--where if one does not possess a pass one is under -rigid suspicion. We do not take the chance of advancing further. - -We are in a devastated village. We have passed through many but this -one seems worse than the others. The church has been demolished and -two-thirds of the houses gutted by shells and fire. The place is almost -deserted by the inhabitants. When we halted our car there was not the -sound of a living thing. Then a few scare-crow children gathered and -examined us curiously. We examine the remnants of the House of God. It -has doubtless been used as a fortress. Bloody uniforms are scattered -among the tumbled stones. Five bodies are rotting underneath the altar. -Our minds have gone morbid by the horror. The chauffeur turns the car -about. An old man comes from the ruins of a shop. He asks if we want -to buy souvenirs. The word "souvenirs" halts us. We wonder how many -thousand will be sold in this village, and in all the villages during -the years following the war. I recall that only a few years ago one -might buy "authentic souvenirs of the battle of Waterloo." The old man -lugs forth a German helmet and the cartridge of a French shell--one -of the famous "seventy-fives." He asks if we are Americans. Then he -places a value of five dollars on the helmet and one dollar for the -cartridge. We think that the thrifty inhabitants of these villages -may yet triumph over the devastation of war if they lay in sufficient -stock of souvenirs. Our chauffeur informs us that we can pick up all we -desire in the fields, and we take to the road again. - -We stop the car beside a large open meadow a few miles south. The field -contains the same clusters of crosses. Part of it is plowed ground and -is soggy from the rains. We stumble along it, mud to our shoe tops. We -stop beside the crosses. They do not mark all the graves. I suddenly -feel my feet sink in the mud. I hastily free myself. My wife asks me -what is the matter, and I rush away further into the field. I have -accidentally stepped into a grave--the mud being so soft--and have felt -my boot touch something. As I looked down I saw a couple of inches of -smeared, muddy, gray cloth. - -We leave the plowed ground and come into a field of stubble. We stand -silent a moment at the top of a knoll. The short winter day is dying -rapidly. The horizon for the moment seems lost in cold blue vapors. It -seems appropriate to the place--it is like battle smoke. - -I stoop over to pick up a shrapnel ball imbedded in the mud. My wife -seizes me by the arm. "Listen," she whispers. The gloom of dusk is -creeping about us. "Did you hear?" she asks. Then we hear. "Boom, -boo-o-m, boom, boo-o-om." It is quite as faint as the opening sounds of -the battle of the Marne to the early risers in Paris. But it is quite -as distinct. We have just heard the guns which are still disputing the -possession of the Aisne. - -The chauffeur is signaling to us. The wind sweeps over the desolate -field with a few drops of rain. We make a detour near a haystack. Close -to the base--almost under it, I pick up torn strips of gray uniform. -They are covered with blood. There is also a battered brass belt -buckle, and a bent canteen--evidence of the ghastly and lonely tragedy -enacted there. A few feet away looms through the dark the usual black -wood cross of the field of glory. - -The chauffeur has lighted the lamps on the car. We hear the sound -of the engine as we hasten through the mud. We are surfeited with -devastation, with horror, and with the field of glory. We tell him -to hasten toward Meaux where we will take the next train for Paris. -He drives us swiftly into the coming night over the hill that looks -upon the "Field of Five Thousand Dead." There we stop a moment to see -the last struggles of the descending sun tipping the forests on the -horizon with rosy flames. - -We return by a different road through another devastated village. It -is not really a village--just a large farmstead--a model farm it was -called before the war. Now the stone walls have crumbled. The buildings -are twisted skeletons of iron bars--all that withstood the appetite of -the flames. Their outlines are vivid black against the sky. They seem -to writhe in the wind. - -A man and a woman and little girl stand in the road. The car stops and -we get out. The man is the owner of the ruin. The woman and child are -his wife and daughter. They had fled when the Germans approached. After -the glorious victory they returned to their home. The woman asks us to -enter the broken gateway. At one end of the walled yard was the house. -A broken portion of it remains. The man had boarded up the holes and -the cracks in the walls and the empty window frames. He explains that -the place had been taken and retaken four times before the French were -finally victorious. He tells us of the toll that death had taken in -the yard. The woman tells of bodies found in the house--so many in the -parlor--so many in the bedroom--so many lying on the stairs. - -We walked back to the road where the side lamps of the car cast -flickering flames into the night. The chauffeur turns on the electric -head lamps that throw a blinding light fifty feet away. The little girl -dances in front of them and across the road to a mound of mud. She -laughs. Her mother asks her why she is happy. "Oh, the lights," she -calls back. "It's like Christmas--and folks are here." She picks up a -stone and throws it toward the mound of mud. I noticed that the mound -is regular in form--and oblong, about a dozen by six feet in size. -Around it runs a border of flat stones. They are set on the corners and -arranged in angular criss-cross lines such as a child builds with his -toy wooden blocks. We watch the little girl as she kicks one of the -stones loose. Her mother calls to her and she hastily puts it back in -position. A tall tree casts a shadow across the center of the mound. -Through the top of the tree the rising wind begins to sob, and the rain -drops blow into our faces. The mother again calls to the child, who -comes back across the road stubbing her toes into the mud. - -The chauffeur starts the engine and turns the front of the car so that -the headlights are direct on the mound, with its border of stones -arranged like toy blocks. The shadow of the tall tree points in -another direction. Where it had been--where I could not see before--I -now see a black wooden cross. "How many under that?" I asked the man -casually. "Eighteen or twenty-two," he answers, "I forget. We found -them here in the road." - -We jump into the car and leave the field of glory in the dark. - - - - -PART THREE - -THE ARM OF MILITARY AUTHORITY - -[Illustration: RÉPUBLIQUE FRANÇAISE - -MINISTERE DE LA GUERRE - -PERMIS - -DE CORRESPONDANT DE PRESSE - -AUX ARMÉES - -JOURNAL - -_New York Times_ - -CORRESPONDANT - -_Wythe Williams_ - -Ce permis doit être retourné au Bureau de la Presse du Ministère des -Affaires Étrangères à la fin de chaque tournée. - -THE AUTHOR'S PASS] - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE FIELD OF BATTLE - - -"To see the damage done by the Germans in unfortified villages." - -This was the quest that first passed me into the zone of military -operations, that first landed me on the field of battle, and gave me my -first experience under fire. - -Ambassador Herrick had procured a pass for me and two other Paris -correspondents; it covered also an automobile and chauffeur, and was -signed by General Galliéni, the Military Governor and Commander of the -Army of Paris. Mr. Herrick explained that he had requested it, because -we had not attempted to leave the city without credentials--as had many -correspondents--"by the back door," as he said. He considered that it -was time for some of us to go out openly "by the front door," in order -to later tell the truth to America. - -We took the pass thankfully. It was good for a week and would take us -"anywhere on the field of battle." We have always been thankful that -this pass was handed to us by Ambassador Herrick in his private room at -the American Embassy, and that it was requested of General Galliéni by -the Ambassador himself--that it was his idea and not ours. For later -it developed that a pass from General Galliéni was not sufficient to -take us "anywhere on the field of battle"--the pass itself disappeared -and we came back to Paris as prisoners of war. We were told that we -were arrested because we were "at the front without credentials." Our -defense was clear, because, we argued, when an ambassador asks for -something, a record of that request exists. Ambassador Herrick made a -similar declaration, and we were not only released but "expressions of -regret" for our "detention" were tendered us. - -We rented a car and a French chauffeur. We wore rough clothes and heavy -overcoats, we took extra socks, collars, soap, shaving utensils and -candles. As food we took sardines, salmon, cocoa, biscuits, coffee, -sausage, bread, bottles of wine and water. We also bought an alcohol -lamp, aluminum plates, collapsible drinking cups and jack-knives. At -four o'clock that afternoon we started. - -In retrospect I divide the ensuing days into two parts, and in the -latter part I believe that the high water mark of my existence was -reached--at least the high tide from the standpoint of new sensations, -excitement, and genuine thrills. To digress for an instant, I have -somewhere read the account of a person, a well-known novelist, who -visited the French trenches months after the period I shall describe; -when he got away from his censor and was safe back in America, he -reported that no correspondents have really seen anything in this -war--and that many of their stories are fakes. Some correspondents, -including this one, have not seen much. Some stories have been -fakes, including the one which he told. I wish it were permissible -to enumerate some of the fakes in detail--but I wish for the sake of -this person that he had been along in either the second or the first -portions of that trip;--when, just a few miles outside Paris, we first -heard the Sentries in the Dark--when, the next morning we met the first -batch of Wounded Who Could Walk--and later, when we ate luncheon to an -orchestra of bursting shells, a luncheon ordered quietly--to be eaten -quietly, during a Lull in the Bombardment. - - -(A) Sentries in the Dark - -The car whizzed down the straight country road. We were trying to -make night quarters thirty kilometers away. The dusk was already upon -us--and the rain. Every night for a week the rain had come at dusk. -We were well behind the battle lines, but the Germans had held that -countryside only a few days before. Many of them still lurked in the -dense woods. At dusk they were apt to shoot at passing motors. If -they killed the occupants, they secured clothes and credentials and -attempted cutting through to their own lines. The night before, a -French general had been killed on the road we were passing. Therefore -it was not well to be abroad at dusk, too far northward on the -battlefield of the Aisne. But we had cast a tire and lost considerable -time. It was necessary to go forward or strike back toward Paris. -To remain in the open held an additional risk of being stopped by a -British patrol--we were near their lines--and the British were not -so polite as the French about requisitioning big touring cars. Our -credentials were French. - -So we dipped into the night down a long road that ran between solid -shadows of towering trees, behind which ran the continuous hedge of -the French countryside, making an ideal hiding place for enemies. The -rain increased and so did the cold. Our French driver struggled into an -ulster and we crouched low in the body of the limousine, watching the -whirling road revealed by our powerful headlights fifty yards in front -of the car. - -Suddenly came a sharp cry. The chauffeur crashed on the brakes and the -car slid to a standstill. I knew that cry from many a novel I had read, -but I had never actually heard it before. It was the famous "Qui vive" -or "Who goes there?" of the French army. We sat waiting. We saw no one. -The rain poured down. - -The cry was repeated. A soldier stepped into the road and stood in the -light of our lamps about thirty feet away. His rifle was half thrown -across his arm and half aimed towards us. He was a tall, handsome chap -wearing a long coat buttoned back at the bottom away from his muddy -boots. His cap was jammed carelessly over one eye. He bent forward and -peered at us under our lights, which half blinded him. Then we saw two -dusky shadows at either side of the car. We caught the steel flash of -bayonets turned toward us. - -The chauffeur saw them too, for he cried out nervously, "Non, non!" The -soldier in the road ignored him. In the dramatic language of France -his "_Avancez--donnez le mot de la nuit_" sounded far more impressive -than the English equivalent about advancing to give the countersign. He -spoke the words simply, a little monotonously, with an air of having -done it many times during his period of watch. Then he bent lower and -peered more intently under the lights, brushing one arm across his face -as though the pelting rain also interfered with his business of seeing -in the night. - -The chauffeur stated that we carried the signed pass of General -Galliéni. If we had mentioned the Mayor of Chicago we would not -have made less impression. The ghostly sentries at the sides of the -car did not budge. The patrol in the center of the road in the same -almost monotone announced that one of us would descend. One would -be sufficient. The others might keep the shelter of the car. But he -would see these credentials from General X----. If to him they did not -appear in order, our fate was a matter within his discretion. We were -traveling an important highway and his orders were definite. So the -member of our party who carried the important slip of paper descended. - -The sentry in the road moved further into the light. As he read the -pass he sheltered it from the rain under the cape of his coat. The -guards at the sides of the car remained as though built in position. -Then the leader handed back the paper and brought his hand to salute. -The others immediately broke their pose; moved into the light and -likewise saluted. The tension relieved, we all felt friendly. As we -started forward I held a newspaper out of the window and three hands -grasped it simultaneously. We had hundreds of newspapers, for some one -had told us how welcome they would be at the front. - -At an intersection of roads a couple of miles further on, the rain was -pelting down so fiercely that we did not clearly hear the "qui vive." -The chauffeur desperately called out not to shoot as a file of soldiers -suddenly swung across the road with rifles leveled. On their leader -we then tried an experiment which we afterwards followed religiously. -We handed over a newspaper with our pass. To our surprise he turned -first to the government war communiqué on the first page and read it -through, grunting his satisfaction meanwhile, before he even glanced -at the document which held our fate and on which the rain was making -great inky smears. Then he saluted and we drove on rapidly--everybody -smiling. - -The road then led up an incline through a small village that was -filled with soldiers. A patrol halted us as usual and informed us -that there was no hotel within another five miles, and possibly even -that hotel might be closed. At this news our excitable chauffeur -immediately killed his engine and the car started slipping backward -down the incline. Fifty soldiers leaped forward and held it while the -brakes were applied. We distributed a score of newspapers and as many -cigarettes before we could get under way. - -We passed no more patrols, but when our lights finally picked out the -first signs of the next village they also brought into bold relief a -pile of masonry completely blocking the road. We stopped. A villager -loomed out of the dark at the side of the car and informed us that -the road was barred because the bridge just beyond had been blown -up and that we could not pass over the pontoon until morning. The -inn, he said, had never been closed nor was its stock of tobacco yet -exhausted. He offered to conduct us, and when the innkeeper--a very -fat innkeeper--looked over our credentials from General Galliéni he -insisted that certain guests should double up, in order to make room -for us in the crowded place. He then called his wife, his daughter, his -father and his father's wife, that they might be permitted the honor -of shaking us by the hand, as he held aloft the candle, the flame of -which flickered down the ancient stone corridor that led to our rooms. - - -(B) The Wounded Who Could Walk - -We were crossing a battlefield four days old. It was remarkable how -much it resembled the ordinary kind of field. The French had conquered -quickly at this point and the dead had been buried. Except for frequent -mounds of earth headed by sticks forming crosses; except for the marks -of shrapnel in the roads and on the trees; except for the absence of -every living thing, this countryside was at peace. The sun was shining. -The frost had brought out flaming tints on the hills. It was glorious -Indian summer. - -The road we were motoring wound far away through the battlefield. For -the armies had fought over a front of many miles. We traveled slowly. -As we topped a rise and searched the valley below with our glasses, a -mile away in the cup of the valley we saw a moving mass. It filled the -roadway from hedge to hedge and appeared to be approaching us. We drove -more slowly, stopping several times. The movement of the car made the -glasses quiver and blur. We saw that the moving mass stretched back a -considerable distance--perhaps the length of a city block. We stopped -our engine and waited in the center of the road. - -As the mass came nearer it outlined itself into men. We saw that they -were soldiers; but we could not distinguish the uniform. So we waited. -We even got our papers ready to show if necessary. Then we saw that -the soldiers were not of the same regiment--that their uniforms were -conglomerate. We saw the misfits of the French line regiments, the gay -trappings of the Spahis and Chasseurs d'Afrique, the skirt trousers of -the Zouaves, Turcos and Senegalese, the khaki of the English Tommies -and the turbans of the Hindoos. But all these men in the varied -costumes of the army of the Allies wore one common mark--a bandage. -Arm or head or face was wrapped in white cloths, usually stained with -blood. For these on whom we waited were the wounded who could walk. -They were going from the battle trenches to somewhere in the rear. - -The front rank glanced wonderingly at the big motor that blocked the -center of the road and moved aside in either direction. Those behind -did likewise, until there was a lane for the car to pass. But we -waited. As the front rank came level with us, a dust-caked British -Tommy, with a bloody bandage over one eye, winked his good one at us -and touched his cap in salute. We took our hats off as the tragic crowd -surrounded us. Tommy sat down on our running board and I handed him a -cigarette. - -The cigarette established cordial relations at once. Tommy's lean face -was browned by the sun and streaked with dirt. About the bandage which -encircled his head and crossed his right eye were cakes of dirt and -clots of blood. His hair where his cap was pushed back was sand color -and crinkly. The eye that turned up to me was pale blue and the skin -just about it was white and blue veined. - -"Is this Frawnce or is it Belgium?" he asked me. At my answer he -squirmed around on the running board, calling to a companion in khaki -just coming up--his arm in a sling--"'Ee says it's Frawnce." The other -nodded indifferently and saluted us. - -I asked the man about the battle, but he only stared. His friend on the -running board turned his eye upward and said, "It's 'ell, that's wot -it is." I replied that my question had to do with the course of the -battle--which side was winning; and he too only stared at that. Then he -arose and plodded on and I gave a cigarette to his companion. - -A score of men stood about the front of the car where the chauffeur -was busy handing out apples and pears. My companions were busy on the -opposite side with a dozen French infantrymen, telling the latest news -from Paris and giving out newspapers. I leaned over them, the box of -cigarettes still in my hand. A tall Senegalese standing back from -the group caught sight of the box and called out, "Cigarette, eh!" I -motioned him to my side of the car. He came running weakly, followed at -once by fifty others. I handed out until that box and several others -that I dug from my valise were exhausted. I called several times that -I had no more, but still they crowded about, stretching out their arms -and crying, "Cigarette, eh?" One of my companions warned me that we -might ourselves feel the want of tobacco--that money would not buy it -in the country we were traversing, because it did not exist. - -We still had a box of cigars and I had several loose in my pocket. -The black face of a Turco appeared at the car window. One arm was in -a sling and a bandage was wound about his brow. But his eyes shone -brightly at the thought of tobacco, and at the smell of it now arising -on all sides. He was tobacco hungry. He was more than that. He was -tobacco starving. He poked his other arm into the car. I motioned him -to crowd his entire bulk into the window so that the others would not -see. Then I gave him a cigar. He hung over the car frame as I held out -the lighted tip of my own cigar. He puffed a cloud into the interior. -He looked at the cigar fondly and seemed to measure its length. It was -a good cigar. If it had been a miserable cheroot his regard would have -been the same. He took another puff, and drew a complete mouthful into -his lungs. His cheeks bulged and his eyes glinted inwards as though he -looked at the tip of his nose. I wondered how long he could keep that -huge mouthful of smoke within him. Again he held the cigar close to his -eyes and seemed to measure its length. It burned perfectly round and -the ash was white and solid. Finally he poured forth the smoke from -nose and mouth and ejaculated the only English word he knew--"good." I -nodded and asked in French where he had been fighting. He cocked his -head toward the fore part of the car and took another puff. I asked him -where he had been wounded and he replied that he did not know but that -it occurred in the trenches "là bas." I asked him how long he had been -fighting in France--how long since he had left Africa, and he spread -his arm far out to indicate that the time had been long. I asked him -where he was going; he rolled his eyes to the rear of the car and said -he did not know. - -I sank back in my seat and he climbed down into the road. Most of the -troop had limped off. To the few still lingering we indicated that our -stock of things to give away was exhausted. They eyed us wistfully, -then passed on. - -The chauffeur asked if he should start the car, but some one said, -"No, let's wait until they all pass." The rear guard straggled up; -many were ready to drop with fatigue and pain and loss of blood. I -asked a Britisher how long they had been on the road. He replied "since -sunrise" and plodded stolidly on. It was then noon. Several sank -down for moments under the trees by the roadside. A chasseur stopped -and asked our chauffeur to tighten a thong of his bandage, which was -stained with fresh blood. We asked him where they were going and he -replied vaguely, "To the rear." "And what then?" one of us asked. "Oh! -I hope we will all be fighting again soon," he replied. They were all -like that. They wanted to be fighting again soon. They were not happy. -They were not unhappy. They were indifferent; more or less, made so by -utter fatigue and the pain of their wounds. But they all wanted to be -fighting again soon. - -We watched them top the rise of the hill to disappear down the long -road "to the rear." The last straggler, his head bound with white and -red, vanished. They were all privates--all common men of all the world -from Scotland to Hindustan. The majority were coming from and going -they knew not where, and wanting to fight again for they knew not -what--except possibly the men of France, who began to hear about this -war in their cradles. - -We cranked up the car. - - -(C) A Lull in the Bombardment - -The sentry just outside the town advised us to right about face and -travel the other direction. But he only advised us. Our credentials -appeared in order and he did not feel that he could issue a command -on the subject. In fact our credentials were very much in order. The -sentry saluted us most respectfully; but his advice was wasted. We -argued to ourselves that if we went to "the front" we must take a few -chances. - -So we entered Soissons--one of the most beautiful and historic towns in -Northern France. It has now become even more historic; but its beauty -has changed from the crumbling medieval. It is a ruin--more--a remnant -of the Great War. - -We did not notice this so much as we rode down the winding road to -the outskirts. We did notice the unusual fall of autumn foliage. We -commented on the early season; the preceding night had been frosty, -following rain. Then we noticed many branches lying across the road. -Many trees were chipped as with an ax, but the chipped places were -high up--out of reach. We wondered why the trees were chipped so high. -Then we skirted a great hole in the center of the road. A tree further -on was cut off close to the ground. The truth came to us. The fallen -leaves and the chipped places were the work of bullets--a multitude of -bullets. The hole in the road and the fallen tree were the results of -shells. - -We saw horses lying in the fields. Their legs stuck rigidly into the -air. Horses were lying along the roadside. Insects were crawling over -them. Fallen trees lined the way into the town. - -We turned into the main street and rattled over its cobblestones. -We met no one. Crossing an open square we saw that over half the -trees were down. Up a side street a house had fallen forward from -its foundations and settled in a crumbled heap in the center of the -road. The sun which had been shining brightly went behind a cloud. We -stopped for a moment. We could hear the wind sighing in the tops of the -remaining trees. Some one asked, "Is this Sunday?" and was answered, -"No. It's Friday. Why?" He replied, "Because it is so still. Did you -ever see a place where people live that is so completely silent?" "It -reminds me of London on Good Friday--everybody gone to church," said -another. - -We drove on. A block along the main street a soldier in the French -uniform of the line lounged in a doorway. His long blue overcoat -flapped desolately over his baggy red trousers. His rifle leaned in the -corner. We asked if any hotel remained open. He replied, "I don't know. -Have you a cigarette?" I drew out a box and he ran to the car, seizing -it as a hungry animal snatches food. He settled back into his doorway, -smiling; then said in French argot which translated into American best -reads: "Do you guys know you ain't safe here?" We smiled and waited -explanation. But he merely shrugged his shoulders. We started the car. - -More French soldiers lounged in doorways. Once we saw the white and -frightened face of a woman peering at us from a window. She was -entirely incurious. Her gaze was dispassionate. She appeared to have -not the slightest interest either in us or our big car, which surely -was a rare sight in the streets of that town on that day. But the -fright upon her face was stamped. - -Several villagers stood at the next corner. They exhibited interest. -We again asked about a hotel and one pointed to a building we had just -passed. We noted that its doors and windows were barred; but we thought -they might open up. - -We asked, then, when the firing on the town had ceased. The man -laughed. Anything so normal as a laugh seemed out of place in that -ghastly silence. It grated. But it seemed that after all one might -observe the function of laughing even during war. He informed us that -the German gunners were probably at lunch. We asked the position of -the French batteries, and as he pointed vaguely toward the south -we realized that we were then in an advance position on the firing -line--that the force of soldiers was only an outpost. The same man told -us that the town had been under fire for eight days, that the French -had shifted the position of their heavy guns and that the Germans -were now trying to locate them. We returned to the hotel, stabled our -automobile and ordered luncheon, which the landlord informed us would -be ready in half an hour. So we continued the exploration of the town -on foot. - -The chauffeur did not accompany us, for there was a captured German -automobile in the barn that interested him greatly. Under the seat he -found the army papers of the German driver. He advised us not to touch -them. They were dangerous. If found in our possession we might be -arrested as spies. So we dropped them back under the seat, and went out -into the market place. - -As is usual in small French cities the market consisted of a large -building entirely open at the ends and fronting on a large square -paved with cobbles. We walked into the building; it was deserted and -our footsteps echoed. In the center was a pile of masonry, beneath a -large hole in the roof torn by a shell. The explosion had cracked the -side walls. In one of the cracks was jammed the top of a meat table, -forcibly caught up from the floor and hurled there. A little further on -a shell had passed through both side walls, leaving clean holes large -enough for a man to stand. - -I stood in one of them and saw where the shell had spent its force -on a residence across the square. It had caught the house plumb on a -corner and at the floor of the second story, so that the floor sagged -down into the room below. The room above had been a bedchamber. The -entire side wall was gone, so all that remained of the intimacies of -the room were exposed. The bed with the covers thrown back as though -the occupant quitted it hurriedly had slipped forward until stopped by -a broken bit of the wall. From another jagged piece of masonry that -formed part of the wall the blue skirt of a child flapped desolately -over the sidewalk. We left the market building and stood in the center -of the square looking down the six streets that emptied into it. They -were narrow, winding streets, and we could not see far. But in all we -could see the ruin--the crumbled masonry and walls blackened by fire. - -We looked at our watches and hurried toward the hotel. Entering the -street, about half a block distant, we stopped to look down a side -alley. As we looked we heard what seemed to be a shrill whistle, -pitched high and very prolonged. It seemed like the shriek of a -suddenly rising wind; but it was followed by a dull boom and the crash -of falling masonry. We looked behind us and saw clouds of smoke and -dust rising a short distance beyond the market place. We ran toward -the hotel. At the entrance we again heard the high-pitched screaming -whistle, ending in a crash much more acute. "That struck nearer," one -of us observed. But we did not wait to see. As we entered the hall, -the landlord remarked, "_Ça commence encore_." - -We filed into the dining room in time to see him carefully place the -soup upon the table. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -"DETAINED" BY THE COLONEL - - -We had just passed a sentry on the outskirts of a village. He had -brought his rifle to an imposing salute as he read the name upon our -military credentials. One of my companions, smiling fatuously, remarked: - -"Well, fellows, this is a real pass. It gets us anywhere." - -At that very instant the Colonel leaped on the running board of our -automobile. - -He too was smiling, but not fatuously. Although he was French he -was sufficiently an Anglophile to affect a monocle, and this gave a -chilling, glassy effect to his smile. - -"Your pass!" he said, stretching out his hand, at the same time -signaling the chauffeur to stop. The pass was given him, one of us -explaining that we had just shown it to a sentry, who had permitted us -to enter the town. - -"Ah, quite so," he murmured. He carefully read the pass, screwing his -monocle into his eye. "Ah, _quite_ so. But you will please follow me." -He signaled us to get out of the car and directed the chauffeur to turn -to the side of the road and to remain there. Then he led the way down a -narrow lane. At the door of a small house he told us to wait. He left -the door open and we saw him pass down the hall and into a rear room. -Then came a burst of laughter. - -"More '_journalistes Américains_,'" we heard; and then another peal of -merriment. We stood about the doorstep and wondered. - -The Colonel reappeared and again directed us to follow. This time he -led the way to a barn a short distance along the road. A cow yard -surrounded the barn, enclosed by a high stone wall. At the gate stood a -soldier with fixed bayonet. On the gate-post was written a single word. - -I had been suspecting for several minutes that a hitch had occurred in -our plans for going war-corresponding. My companions had similar ideas, -but we had kept silent. Now, as we stared at this word written on the -wall, I turned to the chap who had spoken so confidently about our pass. - -"You were right about the pass," I said. "It gets us anywhere." - -For the word written on the wall was "Prison." - -The Colonel stopped at the gate of the cow yard, twirled his mustache, -and screwed his monocle. He bowed. We bowed. Then we preceded him -through the gate. - -A derisive yell greeted us from a quartet seated on a wooden bench -outside the door of the barn. The quartet arose and came towards us -laughing. - -"You know these men?" asked the Colonel. - -Oh, yes, we knew them. They too were newspaper men, at least three -of them. Two represented Italian papers, one an Amsterdam journal. -The fourth was an Italian nobleman whose name was frequently in the -social columns because of his dinners at the Ritz and Armenonville. -He explained that he had accompanied the others as their gentleman -chauffeur, driving his own big car. It had been requisitioned for the -army at the same moment they themselves were escorted into the cow yard -three days before. The Colonel stood by during our greetings, still -twirling his mustache. He addressed the quartet. - -"Since you know these men," he said, indicating us, "you will please -explain to them where they will sleep and the arrangements for food." - -Then he turned to us, at the same time pointing to a corner of the -building nearest the wall gate. He said: - -"You are permitted to remain out of doors as much as you like, but -you are not to pass that corner. If you do--well--" a shrug and the -monocled smile, "the soldier at the gate will probably shoot." - -The sage of our party became sarcastic. - -"I presume that the soldier's gun is loaded," he remarked. - -"Oh, yes," the Colonel still smiled. "The gun is always ready--also the -bayonet--it would be regrettable--" again he shrugged his shoulders. - -"But why are we prisoners," the sage one demanded, "and where is our -pass? If we cannot go on we will go back to Paris. What right have you -to keep us here?" - -The Colonel raised his eyebrows and spread out his hands. His tones -were so polite as to be almost apologetic. - -"Right?" he questioned. "My dear fellow, it is simply a question of the -_force majeure_. And besides you are not prisoners." - -"Not prisoners?" we shouted in unison. "If we are not prisoners, then -what are we?" - -"You are not prisoners," the Colonel insisted. "You are simply -detained. You can neither go forward nor back until I receive further -instructions concerning you. For the moment you are my guests." - -He bowed politely and gracefully. - -"And the soldier with the rifle? And the dead line at the corner of the -building?" - -"Ah, quite so--quite so," murmured the Colonel; then bowed again to us -and went out the gate. - -"Consequential little cuss," sputtered one of our trio. - -"Better play up to him," advised one of the Italians. "We have been -here three days. Come see where we sleep--" - -They led the way to a stone outhouse near one end of the stable. A -soldier with loaded rifle sat in the door. We peered within. Two cow -stalls heaped with filthy straw. One of the stalls was empty; in the -other we could dimly discern some huddled forms. - -"We sleep in the empty one," our confrères informed us. "You will sleep -there too." - -"And those in the other stall?" I asked. - -"Oh, those! They are German spies captured during the day. They take -them out every morning--they don't come back--fresh ones take their -places." - -I shuddered. "What becomes of them?" No one answered and the other -Italian said: "Don't talk about such things. We too are prisoners, you -know." - -"Oh, no," said some one. "We are not prisoners--we are merely -detained--guests of the Colonel." - -That evening the Colonel clattered into the yard on horseback. About -twenty of his men were loafing about. On his appearance there was -a great to-do. They sprang stiffly to attention in lines on either -side of the horse. I learned later that this was the regular evening -ceremony when the Colonel returned from his ride. I had to admit -that he cut a fine figure on a horse. His body was slender and very -straight. His hair slightly grizzled, his face grim, but with always -that glassy, haughty smile. He wore high boots of the finest leather. -His spurs jingled. His uniform was immaculate. His cape swung jauntily -over one shoulder. His sword clanged. His medals were resplendent. -His head was held high as he rigidly returned the salutes. At every -moment I expected to hear the orchestra's opening bars, and the Colonel -proclaim in a fine baritone, "Oh, the Colonel of the regiment am I," -with the soldier chorus echoing, "the Colonel of the regiment is he." - -However, the Colonel dismounted into very real pools of mud and manure. - -"_Les correspondants Américains!_" he shouted. - -We lined up--hopefully--before him. - -"Your automobile," he informed us curtly, "has become the property of -the army. I have directed that your overcoats and other belongings, and -the food you carry with you, be brought to you here. You may eat this -food and also draw your daily ration of the army fare." - -This was a concession; and one of the Italians, who had drawn near, -immediately asked for another. - -"Now that there are seven of us," he asked "can't we have an audience -with the commanding general of this division?" - -The Colonel considered, then said: "If you ask an audience for only one -of your number, you may draw up a petition." - -The Italian, having made the suggestion, wrote the petition, we -all signed it and an hour later he was led away between files of -soldiers to see the General. Returning, after only a few minutes, he -said the General had received him courteously but would give him no -satisfaction, saying that he was waiting for instructions concerning us -from General Joffre. - -There was nothing to do then but make the best of it. - -At six o'clock the Colonel's cook informed us that we could go to the -great open oven in the cow yard and draw our evening rations. It was -lucky that we had our aluminum plates, for there were no others for us. -We filed across the yard with the soldiers and got a mixture of beans -and beef that was decidedly unpalatable even though we flavored it with -our own wine and bread. As we finished it, our chauffeur, a trench -"reformë," appeared in the kitchen. He told us he was not a prisoner -but was "detained" in the town with the car. He asked for a bottle of -our wine, which we gave him, with a cake of chocolate, and a bottle of -our water. - -My two friends and myself then discussed our sleeping problem. We had -resolved not to sleep in that outhouse with the Germans. When the -Colonel next came into the yard we tackled him, asking if we might not -have the freedom of the town under parole, in order to find beds. - -He said he could not consider it. - -"Then," said our spokesman, "rather than sleep in the outhouse may we -stay here in the yard?" - -The Colonel stiffened with sudden resentment at our making so many -difficulties. He strode fiercely to a door of the stable and threw it -open, showing piles of straw on the earthen floor. - -"There I sleep with my officers," he said with dignified reproach. - -"But," we explained, "it is not the hardship to which we object. We do -not wish to be classified and kept in the same place with German spies." - -"Ah," said the Colonel. He stared a moment, then smiled. He was human -after all. He could appreciate that point and liked us the better for -making it. - -He said we might stay in the yard and then, after stamping about the -room a few minutes, he pointed to a ladder to a loft above his quarters -and said: - -"You may use that place if you like. It is not occupied. The others can -sleep there too if they like." - -We quickly scaled the ladder and discovered a large, bare room that had -evidently been used as a granary, for there were piles of grain and -some farm implements lying about. A small window, which the Colonel had -evidently overlooked, opened on to the street and also a great door on -the courtyard. - -At eight o'clock we stumbled up into our loft, lighted a candle and -fixed up our beds. We had bought some straw for two francs, from -a farmer one of the soldiers found for us. The beds were hard and -uncomfortable. Naturally we slept in all our clothes and with our coats -over us also; but by morning we were chilled through, for the wind -howled through all the cracks, and several panes of glass in the window -were broken. So at least we had fresh air. - -All through the previous afternoon we had heard the constant booming of -heavy artillery, which the Colonel said was about twelve miles away, -and was the bombardment of Rheims, which he very openly stated was then -in process of destruction, chiefly by fire. At four in the morning this -cannonade again started, waking us up. We rose and descended to the -yard followed by the sleepy Italian quartet. We found the Colonel, very -wide awake, spick and span. He fixed the Italians with his monocle. - -"I understand that one of them is a prince," he said. "Tell me which -one." - -We pointed out the nobleman, who was the smallest and the most -dispirited of the lot. - -The Colonel grunted: - -"A prince, eh? Well, I like his automobile quite well." - -That day we got another bench to sit on and a box that we transformed -into a dining table. With some candles we rigged up a lantern. For a -table-cloth we had some old canvas maps. These were furnished by the -Colonel himself. In fact after we once got behind that monocle we -came to like our Colonel immensely. It was plain that he liked "les -Américains" better than the others. Although he could not officially -recognize all that we did, it was understood that we were permitted to -bribe his cook. So we had real coffee for breakfast. We had vegetables -not included in the army menu; and on one great occasion we secured -enough apples and pears to make a magnificent compote in our little -alcohol stove. - -We got up the second morning about 6.30, greatly discouraged, although -the Colonel's cook, to whom we had given twenty francs the night -before, brought us coffee. There was no water to be had until the -soldiers had finished at the pump, and we did not have moral courage -enough to shave or wash anyhow; we just stood around the courtyard -in a drizzle of rain, cursing everything and everybody, chiefly our -captors. We argued over and over again that it was ridiculous to arrest -us; if our pass was no longer valid the thing to do was to send us back -to Paris, under guard if necessary. - -That morning one of the Italians dropped a letter out of the window of -our loft opening on the street, to a soldier, who said he would post -it in Paris. It was addressed to the "Gaulois" and contained a note -from us to the American Ambassador, which I learned later never saw -its destination. The first news of our whereabouts reached Paris in -a message that our chauffeur sent by hand to the automobile company, -merely saying that the car had been requisitioned; and we did not know -about this until we returned to Paris. - -We also drafted a long letter to the Commanding General, asking to send -an enclosed telegram to Ambassador Herrick. The telegram stated that -the three of us were detained at that point, and asked him to notify -our offices in Paris. The Colonel took this letter and said he would -deliver it to the General; but the telegram enclosed never reached -Paris. - -At five o'clock the third morning we were awakened by a soldier coming -into the loft and waving a lantern over us as we lay on the floor. -He called out the names of the quartet and told them to follow him. -They did so, and that was the last we saw of them. I confess it gave -us rather an extra chill, even though we were all chilled to the bone -from the weather, to see them led out in that fashion and at that -ghastly hour. It was still very dark. We heard them clatter out into -the courtyard. I peered out of the loft door and dimly saw a file of -soldiers. I heard one of our late companions complaining about the loss -of his hat. - -At breakfast our fears were set at rest by the Colonel explaining that -as the quartet had been arrested before us their case had been settled -first, and that they had been taken to Paris. He had found the missing -hat, which he gave to me, and asked anxiously whether I would search -out the owner when I returned to Paris. Inasmuch as this was some -indication that I really might see Paris again, I gladly promised. - -The weather cleared and we passed considerable time in the yard. A -small enclosed orchard lay adjoining the courtyard, and one afternoon -the Colonel gave us permission to walk there. We found some wild -flowers and put them in our buttonholes. This touch of elegance called -forth the admiration of the Colonel when we again saw him. - -_"C'est comme à Paris_," he said. - -We even got up enough courage to shave and scrape the mud off our -clothes and boots, and clean up generally as well as we could. We had -given the cook another twenty francs and he heated some water for us. - -At noon the next day the Colonel told us that arrangements had been -made for us to return to Paris at three o'clock and in our own -automobile; inasmuch as his soldiers did not like it, it was to be -turned over to the authorities in Paris. He asked us what had become -of our French chauffeur. We insisted that no one could know less about -this than we; and a detail of soldiers was sent out to rake the town -for him. After the midday meal we noticed that the guard at the gate -had been withdrawn, so we suggested that perhaps we could pass our -"dead line" and look out at the world. As we reached the gate four men -in civilian dress accompanied by a soldier entered. The soldiers in -the cow yard and ourselves burst into a mighty laugh. "More American -correspondents," was the shout that greeted the newcomers. - -Two of them were special correspondents for American and English -papers, one was a "famous war correspondent," the fourth was an -amateur journalist whose claim to war corresponding lay in his former -experience as an officer in the New York militia. Also he was the -relative of a wealthy politician. - -No credentials were found on the person of any one of the quartet; but -they were making a great fuss about the "injustice" that was being done -them. Our Colonel, to whom they addressed their remarks, became bored. -He left them still talking and came over to us. - -"They go to Paris at the same time as you," he announced. "They are -fortunate. I should have liked to entertain them for a few days." He -shrugged his shoulders and grinned sardonically. - -He then asked us for our cards. He shook our hands. The monocle dropped -from his eye and he let it dangle on the silken cord. - -"I shall call on you in Paris when the war is over," he said, "er-er, -that is--if I am still here." He hastily jammed the monocle back into -its proper position. - -The automobiles for the party were now in the yard, and a captain who -was to conduct them told us to take our places. As we drove out our -Colonel was standing beside the gate. He was twirling his mustache. As -we passed, his free hand came to a friendly salute. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE CHERCHE MIDI - - -In the automobile which brought us back to Paris, we were guarded by -a phenomenon of nature--a taciturn French soldier. His rifle dangled -handily across his knee; he gazed at the passing scenery and was dumb -to all questions. He was even downright mean; for when a tire blew up, -causing half an hour's delay, he would not allow us to stretch our -cramped legs in the road. - -He would not even let us talk English among ourselves. Once when some -one was relating a tale of German atrocity he had heard, our guard -scowled blackly at us, lifting his rifle from his knee; and I whispered -hastily: "Quiet, or we may become atrocities ourselves!" - -We halted before the headquarters of the Military Governor in the -Boulevard des Invalides; before the war it had been a school for girls. -Although it was late in the evening when we arrived the sidewalk was -crowded, as usual, with civilians. The chauffeur waited while the gates -into the courtyard were opened. The crowd caught sight of the armed -escort and as we moved forward we caught murmurs of "prisoners of war" -and "spies." - -We smiled at that--for in a few moments, thought we, this foolishness -would all be over, we would be free again. Our "detention" by the -jolly Colonel was already a memory, listed in among our "interesting -experiences." Speaking in French to pacify our guard, we blithely -planned a belated dinner at a boulevard restaurant. We were ravenous; -we decided upon its menu from hors-d'œuvres to cheese and were settling -the question of wine when some one said: - -"We seem to be waiting here a long time. Do you suppose they'd keep us -prisoners until morning?" - -Our soldier, who by this time had evidently become a little tired of -his silence, told us curtly that the Captain in charge of the party, -who had preceded us in another car, was conferring as to our fate with -officials inside. We were so surprised at this gratuitous information -that we offered one of our few remaining cigarettes, which was promptly -accepted. - -The Captain finally ran down the steps of the building. The other -prisoners, who rode in the car with him, had been given some liberty, -and were walking about the courtyard. He called to them and said -something which seemed to throw them into fits of rage and dismay. - -Then he came to our car, and we knew at once that our dinner, like the -Kaiser's, was indefinitely postponed. The Captain did not speak to -us at all. He merely ordered the chauffeur to follow the car ahead, -then retraced his steps. All the other prisoners but one had reseated -themselves. - -This one, the amateur journalist who had at one time been an officer -in the American militia and was also the relative of a rich man, was -standing beside the car. The Captain curtly motioned him to enter; he -shook his head vigorously. We could not hear all of the conversation -that followed, but it was brief. Finally the Captain raised his voice: -"So you will not get into the automobile?" "No," replied the American. -"I am an ex-army officer and decline to be treated in such fashion." He -also mentioned his influential relative. - -I admit that at the moment my sympathies were somewhat with my fellow -countryman; but even then I could not help feeling how utterly futile -was his objection, on whatever ground it was based. Throughout our -entire period of arrest, we--the two friends with whom I had left -Paris and myself--had followed but one rule. Inasmuch as we had -suddenly found ourselves in a situation where the chief argument was a -rifle and cartridge, we always did exactly as we were ordered. To rebel -against soldiers and officers who were only following the orders of -their superiors seemed mere folly. The fate of the ex-militia man who -declined to enter the automobile proved this point. - -The Captain apparently had never heard of his wealthy relative, for -he silently signaled to a soldier standing on the steps. The soldier -placed the point of his bayonet gently against the stomach of the -prisoner, who forthwith backed up the steps of the car and fell across -the knees of his companions, who had been cursing him audibly for -"playing the fool." The Captain seated himself beside his chauffeur and -both cars started out into the night. - -We traversed many streets, but I kept peering out of my window and knew -our general direction. In a few minutes we drew up in a side street -leading from the Boulevard Raspail, before a grimy old building. A -soldier with a rifle at salute stood beside its heavy doors. I knew -that building. I had passed it every day during many months, for it was -just a few blocks from my house and on the direct route to my office. -I had glanced at it curiously as I passed. I had read its history. -I wondered if it were as bad on the inside as some of the history -depicted. - -The doors opened, and I confess I shuddered as we slipped softly into -the thick blackness of the courtyard. There was not a sound for a -moment, after the chauffeurs cut off the engines. Then a door to the -right opened, throwing out a shaft of light. The Captain descended from -the car ahead. At the same moment the doors closed with a depressing -crash of iron. In that moment my sensations were of an entirely -original character. - -We all got out of the cars, the prisoners ahead joining us, and stood -together in an angry group. - -"Where are we?" asked some one. - -"Don't you know?" the ex-militia man snarled. "They've landed us at -Saint Lazare!" - -"Saint Lazare!" cried several in unison. - -One of my friends snorted. "Don't be silly. St. Lazare is the prison -for women, not war correspondents." - -I roused from my gloomy meditations to break into the conversation. - -"I'll tell you where we are if you really care to know," I said. "We're -in the Cherche Midi--the foremost military prison of France. This is -the place where Dreyfus awaited his trial. This is the place of the -historic rats, etc." - -I ceased abruptly. Here I was, a bare ten minutes' walk from my -home--and I might as well have been a thousand miles. The clang of -those doors had shut off all the world. How long did they expect to -keep us there? A night? A week? A month? Perhaps until the war was -over? What could we do about it? Nothing. Those doors shut off all -hope. We could get no word to any one if our captors did not desire -it. We would remain there exactly as long as they wished. No matter -what we thought about it--no matter how innocent we were of military -misdemeanor. We were prisoners of war in the Cherche Midi--and I -understood the Dreyfus case better. - -Just before we filed into the examination room whence came the shaft of -light, the sage of our party, who had suggested back in the courtyard -that we be good prisoners until the right moment arrived, tapped me on -the shoulder and spoke in my ear: - -"Now's the time," he said. "We must kick now or never. I will begin the -rumpus and you follow--and kick hard." - -They lined us up in the tiny office where a lieutenant duly inscribed -our names and nefarious profession in the great register. He slammed -the book shut, and began directions to an orderly about conducting us -to our cells--when the sage spoke. - -"What about dinner?" he began. - -"Too late," said the officer. "It's midnight." - -"Not too late to be hungry," was the reply. "We have had nothing to eat -since noon. Do you want it printed that prisoners are starved in the -Cherche Midi?" - -The officer reflected. He then consulted with several orderlies and -finally stated that there was no available food in the prison, but that -he would permit us, at our expense, to have dinner served from a hotel -near-by. We agreed to this and the orderlies departed. - -This arranged two things which we desired: food--for we were really -famished--and time to plan our campaign for liberty before being -separated into cells. While the orderlies were gone we made an -argumentative onslaught on the Lieutenant in his little cubby-hole -office, separated by a low partition from the big gloomy hall where we -were told to await our dinner. - -We told him in detail who we were, how we happened to be there, all -the time insisting on the injustice of our treatment. He replied that -although he could not discuss the merits of our case, it might interest -us to know that his orders were to keep us for eight days in solitary -confinement, not allowing us to even talk with each other, after that -dinner which the orderlies were now spreading on a big table. - -Eight days!--and we had already been there a year--or so it seemed. -Eight days! Why it was an eternity. And we would not stand it. The -fight in all of us was finally aroused. They could drag us to cells and -keep us; yes, but dragging would be necessary. We assured him of that. - -And then the eagle began to scream. I have often wished when traveling -in Europe that so many American tourists would not so constantly keep -America and Americanism in the foreground of everything they thought -and said and did--but on that night in the Cherche Midi I was as -blatant and noisy and proud an American as ever there was. We waved -the Stars and Stripes and shouted the Declaration of Independence at -the now bewildered officer until he begged us to desist. Earlier in -our conversation we had discussed the mighty effects of journalism -and how it visited its pleasures and its displeasures. Now we quoted -the Constitution of the United States and produced our passports. We -demanded an immediate audience with the American Ambassador. - -Our dinner was waiting, and the officer declared finally that if we -would only eat it he would see what he could do for us, to the extent -of telephoning to the Military Governor. We could hear his part of the -telephone conversation as we attacked our food. We never learned with -whom he was talking, but he made it strong. He never had such persons -as ourselves inside his prison and he would be devoutly thankful to be -rid of us. And besides--this was whispered but we caught the drift of -it--they were Americans, these prisoners, and perhaps it might be just -as well to send some word about them to the American Embassy. - -There was more that we could not hear, but finally he informed us that -an officer was coming from headquarters to talk with us; that we were -to wait where we were. - -I do not know what influence, aside from the telephone conversation, -intervened in our behalf that night. But I am sure that conversation -had little to do with it beyond perhaps securing an immediate rather -than deferred action. Perhaps it was an accident, perhaps a change of -opinion at the Military Governor's headquarters as to the sentence that -had been passed upon us. At any rate, at the moment we were paying for -our dinner and demanding a receipt dated from inside the prison walls -(every one of us kept an eye open to newspaper copy in demanding the -receipt in such fashion) the door was flung open and a high Government -official whom most of us knew personally, entered the room. - -His first act was to fling the money from the hands of the hotel -servant back upon the table--snatch the receipts, and tear them in -pieces. - -"Gentlemen, the dinners are on me," was his greeting. - -A few hours later the military attaché of the American Embassy who had -been roused from his bed, explained that Mr. Herrick would undertake -the personal responsibility for our parole. The gates of the Cherche -Midi opened. The heavy arm of military authority had lightened; but the -free road to the battle front was still closed. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -UNDER THE CROIX ROUGE - - -I never expected to drive a motor ambulance, with badly wounded men, -down the Champs Elysées. But I did. I have done many things since the -war began that I never expected to do;--but somehow that magnificent -Champs Elysées--and ambulances--and groans of wounded seemed a -combination entirely outside my wildest imaginations. - -This was a result of the eight days' parole, after my release from the -Cherche Midi; I was forbidden to write anything concerning my trip to -the battle fields. - -During those eight days I came to the conclusion that the popularity -of journalism in France had reached its lowest ebb. In the ante-bellum -days newspapermen were rather highly regarded in the French capital. -They occasionally got almost in the savant class, and folks seemed -rather glad to sit near their corners of the cafés and hearken to their -words. I found that now, in popular estimation, they were several -degrees below the ordinary criminal, and in fact not far above the -level of the spy. Also the wording of my parole was galling. I could -not even write private letters to my family, without first obtaining -permission at headquarters of the Military Governor. - -We had "run into an important turning movement of troops on that trip -to the front" was the final official reason assigned for our particular -predicament. We were dangerous; we might tell about that turning -movement. Therefore the eight days' parole. - -Nevertheless, for eight days my activities for my newspaper were -suspended, and even then the hope of getting to the front seemed more -vague than ever. I thought over every plan that might produce copy, and -finally I called on the Ambassador--which was the usual procedure when -one had an idea of front-going character. - -"I am weary of the reputation that has been bestowed upon me," I -told Mr. Herrick. "I am tired of being classified with the thugs and -yeggmen. I am tired of being an outcast on the face of Paris. In other -words, for the moment I desire to uplift myself from the low level of -journalism. I desire to don the brassard of the Red Cross." - -"Yes," said the Ambassador, "I don't blame you." - -"All right," I rejoined, "but as a journalist they won't have -me--unless you give me a bill of health. If you tell them I am not so -bad as I look nor so black as I am painted, I stand a chance. I confess -frankly that I am actuated by the low motives of my profession. I am -first and last a newspaperman and I believe that a Red Cross ambulance -may get me to the battle front. However, I am willing to do my share of -the work, and if I go into the service with my cards face up and your -guarantee--why--" - -"Yes," replied Mr. Herrick. "And that goes, provided you will not use -the cable until you leave the service." - -I promised. The Ambassador kept his word. A week later, vaccinated and -injected against disease of every character, clad in khaki, with the -coveted badge of mercy sewed on the left sleeve, I was taken into the -ranks of the Croix Rouge as an ambulance orderly. I remained for two -months--first hauling wounded from great evacuation stations about -Paris to hospitals within the walls. Most of our wounded went to the -American Ambulance, when we broke all speed laws going through the -Champs Elysées, en route to Neuilly. Later I was stationed at Amiens -with the second French army, at that time under the command of General -Castelnau. We slept on the floor in a freight station and we worked in -the black ooze of the railway yards. The battle front was still many -miles away. - -One morning when the weather was bleakest (it was now December) and -the black ooze the deepest, and the straw from where I had just risen -was flattest and moldiest, I received word from Paris to get back -quick--that at last the War Office would send correspondents to the -front, and that the Foreign Office was preparing the list of neutrals -who would go. - -I resigned my ambulance job and took the next train. But I kept my -brassard with the red cross upon it. I wanted it as a proof of those -hard days and sometimes harder nights, when my profession was blotted -from my mind--and copy didn't matter--I wanted it because it was my -badge when I was an ambulance orderly carrying wounded men, when I -came to feel that I was contributing something after all, although a -neutral, toward the great sacrifice of the country that sheltered me. -I shall keep it always for many things that I saw and heard; but I -cherish it most for my recollection of Trevelyan--the Rue Jeanne d'Arc -and those from a locality called Quesnoy-sur-Somme. - - -(A) Trevelyan - -The orderly on the first bus was sitting at attention, with arms -folded, waiting for orders. It was just dawn, but the interior of his -bus was clean and ready. He always fixed it up at night, when the rest -of us, dog tired, crept into the dank straw, saying we could get up -extra early and do it. - -So now we were up "extra early," chauffeurs tinkered with engines, -and orderlies fumigated interiors; and the First Orderly, sitting at -the head of the column, where he heard things, and saw things, got -acquainted with Trevelyan. - -The seven American motor ambulances were drawn up with a detachment -of the British Red Cross in a small village near B----, the railhead -where the base hospital was located, way up near the Belgian frontier. -The weather was cold. We had changed the brown paint on our busses to -gray, making them less visible against the snow. Even the hoods and -wheels were gray. All that could be seen at a distance were the two big -red crosses blinking like a pair of eyes on the back canvas flaps. The -American cars were light and fast and could scurry back out of shell -range quicker than big lumbering ambulances--of which there was a -plenty. Therefore we were in demand. The morning that the First Orderly -met Trevelyan our squad commander was in conference with the fat major -of the Royal Army Medical Corps concerning the strenuous business of -the day. - -Both the First Orderly and Trevelyan were Somebodys. It was apparent. -It was their caste that attracted them to each other. The First Orderly -was a prominent figure in the Paris American colony; he knew the best -people on both sides of the Atlantic. Now he was an orderly on an -ambulance because he wanted to see some of the war. He wanted to do -something in the war. There were many like him--neutrals in the ranks -of the Croix Rouge. - -The detachment of the Royal Army Medical Corps to which Trevelyan -belonged arrived late one night and were billeted in a barn. The -American corps were in the school house, sleeping in straw on the wood -floor. A small evacuation hospital was near where the wounded from the -field hospitals were patched up a little before we took them for a long -ambulance haul. - -Trevelyan was only an orderly. The American corps found this "quaint," -as Trevelyan himself would have said. For the orderly of the medical -corps corresponds to the "ranker" of the army. In this war, at a time -when officers were the crying demand, the gentlemen rankers had almost -disappeared. Among the American volunteers, being the squad commander -was somewhat a matter of choice and of mechanical knowledge of our -cars. We all stood on an equal footing. But Trevelyan was simply -classed as a "Tommy," so far as his medical officers were concerned. - -So he showed a disposition to chum with us. He gravitated more -particularly to the First Orderly, who reported to the chauffeur of the -second bus that Trevelyan had a most comprehensive understanding of the -war; that he had also a keen knowledge of medicine and surgery, with -which the First Orderly had himself tinkered. - -They discussed the value of the war in several branches of surgery. -The chauffeur of the second bus heard Trevelyan expounding to the -First Orderly on the precious knowledge derived by the great hospital -surgeons in Paris and London from the great numbers of thigh fractures -coming in--how amputations were becoming always fewer--the men walked -again, though one leg might be shorter. - -Trevelyan, in his well fitting khaki uniform, seemed from the same -mold as hundreds of clean built Englishmen; lean face, blond hair. His -accent was faultlessly upper class. The letter "g" did not occur as a -terminating consonant in his conversation. The adjectives "rippin'" or -"rotten" conveyed his sentiments one way or the other. His hand clasp -was firm, his eye direct and blue. He was a chap you liked. - -At our midday meal, which was served apart for the American contingent, -the First Orderly asked the corps what they thought of Trevelyan. "I've -lived three years in England," said the chauffeur of the second bus, -"and this fellow seems to have far less 'side' than most of his class." - -The First Orderly explained that this was because Trevelyan had become -cosmopolitan--traveled a lot, spoke French and Spanish and understood -Italian, whereas most Englishmen scorned to learn any "foreign" tongue. - -"Why isn't he in a regiment--he's so superior!" wondered the chauffeur -of the second bus. The First Orderly maintained stoutly that there was -some good reason, perhaps family trouble, why his new friend was just a -common orderly--like himself. - -The entire column was then ordered out. They hauled wounded from the -field hospitals to the evacuation camp until nightfall. After dusk they -made several trips almost to the trenches. But there were fewer wounded -than usual. The cold had lessened the infantry attacks, though the -artillery constantly thundered, especially at nightfall. - -New orders came in. They were:--Everything ready always for a possible -quick advance into L----, which was then an advance post. An important -redistribution of General French's "contemptible little army" was hoped -for. At coffee next morning our squad commander, after his customary -talk with the fat major, admonished us to have little to say concerning -our affairs--that talk was a useless adjunct to war. - -That day again the First Orderly's dinner conversation was of -Trevelyan. Their conversation of that morning had gotten away from -armies and surgeons and embraced art people, which were the First -Orderly's forte. People were his hobby but he knew a lot about art. -This knowledge had developed in the form of landscape gardening at the -country places of his millionaire friends. It appeared that he and -Trevelyan had known the same families in different parts of the world. - -"He knows the G's," he proclaimed, naming a prominent New York family. -"He's been to their villa at Lennox. He spoke of the way the grounds -are laid out, before he knew I had been there. Talked about the box -perspective for the Venus fountain, that I suggested myself." - -The corps "joshed" the First Orderly on that: asked him whether -Trevelyan had yet confided the reason for his position in the ranks. -The First Orderly was indifferent. He waved a knife loaded with -potatoes--a knife is the chief army eating utensil. "He may be anything -from an Honorable to a Duke," he said, "but I don't like to ask, for -you know how Englishmen are about those things. I have found, though, -that he did the Vatican and Medici collections only a year ago with -some friends of mine, and I'm going to sound them about him sometime." - -There were sharp engagements that afternoon and the corps was kept -busy. At nightfall, the booming of the artillery was louder--nearer, -especially on the left, where the French heavy artillery had come up -the day before to support the British line. The ambulance corps was -ordered to prepare for night work. They snatched plates of soup and -beans, and sat on the busses, waiting. - -At eight o'clock a shell screamed over the line of cars, then another, -and two more. "They've got the range on us," the fat Major said. -"We'll have to clear out." Eighteen shells passed overhead before the -equipment and the few remaining wounded got away and struck the road to -the main base at B----. - -The American squad was billeted that night in the freight -station--dropping asleep as they sank into the straw on the floor. At -midnight an English colonel's orderly entered and called the squad -commander. They went out together; then the squad commander returned -for the Orderly of the first bus. The chauffeur of the second bus waked -when they returned after several hours, and heard them through the -gloom groping their way to nests in the straw. They said nothing. - -It was explained in the morning at coffee. "Trevelyan" had been shot at -sunrise. He was a German spy. - - -(B) The Rue Jeanne d'Arc - -We were sitting in a café at the _apéritif_ hour--an hour that survives -the war. We were stationed in a city of good size in Northern France, a -city famous for its cathedral and its cheese. Just now it was a haven -for refugees, and an evacuation center for wounded. The Germans had -been there, as the patronne of the café Lion d'Or narrated at length -to every one who would listen; but now the battle lines were some -distance away. If the wind came from the right direction when the noise -of the city was hushed by military order at nightfall, the haunting -boom-boo-o-m of heavy artillery could be faintly heard. No one who has -heard that sound ever forgets it. Dynamite blasting sounds just about -the same, but in the sound of artillery, when one knows that it is -artillery, there seems the knell of doom. - -The café was crowded at the _apéritif_ hour. The fat face of the -patronne was wreathed in smiles. Any one is mistaken who imagines that -all Northern France is lost from human view in a dense rolling cloud -of battle smoke. At any rate, in the Café d'Or one looked upon life -unchanged. True, there were some new clients in the place of old ones. -There were a half dozen soldiers in khaki, and we of the American -ambulance column, dressed in the same cloth. In a corner sat a young -lieutenant in the gorgeous blue of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, drinking -vermouth with a grizzled captain of artillery. Other French uniforms -dotted the place. The "honest bourgeois" were all there--the chief -supports of the establishment in peace or war. They missed the evening -_apéritif_ during the twelve days of German occupation, but now all -were in their accustomed places. For the places of oldtimers are sacred -at the Lion d'Or. - -Madame la patronne acted in place of her husband, who was now safely -serving in the cooking department of the army, some kilometers from the -firing line. Madame sat contentedly at the caisse superintending the -activities of two youthful, inexperienced garçons. The old waiters, -Jean and André, vanished into the "zone of military activity" on the -first day of the war. After several post cards, Jean had not been heard -from. André was killed at the battle of the Marne. - -We had heard the garrulous tale of the German occupation many times. It -was thrillingly revealed, both at the Restaurant de Commerce and the -Hotel de Soleil. At the Lion d'Or it was Madame's absorbing theme, when -she was not haranguing the new waiters or counting change. Madame had -remained throughout the trouble. "But yes, to be sure." She was not the -woman to flee and leave the Lion d'Or to the invaders. Her ample form -was firmly ensconced behind the caisse when the first of the Uhlans -entered. They were officers, and--wonder of wonders--they spoke French. -The new waiters were hiding in the cellar, so Madame clambered from -her chair with dignity, and placed glasses and drink before them. And -then--would wonders never cease?--these Germans had actually paid--even -overpaid, _ma foi_--for one of them flung a golden half louis on the -counter, and stalked from the place refusing change. Of course at the -Hotel de Ville, the invaders behaved differently. There the Mayor was -called upon for one million francs--war indemnity. But that was a -matter for the city and not for the individual. Madame still had that -golden half louis and would show it if we cared to see. Gold was scarce -and exceedingly precious. The sight of it was good. - -Now the Germans were gone--forced out, grace à Dieu, so the good -citizens no longer lived in the cellars. They were again in their -places at the Lion d'Or, sipping vermouth and offering gratitude to the -military régime that had the decency to allow cafés open until eight -o'clock. Outside the night was cold and a fine drizzle beat against -the windows. Several newcomers shivered and remarked that it must be -terrible in the trenches. But the electric lights, the clinking glasses -on the marble tables, the rattling coins, soon brought them into the -general line of speculation on how long it would take to drive the -Germans from France. - -For a hundred years the cafés have been the Forum of France. The -Lion d'Or had for that entire period been the scene of fierce verbal -encounters between members of more political and religious faiths than -exist in any other nation of the world. Every Frenchman, no matter how -humble in position or purse has decided opinions about something. But -now the voices in the Lion d'Or arose only in appellations concerning -_les Boches_. There was unanimity of opinion on the absorbing subject -of the war. - -The members of the American ambulance column sat at a table near the -door. Our khaki always brought looks of friendly interest. Almost every -one took us to be English, and even those who learned the truth were -equally pleased. We finished the _apéritif_ and consulted about dinner. -We were off duty--we might either return for the army mess or buy our -own meal at the restaurant. We paid the garçon and decided upon the -restaurant a few doors away. Several of the men were struggling into -their rubber coats. I told them that I would follow shortly. I had -just caught a sentence from across the room that thrilled me. It held -a note of mystery--or tragedy. It brought life out of the commonplace -normality of _apéritif_ hour at the Lion d'Or. - -The speakers were two Frenchmen of middle age--fat and bearded. -They were dressed in ordinary black, but wore it with a ceremonial -rather than conventional manner. The atmosphere of the city did not -seem upon them. They might rather be the butcher and the grocer of a -small town. One of the pair had sat alone for some time before the -second arrived. I had noticed him. He seemed to have no acquaintances -in the place--which was unusual. He drank two cognacs in rapid -succession--which was still more unusual. One drink always satisfies a -Frenchman at _apéritif_ hour--and it is very seldom cognac. - -When the second man entered the other started from his seat and held -out both hands eagerly. "So you got out safe!" were the words I heard; -but our crowd was hurrying toward the door, and I lost the actual -greeting. I ordered another vermouth and waited. - -The two men were seated opposite each other. The first man nervously -motioned to the waiter and the newcomer gave his order. It was plain -that they were both excited, but the table adjoining was unoccupied, -so they attracted no attention. The noisy waiter, banging bottles on -the table, drowned out the next few sentences. Then I heard the second -man: "So I got out first, but you managed to get here yesterday--a day -in advance." - -The other replied: "I was lucky enough to get a horse. They were -shelling the market place when I left." - -The second man gulped his drink and plucked nervously at the other's -sleeve. "My wife is at the hotel," he almost mumbled the words, "I -must tell her--you said the market place. But how about the Rue Jeanne -d'Arc?--her sister lived there. She remained." - -"How about the Rue Jeanne d'Arc?" the other repeated. He clucked his -tongue sympathetically. "That was all destroyed in the morning." - -The second man drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat -from his forehead. - - -(C) Those from Quesnoy-sur-Somme - -They were climbing out of the cattle cars into the mud of the freight -yards. They numbered about fifty,--the old, the halt, the blind and -the children. We were whizzing past on a motor ambulance with two -desperately wounded men inside, headed for a hospital a half mile away. -The Medical Major said that unless we hurried the men would probably -be dead when we arrived. So we could not lessen speed as those from -Quesnoy-sur-Somme descended painfully from the cattle cars. Instead, -we sounded the siren for them to get out of our way. The mud from our -wheels splattered them. But it was not mud--not regular mud. It was -black unhealthy ooze, generated after a month of rain in the aged -layers of train soot. It was full of fever germs. Typhoid was on the -rampage. - -As we passed the sentinels at the gates of the yards we were forced to -halt in a jam of ammunition and food wagons. To the army that survives -is given the first thought. The wounded in the ambulance could wait. We -took right of way only over civilians--including refugees. - -We asked a sentinel concerning those descending from the cattle cars, -"_là bas_." He said they came from a place called Quesnoy-sur-Somme. -It was not a city he told us, nor a town--not even a village. -Just a straggling hamlet along the river bank--a place called -Quesnoy-sur-Somme. - -The past tense was the correct usage of the verb. The place _was_ that; -but now--now it is just a black path of desolation beside a lifeless -river. The artillery had thundered across the banks for a month. The -fish floated backs down on the water. - -When the ammunition and food wagons gave us room enough, we again raced -through the streets and delivered our wounded at the hospital--alive. -Then we returned to the freight yards for more. Several ambulance -columns had worked through the night from the field hospitals to the -freight yards. There the men were sorted and the less desperate cases -entrained. - -We plowed our way carefully through the ooze of the yards, for ahead -of us walked those from Quesnoy-sur-Somme on their way to the _gare_. -They walked slowly--painfully, except the children, who danced beside -our running board and laughed at the funny red crosses painted on the -canvas sides of the ambulance. It was raining--as usual. The sky was -the coldest gray in the universe, and the earth and dingy buildings, -darker in tone, were still more dismal. But one tiny child had a fat -slab of bread covered thickly with red jam. She raised her sticky pink -face to ours and laughed gloriously. She waved her pudgy fist holding -the bread and jam, and shouted, "Vive la France!" - -We were now just crawling through the mire. The refugees surrounded -us on all sides. The mother seized the waving little arm, and dragged -the child away. The woman did not look at us. She just plodded along, -eyes fixed on the mud that closed over her shoes at every step. She -was bareheaded and the rain glistened in great drops upon her hair. -The child hung back. The mother merely tightened her grip, doggedly -patient. She was past either curiosity or reproof. - -Our car ran so slowly that accidentally we killed the engine. I got out -to crank her up and meantime the forlorn mass surged by. Two soldiers -herded them over the slippery tracks to a shed beside the gare where -straggled some rough benches. We lined our car up behind the other -ambulances. Then we went to look at the refugees. - -They had dropped onto the benches, except the children. The littlest -ones tugged fretfully at their mothers' skirts. The others ran -gleefully about, fascinated by the novelty of things. It was a holiday. -Several Red Cross women were feeding the crowd, passing about with big -hampers of bread and pots of coffee. Each person received also a tin of -dried meat; and a cheese was served to every four. We helped carry the -hampers. - -Most of the refugees did not even look at us; they did not raise their -eyes from the mud. They reached out their hands and took what we gave -them. Then they held the food in their laps, listless; or staring out -across the yards into the wet dusk. - -One or two of them talked. They had been hustled out at sunrise. -The French army thought they had occupied that dangerous place long -enough. There was no longer hope for any living thing remaining. So -they came away--bringing nothing with them, herded along the line by -soldiers. Where they were going they did not know. It did not matter -where. "_C'est la guerre!_ It is terrible--yes." They shrugged their -shoulders. It is war! - -One old man, nearly blind and very lame, sat forlornly at one end of -the line. He pulled at an empty pipe. We gave him some tobacco--some -fresh English tobacco. He knew that it was not French when he rolled -it in his hand. So we explained the brand. We explained patiently, for -he was very deaf. He was delighted. He had heard of English tobacco, -but had never had any. He stuffed the pipe eagerly and lit it. He -leaned back against the cold stone wall and puffed in ecstasy. Ah! this -English tobacco _was_ good. He was fortunate. - -We glanced back along the line. As we looked several of the women -shrank against the wall. One covered her eyes. Two French ambulances -passed, carrying a wounded Zouave on a stretcher. A yard engine went -shrieking across their path and the ambulanciers halted. The huddled -figure under the blankets groaned horribly. Then the procession -proceeded to our first ambulance. The men were on the seat, ready for -the race against time to the hospital. - -After a few minutes the soldiers who had herded the refugees into the -shed came again to herd them out--back to the cattle cars. I asked one -of the soldiers where they were going. He waved his hand vaguely toward -the south. "_Là bas_," he muttered. He didn't know exactly. They were -going somewhere--that was all. There was no place for them here. This -station was for wounded. And would they ever return? He shrugged his -shoulders. - -I looked at the forlorn procession sloshing across the yards. The rain -beat harder. It was almost dark; the yard lamps threw dismal, sickish -gleams across the tracks. The old man with the tobacco brought up the -rear, helped along by an old woman hobbling on a stick. - -We heard the voice of the Medical Major bawling for "les ambulances -Américaines." We looked behind into the gloom of the gare; a procession -emerged--stretchers with huddled forms under blankets. As far down -the yards as we could see--just on the edge of the night, those from -Quesnoy-sur-Somme were climbing slowly into the cattle cars. - - - - -PART FOUR - -WAR-CORRESPONDING DE LUXE - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -OUT WITH CAPTAIN BLANK - - -"Grand Quartier Général!" The sentry barring the road jerked his -rifle instantly to rigid salute. The speaker sat beside the chauffeur -of a big limousine. He wore a wonderful new horizon-blue captain's -uniform, but on his left arm was the colored silken brassard of the -Great General headquarters staff. It meant that the wearer was the -direct agent of Père Joffre, and though sentries dotted our route the -chauffeur never once brought the car to a full halt. - -Two other neutral correspondents were in the car with me. The tonneau -was comfortably heated and electrically lighted. Our baggage was -carried in other cars behind us, in charge of orderlies. Still other -cars carried an armed escort, in case of sudden attack on the lines. - -For at last we were going forth officially to the front. No sentry -could stop us. No officer could "detain" us--there was no fear of -prison at our journey's end. It had been decided by Père Joffre -himself; and "Himself" had appointed the Captain, whose orders were -to remain with us even after our return to Paris, where he would wait -to place the magic visé of the État Major upon our despatches, thus -preventing any delays at the regular Bureau de Censure. - -Comfortable rooms had been reserved in hotels of little villages behind -the trenches. Far in advance meals had been commanded to be ready at -the hours of our arrival. Every detail of each day's program had been -carefully arranged. And in case we did become accidentally separated -from our Captain, each of us carried a pass issued by the Ministry of -War bearing our photographs and in dramatic language fully accrediting -us as correspondents to the armies of the Republic. - -So we lighted our cigars and lolled at our ease, feeling our own -importance just a bit as each sentry saluted respectfully the Captain's -silken brassard. - -In the company of Captain Blank I have secured the greatest part of -the cable copy that the war has furnished me, but on that first ride -through the snow fields of Northern France, I little realized that on -my return to Paris I would send America the most important cable that I -had ever filed in my life: for it was the first detailed description -of the French army permitted for publication after the battle of the -Marne. Many times during that trip we asked each other what "news" -there was in all that we saw that was worth cabling, when a five-cent -postage stamp would carry it by letter. It was all interesting, some of -it decidedly exciting; but not once did we witness a general engagement -of the army. There was no storming of forts, no charges of the cavalry, -no capitulation of troops. It was just the deadly winter waiting in the -trenches, with the sentries who never slept at the port-holes and the -artillery incessantly pounding away at the rear. I decided that there -was nothing worth cabling in the story. - -When I returned to Paris, and a steam-heated apartment, the reaction -on my physical forces was so great that I went to bed for several days -with the grippe. As I impatiently fumed to get to work on the story of -my trip, it suddenly dawned upon me that it was a cable story after -all. Why, it was one of the biggest cable stories possible--it was the -story of the French army. I had just been permitted a real view of it, -the first accorded any correspondent in so comprehensive a manner. I -had followed a great section of the fighting line, had been in the -trenches under fire, and had received scientific, detailed information -regarding this least known of European forces. - -True, we correspondents knew what a powerful machine it was. We knew -it was getting stronger every day. But America did not, and Germany -meanwhile was granting interviews, taking correspondents to the -trenches and up in balloons and aeroplanes in their campaign for -neutral sympathy. Now France, or rather General Joffre--for his was the -first and last word on the subject of war correspondents--had decided -to combat the German advertising. Captain Blank was still waiting in -Paris for my copy--cable copy marked "rush"--which I dictated in bed. - -"This army has nothing to hide," said one of the greatest generals to -me, during the trip. "You see what you like, go where you desire and if -you cannot get there, ask." - -While our party did all the spectacular stunts the Germans had offered -the correspondents in such profusion, such as visiting the trenches, -where once a German shell burst thirty feet from us, splattering us -with mud, where also snipers sent rifle balls hissing only a few feet -away, our greatest treats were the scientific daily discourses given -by Captain Blank, touching the entire history of the first campaign, -explaining each event leading up to the present position of the two -armies. He gave the exact location of every French and Allied army -corps on the entire front. - -On the opposite side of the line he demonstrated the efficiency of the -French secret service by giving full details of the position and name -of every German regiment, even to the date of its arrival. - -Our Captain explained the second great German blunder after their -failure to occupy Paris. This was their mistake in not at once swinging -a line across Northern France, cutting off Calais and Boulogne, where -they could have leveled a pistol at England's head. He explained that -the superior French cavalry dictated that the line should instead run -straight north through the edge of Belgium to the sea. And he refuted -by many military arguments the theory that cavalry became obsolete with -the advent of aeroplanes. - -Cavalry formerly was used to screen the infantry advance and also for -shock purposes in the charges. Now that the lines are established, it -is mostly used with the infantry in the trenches; but in the great race -after the Marne to turn the western flanks it was the cavalry's ability -to outstrip the infantry that kept the Germans from possession of all -Northern France. In other words, the French chauseurs, more brilliant -than the Uhlans, kept that northern line straight until the infantry -corps had time to take up position. - -Once, on passing from the second line to a point less than a hundred -yards from the German rifles, I came face to face with a general of -division. He was sauntering along for his morning's stroll, which he -chose to take in the trenches with his men rather than on the safer -roads at the rear. He smoked a cigarette and seemed careless of danger. -He continually patted his soldiers on the back as he passed and called -them "his little braves." - -I could not help wondering then and since whether the German general -opposite was setting his men the same splendid example. I inquired -the French general's name; he was General Fayolle, conceded by all -the armies to be one of the greatest artillery experts in the world. -Comradeship between officers and men always is general in the French -army, but I never before realized fully the officers' willingness to -accept the same fate as their men. - -In Paris the popular appellation for a German is "boche." Not once at -the front did I hear this word used by officers or men. They deplore -it, just as they deplore many things that happen in Paris. Every -officer I talked to declared the Germans were a brave, strong enemy; -they waste no time calling them names. - -"They are wonderful, but we will beat them," was the way one officer -summed up the general feeling. - -Another illustration of the French officer at the front: the city -of Vermelles, of 10,000 inhabitants, was captured from the Germans -after thirty-four days' fighting. It was taken literally from house -to house, the French engineers sapping and mining the Germans out of -every stronghold, destroying every single house, incidentally forever -upsetting my own one-time idea that the French are a frivolous people. -So determined were they to retake this town that they fought in the -streets with artillery at a distance of twenty-one feet, probably the -shortest range artillery duel in the history of the world. - -The Germans before the final evacuation buried hundreds of their own -dead. Every yard in the city was filled with little crosses--the ground -was so trampled that the mounds of graves were crushed down level with -the ground--and on the crosses are printed the names, with the number -of the German regiments. At the base of every cross rested either a -crucifix or a statue of the Virgin or a wreath of artificial flowers, -all looted from the French graveyard. - -With the German graves were French graves, made afterward. I walked -through this ruined city where, aside from the soldiers, the only sign -of life I saw was a gaunt, prowling cat. With me, past these hundreds -of graves, walked half a dozen French officers. They did not pause to -read inscriptions; they did not comment on the loot and pillage of the -graveyard; they scarcely looked even at the graves, but they constantly -raised their hands to their caps in salute, regardless of whether the -crosses marked a French or a German life destroyed. - -Another illustration of French humanity: - -We were driving along back of the advance lines. On the road before us -a company of territorial infantry, after eight days in the trenches, -were now marching back to two days of repose at the rear. Plodding -along the same road was a refugee mother and several little children -in a donkey cart; behind the cart, attached by a rope, trundled a baby -buggy with the youngest child inside. The buggy suddenly struck a rut -in the road and overturned, spilling the baby into the mud. Terrible -wails arose; the soldiers stiffened to attention. Then, seeing the -accident, the entire company broke ranks and rescued the infant. They -wiped the dirt from its face and helped the mother to bestow it again -in the cart. - -Our motor had halted; and our captain from the Great General -Headquarters, in his gorgeous blue uniform, climbed from the car, and -discussed with the mother the safety of a baby buggy riding behind -a donkey cart; at the same time congratulating the soldier who had -rescued the child. - -I took a brief ride at the front in an ante-bellum motorbus,--there -being nothing left in Paris but the trams and subway. Busses have since -been used to carry fresh meat, to transport troops and also ammunition. -We trundled merrily along a little country road, the snow-white fields -on either side in strange contrast to the scenery when last I rode -in that bus, in my daily trips from my home to the _Times_ office in -Paris. The bus was now riddled with bullets, but the soldier conductor -still jingles the bell to the motorman, although he carries a revolver -where he formerly wore the register for fares. - -Trench life was one of the surprises of the trip. Every night since the -war began I had heard pitying remarks about "the boys in the trenches," -especially if the nights were cold. I was, therefore, prepared to find -the men standing in water to the knees, shivering, wretched, sick and -unhappy. I found just the contrary--the trenches were clean, large and -sanitary, although, of course, mud is mud. The bottoms of the trenches -in every instance were corduroy-lined with modern drains, which keep -the feet perfectly dry. In the large dugouts the men, except those -doing sentry duty, sleep comfortably on dry straw. There are special -dugouts for officers and artillery observers. - -Although the maps show the lines of fighting to be rather wavy, one -must go to the front really to appreciate the zigzag, snake-like line -that it really is. The particular bit of trenches we visited covered a -front of twelve miles; but so irregular was the line, so intricate and -vast the system of intrenchments, that they measured 200 miles on that -particular twelve-mile fighting front. - -Leaving the trenches at the rear of the communication _boyaux_, it -is astonishing how little of the war can be seen. Ten feet after we -left our trenches we could not see even the entrance. We stood in a -beautiful open field having our pictures taken, and a few hundred yards -away our motor waited behind some trees. Suddenly we heard a "zip zip" -over our heads. German snipers were taking shots at us. - -With all considerations for the statement that the Germans have the -greatest fighting machine the world has ever seen, the French army to -me seemed invincible from the standpoints of power, intelligence and -humanity. This latter quality, judging from the generals in command to -the men in the trenches, especially impressed me. I did not and I do -not believe that an army with such ideals as the French army can be -beaten. - -So I wrote my cable and sent it to Captain Blank. He viséd it, at the -same time sending me a letter which I cherish among my possessions. He -thanked me for the sentiments I had expressed and told me that a copy -of the story would be sent to General Joffre. - -A few days later I met the _doyen_ of war correspondents, Frederick -Villiers, in a boulevard café. He was out with me on that trip. But he -began war-corresponding with Archibald Forbes at the battle of Plevna. -This is his seventeenth war. I said to him: - -"Mr. Villiers, what did you do with the story of this trip to the -front; you who have been in so many battles; you who have had a camel -shot under you in the desert; you who escaped from Port Arthur; you -who have seen more war than any living man? What do you think of this -latest edition of war?" - -He answered: "It is different, very different, in many ways; but this -trip from which we have just returned is the biggest war spectacle that -I've ever had!" - -Villiers, too, had seen the French army. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -JOFFRE - - -"Give the French a leader and they can do anything." Before the war and -since I have heard this thought more than any other expressed in cafés, -homes and political assemblies. - -Forty-four years before the present war, almost to a day, France -discovered that her last Napoleon had only the name of his great -ancestor, and none of his genius. During all that time she had prayed -for a new leader--not of the name, for Bonaparte princes may not even -fight for France--but for genius sufficient to restore her former -military prestige among the nations. - -General Joffre, at the beginning of the war, had been head of the -army for only three years. He had received his supreme command as -a compromise between political parties. No one knew anything about -him--he had a good military record and was considered "safe." But -at the last grand maneuvers he had given the nation a sudden jar -by unceremoniously and without comment dismissing five gold-laced -generals. - -On one of the first days of the war, at four in the morning, I was -walking home--all taxis were mobilized--after a night passed in writing -cable copy for my newspaper concerning the momentous tragedy that faced -the world. - -I was accompanied by a journalistic confrère; our route led along the -Quai d'Orsay, past the Foreign Office, where the Cabinet of France had -been sitting all night in war council. It was just daybreak. The sun -was beginning to glint on the waters of the Seine. We walked up the -Boulevard des Invalides and halted, without speaking, but in common -thought, before the tomb of Napoleon Bonaparte. The sun suddenly broke -in splendor over the golden dome. - -"It seems like a good omen," I said to my friend. - -"Yes--if France had a Napoleon to-day ..." was his reply. - -He was a newcomer to Paris. - -"Tell me about the Commander-in-Chief," he asked me. "Who is Joffre, -anyway?" - -I told him what everybody knew, which was almost nothing. - -[Illustration: GENERAL JOFFRE LUNCHING JUST BEHIND THE FIGHTING LINE IN -CHAMPAGNE] - -Now let me shift the picture from the tomb of Napoleon on a sunny -morning in August. It is a bleak day on the undulating plains of -Champagne--a few kilometers to the rear of the battle-lines, where -the French had been steadily gaining ground for several weeks. Only -the week before they brilliantly stormed the hills where the Germans -had entrenched after the battle of the Marne, and they captured every -position. - -A fine drizzle had been falling since early morning, making the -ground soggy and slippery. Along the roads the crowds of peasants and -inhabitants of near-by villages are sloshing toward the great open -plain. But all the roads are barred by sentries and they are turned -back. No civilian eyes except those of a half dozen newspapermen -may see what is to happen there. Yes, something _is_ to happen -there--something impressive--something soul-stirring--but there are to -be no cheering spectators, no heraldry and no pomp. - -It is to be a military pageant, without the crowd. It is a change from -the ante-bellum military show at Longchamps on the fourteenth of July, -when the tricolor waved everywhere, when the President of the Republic -and the generals of the army in brilliant uniforms reviewed the troops -of France, and all the great world was there to see. - -This is to be a review of the troops who took the hills back there a -little way, sweeping on and up to victory while a murderous German -fire poured into them, dropping them by thousands. Through that clump -of trees sticking up in the mud, are little crosses marking the graves -of the dead. - -Fifteen thousand of the victorious troops will pass in review to-day -before the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied armies. Down across the -field you can hear the distant notes of a bugle. They are taken up -by other buglers at various points. Then across the field comes -a regimental band. The players have been in the charge too--with -rifles instead of musical instruments. This is their first chance to -play in months--and play they do. You hear the martial notes of the -Marseillaise floating across the field, played with a force that must -have been heard in the German lines. - -The regiments take up their positions at one side of the field. General -Langle de Carry, commander of the army that did the Champagne fighting, -with only a half dozen officers, take positions at the reviewing stand. -The reviewing stand is a hillock of mud. Both general and officers wear -the long overcoats of the light "horizon blue," the new color of the -French army. - -A man emerges from the line of trees behind the group and plows his way -across the mud. He is large and bulky. He plants his feet firmly at -each step--splashing the mud out in all directions. He wears a short -jacket of the "horizon blue" and no overcoat. He wears the old red -trousers of the beginning of the war. His hat, around which you can -see the golden band of oak leaves signifying that he is a general, is -pulled low over his eyes. Drops of rain are on his grizzled mustache. A -leather belt is about his powerful body, but he wears no sword. - -Langle de Carry and his officers whirl about quickly at his approach. -Every hand is raised in salute. The bulky man touches the visor of his -hat in response--then plants both his large ungloved fists upon his -hips. His feet are spread slightly apart. He speaks to de Carry in a -low voice. As you have already guessed, this big man is Joffre. - -You were told at the beginning of the war that Joffre was a little fat -man--like Napoleon. That is not true. Joffre is a big man. He is even a -tall man, but does not look so because of his bulk. Few men possess, at -his age, such a powerful or so healthy a body. That is why he can cover -so many miles of battle front in his racing auto every day. That is -why he shows not the slightest sign of the wear and tear of war. - -No time is lost in conversation. The bugles blew again and the -regiments of heroes began their march past the muddy reviewing stand. -Even in their battle-stained uniforms, every regiment looked "smart." -When they came abreast of Joffre, stolidly and solidly standing a step -in advance of the others, the long line of rifles raised in salute is -as straight as ever that of a German regiment on parade at Potsdam, -despite deep and slippery mud. - -After the infantry came the famous "seventy-fives" with the -same machine-like precision that before the war we always -associated with Germans. The review ends with a regiment of heavy -cavalry--cuirassiers--coming at full charge, rising high in their -stirrups, with swords aloft, and breaking into a battle yell when they -passed "Father Joffre," as he is called by his soldiers. - -Through it all he stands motionless, feet apart, one hand planted on -his hip, raising the other to the visor of his hat, peering beneath -it straight ahead with unblinking eyes. As the men pass this general -without a sword, with no medals, no gold braid, no overcoat--and in -old red trousers--the rain pelting upon him, the look on their faces -is one of adoration. It matters not to them that there are no cheering -crowds, no crashing bands, no gala atmosphere. The one eye in France -that they care about is upon them. - -The long line then forms facing him, and the men to receive decorations -advance. One of them--a private--is to receive the _médaille -militaire_, the greatest war decoration in the world, for it can only -be given to privates, or to generals commanding armies who have already -received the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor. Joffre himself only -won it after the battle of the Marne. - -The private now to receive the medal is brought before the -Commander-in-Chief, who pins it upon his breast. Joffre throws both his -great arms about the private's shoulders and kisses him on both cheeks. -The long line of soldiers remains perfectly quiet. But in the eyes of -many of them are tears. - -The program is ended. Father Joffre gets into his low, gray automobile -and disappears in a swirl of mud, to some other part of the "zone of -operations." - -The army now knows it has the real leader that it waited for so long. -To the general public of France Joffre is still a mystery. But they -are content with their mystery--they have faith in him. That is -the spirit of the new France--a quiet faith and determination that -certainly has deceived the rest of the world, especially Germany. It is -the spirit of a nation that has found itself, and Joffre typifies it. - -A few books have appeared giving some information about the -Commander-in-Chief. They deal chiefly with his march to Timbuctoo and -his career in Indo-China. For the rest, Parisians know that before the -war he lived quietly in a little villa in Auteuil, and that next to his -love for his family, the things he regarded as best in all the world -are peace and fishing. Recently it was learned that he commandeered a -barge on one of the rivers near the battle line--and there he sometimes -sits and quietly fishes while thinking out new army plans. His only -other recreation at the front is reading at night before going to bed -from his favorite authors, Balzac, Dumas and Charles Dickens. Joffre -understands English and reads it but will not speak it. "It is that he -has an accent which he likes not," explained one of his officers. - -What Parisians cannot understand is how it was that this quiet, -perfectly unemotional man came into being in the Midi--as Southern -France is called. From the Midi, as from Corsica, come the hotheads -and the firebrands. The crowd certainly expected, when this war came, -that the Commander-in-Chief of the army would give Paris a real treat -before going forth to battle--that he would parade the boulevards in -dress uniform at the head of his troops. Alas! Paris has scarcely heard -a band play since the war began. - -All the time that Joffre lived in the little villa in Auteuil he was -planning and waiting for the day when he should go forth to battle. He -was a fatalist to the extent that he felt by reason of his appointment -to office three years before that he was the chosen man to administer -"the revenge"--that he would lead the armies of France against Germany. -He never forgot it for an instant. It was Joffre who did everything -that a human being could do before the war, to prepare for _the day_. -It was Joffre who perfected the scheme of mobilization, so that France -was not caught entirely unprepared. - -The word "prepare" was always on his lips. His command of language is -forcible, as his "orders of the day" have shown. In one of his early -addresses to the students of the École Polytechnique, his closing -words, uttered with a vigor that simply burned into the students, -were: "May God forgive France if she is not ready." - -And so when the war drums indeed began to roll--when a military régime -was declared throughout France, and the politicians entered either into -retirement or uniform--France suddenly learned that she had a regular -czar on the job. The dismissal of five generals at maneuvers was not -a patch on what was about to happen to the gold-laced brigade--after -the battle of Charleroi, for instance. Joffre has retired so many -generals that the public has lost track of the number. Usually he does -it with an utterly disconcerting lack of comment or explanation. Only -occasionally does he assign that General Blank has been dropped from -active service "for reasons of health." - -But he is just as quick with promotions. The brilliant de Maud'huy, for -instance, who was only a brigade commander in the battle of the Marne, -now commands an entire army. - -I asked a high officer concerning the war councils at the "Grand -Quartier General." His reply was brief. "The war council," he said, -"is Joffre. He just tells everybody what to do--and they do it." That -is Napoleonic enough, isn't it? Not even the President of France may -go to the front without Joffre's permission--and if the Minister of -War entered the zone of operations without a _laisser-passer_ from the -Grand Quartier General he would very likely be arrested. Only Joffre -would call it "detention"--not arrest. - -And as for journalists in that forbidden zone of operations--well--has -not enough been written already concerning journalists going to jail? -But even to journalists Joffre is entirely fair--only journalists must -play the game according to Joffre's rules. - -I happen to know that Joffre has a thoroughly organized press -clipping bureau at the Ministry of War and every week marked -papers--particularly those of neutral nations--are presented to him. -One of my proud possessions is a letter that I received from an officer -of this bureau stating that one of my cables to the _New York Times_ -had been favorably commented on by the Commander-in-Chief. - -"Is this man a great military genius?" is still a question often -asked--despite the fact that he has a hold on the army such as no man -has had since Napoleon Bonaparte. The war is not over. The Germans are -still in France. Nevertheless all military observers and critics with -whom I have talked agree on one point. That is that the two weeks' -retreat which culminated in the battle of the Marne showed Joffre to be -a strategist of the very highest order. And any man who could direct -the retreat of an army, especially a French army, for two weeks and -so preserve that army's morale that he could then turn it around to -victory, must have great qualities of genius. - -Ever since, Joffre has given ample evidence of his quality as a master -in the art of war, but he has forsaken the code of war known as the -Napoleonic strategy which was in brief: "Go where your enemy does not -expect you to go." Joffre knows perfectly well that in modern war, -over such a vast front, such tactics are impossible; he knows that -ninety-nine times out of one hundred your enemy, through his aeroplanes -and spies, will know where you are going. - -Joffre indicated his idea of modern strategy some months after the war -began when he said, "I am nibbling at them." The nibbles have gradually -become mouthfuls. - -Joffre thinks all war is too useless for unnecessary sacrifice of men. -He saves them all he can. That is why he would not send reenforcements -when the Germans attacked in front of Soissons, in the presence of the -Kaiser. The Germans were vastly superior in numbers at that point. The -weather was frightful. Joffre figured that the French losses would be -too heavy in a general battle there. He knew too that the swollen river -Aisne would quite as effectively prevent a German advance. And it did. -Joffre did not send reenforcements to Soissons in face of both appeals -and public opinion. - -Nothing moves him, when he is convinced that he is right. And a general -of a combination of armies who doggedly does what he wants to do, -whatever any one else thinks about it--who dismisses all opposition -with a very quiet wave of the hand, as Joffre does, undoubtedly -possesses an overpowering personality. - -Joffre is the last man on earth to hold his enemy lightly. No man -knows better than he how strong the Germans are. But he will keep up -that steady hammering, first at this point--then at that point--then -simultaneously all along the line, pressing them back one mile here and -two miles there, until the German army is beaten and out of France. -That is what has been going on now, although a large scale map is -necessary to note just how steadily and how gradually the Germans have -been pressed back everywhere by the advancing French wall of steel. - -Let us go back a moment to that sunny August dawn of the beginning -of the war. I said to my friend as we stood looking at the tomb of -Napoleon Bonaparte: "I wonder what that man would do if he could come -out of that block of granite and command this army?" - -My friend replied: - -"I think he would shut himself up in a room and read all night the -history of all wars from his day to now. Then in the morning he would -call in a few generals and hear them talk. After that he would take -lunch with some manufacturers of arms and ammunition. He would take tea -with some boss mathematicians and scientists. He might then go for a -walk alone. By dinner, I believe he would be on to the job of modern -military strategy and ready for work." - -Whether General Joseph Joffre is the reincarnation of Napoleon -Bonaparte, I am unable to even discuss. He is the perfect antithesis of -the little Corsican in many ways, and he has tackled a bigger job than -Bonaparte ever dreamed of. But the heart of a nation never beat more -hopefully than that of the new and united France. - -"When the war is over--and if Joffre is the conqueror--what will he do -then?"--is another question asked nowadays. I have heard it remarked -that private life with comparative oblivion may not be easy for the -great military hero who now has both a Belgian king and a British field -marshal taking his orders. - -And I have already heard comment on what a great show Paris will -have when the war is over--how the Grand Army of France headed by -Father Joffre will march under the Arch of Triumph and down the -Champs-Elysées--while the applauding world looks on. - -Perhaps so. I do not know. I have already said that two things Joffre -loves best in all the world, next to his family, are peace and fishing. -I have a private suspicion that once peace is declared, Father Joffre -may turn his back upon Paris and go fishing. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE MAN OF THE MARNE AND THE YSER - - -It was a drippy day--a day when winter overcoats were uncomfortable -but necessary to protect against a wind that swept over the plateau -of Artois. A party of newspapermen were beginning a war-corresponding -de luxe program arranged by the French war office. The Paris-Boulogne -express had been commanded to stop at Amiens, where limousines were -waiting in charge of an officer of the Great General Staff. - -I knew Amiens of old. As an ambulance driver at the beginning of the -war, when the unpopularity of correspondents reached the maximum, I had -brought wounded to the Amiens hospitals. So I knew the roads in all -directions. - -I pushed the raindrops from the automobile window. We were not going -in the direction of the battle lines but parallel with them, and then -bending into a road toward the rear. I communicated this intelligence -to my companions. One of them, an old-timer, yawned and said: - -"Oh, it is usually this way on the first day of a trip. We are probably -on the way to visit some general. It takes a lot of time but we must -act as though we liked it." - -"But if the general is a Somebody, it will be worth while, especially -if we can interview," suggested another. - -"We cannot," the old-timer said composedly, "and he probably will not -be a Somebody. This is a long battle line. They have a lot of generals. -We are probably calling on only a general of brigade. It is possible -that we will not remember his name. He will tell us that we are -welcome. It is a drawback of modern war corresponding, especially if he -invites us to dinner." - -"Why, what would be the matter with that?" - -"The dinner will be excellent," was the answer. "The dinner of a -general begins with _hors d'œuvres_ and ends with cordials--two or -three different brands. There will be speeches and there will be no -visit to the trenches--there will be no time." - -There was no response and our car sloshed along in the rain. - -We stopped before a little red brick cottage set back from the road -in the midst of a grove of pines. A gravel walk led to the steps of a -small square veranda where a sentry stood at salute. We were in the -country. No other houses were near. - -A young lieutenant ran down the walk and greeted us. - -"I don't know how you will be received inside," was his strange -utterance. "He said he wanted to see you. That is why we sent word to -Amiens. But it doesn't matter whether you are journalists or generals. -He treats all comers the same--that is, just according to how he feels. -He will either talk to you or he will expect you to do all the talking. -I just wanted to tell you in advance to expect anything." - -I climbed out of the car, wondering. I followed the young lieutenant -into the building. I stood with the others in a little reception hall -where an orderly took our hats and coats. Facing us was a door. On it -was pinned a white page torn from an ordinary writing pad. Scrawled in -ink, were the words, "_Bureau du Général_." - -The party was curiously silent. I felt that this visit to a general -would be different from anything I had experienced before. We all -became a little restless and nervous. I turned toward a table near the -wall. On it was a French translation of Kipling's "Jungle Book." I -picked it up thinking how curious it was to find such a book at the -headquarters of a general. I gasped with surprise as I saw the name of -the general written on the first page. - -[Illustration: GENERAL FOCH - -"The Man of the Marne and the Yser"] - -A buzzer sounded and an orderly bounded in from the veranda, threw open -the door marked with the white writing page, turned to us, saying, -"_Entrez, Messieurs_." - -We entered a large room with many windows, all hung with dainty white -lace. Despite the gloomy day the room seemed sunny, for there were at -least a dozen vases filled with yellow flowers. Between two dormer -windows opening upon a garden was stretched a great yellow map, dotted -with lines and stuck all over with tiny tricolored flags. Before this -map and studying it closely, with his back half turned toward us, stood -a little man. A thick stump of unlighted cigar was between his teeth. -His shoulders were thrown back, his hands clutched tightly behind him. -He wore the full uniform of a general, with long cavalry boots and -spurs. At the sound of our entrance, he swung about dramatically, on -one heel. We caught sight of the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor -blazing on his breast. He wore no other decorations, and I noted the -absence of a sword. The light fell full upon his handsome, but ravaged -and aging face. The memory of all that I had heard about him raced -across my mind in the short time before I felt him seize my hand, saw -his blue eyes boring into mine, heard him asking questions and stating -facts directly to me. For this was the man who sent the famous message -to General Joffre at the critical moment of the battle of the Marne, -that inasmuch as his left was crushed and his right thrown back, he -proposed to attack with his center. This was the man who later stemmed -the German tide at the Yser, and saved Calais and the Channel ports. -This was the man who has ever since commanded the Group of Armies of -the North, Belgian, English and French, driving the enemy inch by inch -through the Labyrinth and out of Artois. This man, the dashing _beau -ideal_ of the French army, the great strategist of the École de Guerre, -the nearest of all Frenchmen to approach the "man on horseback" picture -of the military hero, this man who was talking to me, and frankly -telling me of important things was General Foch. - -I found myself answering his questions mechanically. I told him the -name of the paper that I represented, also that this was my third visit -to the battle front in Artois. - -"Ah, yes. I know your paper," he said. "I read it. It has been one of -the great forums for the discussion of the war. You have printed both -sides of the question." - -"But we are in favor of the Allies!" I interrupted. - -"I know that also--that is why you have come a third time to Artois." - -The next correspondent in the line was a Spaniard. Foch eyed him for a -moment. "I know you," he said. "I met you in Madrid six years ago." The -correspondent bowed with amazement at the general's memory. He passed -along the line, shaking hands. He stopped before a tall Dutchman, the -representative of a paper in Amsterdam. - -"Ho! Ho!--the big representative of a little nation." The Dutchman -was poked in the ribs with the genial index finger of the General's -right hand. "Don't you know that if Germany wins, your country will -be swallowed up? You have developed a great commerce and valuable -industries. Germany will never be your friend. As of old, the big fish -will eat the little one." Then he swung back down the line, in my -direction. - -"You have already been twice on my battle front. You have seen a great -difference between the first and second trips. You will see another -great change now. Perhaps you will come here still again--for the last -great offensive,--in Artois." - -"What do you mean, _mon general_?" I asked. - -The little man was silent for a moment, chewing the end of his cigar -and looking steadily, first at one and then at another of us. I shall -never forget his words. They revealed the cardinal necessity for waging -modern war. - -"We have shown," he said slowly, "that we can go through them any time -we like. The great need is shells. The consumption of shells during -the last offensive was fantastic. But still we did not shoot enough." -He stopped, then said still more slowly: "The next time we will shoot -enough." - -"And then, _mon general_?" asked the Spaniard. "And then?" - -"And then," Foch replied, "and then we shall keep on advancing, and the -Germans will have to go away." - -He again swung dramatically on his heel, until his back was turned to -us. "_Au revoir, Messieurs_," he said, and as we filed silently and -somewhat dazedly from the room, he was again standing before the huge -map, chewing the cigar, his shoulders thrust back, and his hands -clasped tightly behind him. - -The young lieutenant climbed into our car. He explained that the -general had delegated him to the party. He went with us through the -trenches on succeeding days and said good-by only when we took the -train for Paris. He was a brilliant young officer and before the -war had been a foreign correspondent for _Le Temps_. For that great -newspaper he had "covered" campaigns in Asia and Africa. Now he -explained that he was to be official historian of the campaigns of -General Foch. - -"I am the latest comer on his staff," the lieutenant said, "so there -was not much room for me and he has given me a holiday with you. He has -not a large staff, but the house as you see is very little. So I have -the room that a baby occupied before the war." The young man smiled and -looked down at his stalwart frame. "There was only a little cot and a -rocking horse in the room. I sleep on the floor. I shall keep the cot -for the baby." - -This conversation took place on the last day of our trip, amidst the -ruins of Arras. The lieutenant talked continually of his general. He -explained how the general had told him in detail, and illustrated by -making a plan with matches, the great movement of troops during the -battle of the Marne that started the German retreat. - -"The general broke all his own rules of war," he explained; "all those -rules that he taught so long in the École de Guerre. He moved an entire -division--half of the famous Forty-second Corps, while it was under -fire--he stretched out the remainder of the corps in a thin line across -its place, and moved the division behind his entire army, then flung -them against the Prussian Guard as it was beginning the attack on the -center. The moving of troops already engaged with the enemy had never -been done in any war before." - -"But he staked his whole reputation--his military career on it?" I -asked. - -The Lieutenant smiled. "Oh, yes," he replied, "but after he gave the -order, he went for a long walk in the country with a member of his -staff, who told me afterwards that not once was the war mentioned, and -they were gone three hours. All that time they talked about Spanish -art and Spanish music. When they returned to headquarters, the general -merely asked if there was any news, knowing well that perhaps he might -hear news which would make his name hated forever. He was told the -tide had turned and we were winning the battle. He merely grunted and -lighted a fresh cigar." - -We all remained silent and then a number of desultory questions were -asked about the position of the troops. The lieutenant again explained -with matches. "The general showed it to me with matches, as I have -already shown." He spoke reverently, his voice almost a whisper. "And I -have those matches that the general used." - -In Arras there was just one house left where we could take luncheon--a -fine old mansion belonging to a friend of our guide from the Great -General Staff. We brought our food and soldiers served it in a stately -room with a massive beamed ceiling and stags' antlers decorating the -walls. A tapestry concealed one wall. The officer pulled it aside to -show that we sat in only half a room; the other half had been entirely -destroyed by shells. From the cellar an orderly brought some of the -finest burgundy in France. There was a piano in one corner of the room. -When coffee was served, our Captain sat at the instrument and played -snatches of Schubert, Mozart and Beethoven. - -The discussion at the table turned to music. At the same moment a -shell burst a few hundred yards down the street. - -"Play Wagner," some one asked. - -A member of our party who had been in Russia said: - -"Do you permit German music? In Russia it is forbidden." - -The officer replied: - -"How stupid! Things which are beautiful remain beautiful," and he -played an air from "Tristan" as a shell went screaming overhead. - -The young lieutenant, handsome and debonair, turned to me: - -"This is fine," he said. "Here we are in the last house in Arras where -this scene is possible, and perhaps to-morrow this place will all be -gone--perhaps in ten minutes." He laughed and the piano was silenced by -the explosion of another shell. - -We climbed into our automobiles and hurried out of town along a road -in plain sight of the German guns. I thought of what General Foch -had said: "We can go through them any time we desire." I got out my -military map and looked at the German line, slipping gradually from -the plateau of Artois into the plain of Douai--the plain that contains -Lens, Douai and Lille and sweeps away across the frontier of Belgium. -That was the place to which General Foch referred when he said the -Germans "must keep on going away." I turned to an officer beside me in -the car. I said: "When the French guns are sweeping that plain it means -the end of the Germans in Northern France?" He smiled and nodded, while -I offered a silent prayer that on that day I might be permitted by the -military authorities to make my fourth visit to Artois, to see the -decisive victory of French arms that I believe will take place there -under the command of General Foch, and that will help largely to bring -this war to a close. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH - - -This is a story about what, in the minds of the French military -authorities, ranks as the greatest battle in the western theater of -operations, following the battle of the Marne. - -So far as I know the battle has never received an official name. The -French _communiqués_ have always vaguely referred to it as "operations -in the sector north of Arras." - -I cannot minutely describe the conflict; no one can do that now. I can, -however, tell what I saw there when the Ministry of War authorized -me to accompany a special mission there, to which I was the only -foreigner accredited. I purpose to call this struggle the Battle of the -Labyrinth, for "labyrinth" is the name applied to the vast system of -entrenchments all through that region, and from which the Germans have -been literally blasted almost foot by foot by an extravagant use of -French melinite. This battle was of vital importance because a French -defeat at the Labyrinth would allow the Germans to sweep clear across -Northern France, cutting off all communication with England. - -The battle of the Labyrinth really began in October, 1914, when General -de Maud'huy stopped the Prussian Guard before Arras with his motley -array of tired territorials, whom he had gathered together in a mighty -rush northward after the battle of the Marne. These crack Guards -regiments afterward took on the job at Ypres, while the Crown Prince -of Bavaria assumed the vain task of attempting to break de Maud'huy's -resistance and cut a more southward passage to the sea. - -All winter de Maud'huy worried him, not seeking to make a big advance, -but contenting himself with the record of never having lost a single -trench. With the return of warm weather, just after the big French -advance in Champagne, this sector was chosen by Joffre as the place in -which to take the heart out of his enemy by the delivery of a mighty -blow. - -The Germans probably thought that the French intended to concentrate -in the Vosges, as next door to Champagne; so they carted all their -poison gases there and to Ypres, where their ambition still maintains -ascendency over their good sense. But where the Germans think Joffre -is likely to strike is usually the place furthest from his thoughts. -Activities in the Arras sector were begun under the personal command -and direction of the Commander-in-Chief. - -I doubt whether until the war is over it will be possible adequately to -describe the battle, or rather, the series of battles extending along -this particular front of about fifty miles. "Labyrinth" certainly is -the fittest word to call it. I always had a fairly accurate sense of -direction; but, it was impossible for me, standing in many places in -this giant battlefield, to say where were the Germans and where the -French, so confusing was the constant zigzag of the trenches. Sometimes -when I was positive that a furious cannonade coming from a certain -position was German, it turned out to be French. At other times, when I -thought I was safely going in the direction of the French, I was hauled -back by officers who told me I was heading directly into the German -line of fire. I sometimes felt that the German lines were on three -sides, and often I was quite correct. On the other hand, the French -lines often almost completely surround the German positions. - -One could not tell from the nearness of the artillery fire whether it -was from friend or foe. Artillery makes three different noises; first, -the sharp report followed by detonations like thunder, when the shell -first leaves the gun; second, the rushing sound of the shell passing -high overhead; third, the shrill whistle, followed by the crash when -it finally explodes. In the Labyrinth the detonations which usually -indicated the French fire might be from the German batteries stationed -close by but unable to get our range, and firing at a section of the -French lines some miles away. I finally determined that when a battery -fired fast it was French; for the German fire became more intermittent -every day. - -I shall try to give some idea of what this fighting looks like. Late -one afternoon, coming out of a trench into a green meadow, I suddenly -found myself backed against a mud-bank made of the dirt taken from the -trenches. We were just at the crest of a hill. In khaki clothes I was -of the same color as the mud-bank; so an officer told me I was in a -fairly safe position. - -Modern war becomes a somewhat flat affair after the first impressions -have been dulled. - -We blotted ourselves against our mud-bank, carefully adjusted our -glasses, turned them toward the valley before us, whence came the -sound of exploding shells, and watched a village dying in the sunset. -It was only about a thousand yards away--I didn't even ask whether -it was in French or German possession. A loud explosion, a roll of -dense black smoke, penetrated at once by the long, horizontal rays -of sun, revealing tumbling roofs and crumbling walls. A few seconds' -intermission; then another explosion; a public school in the main -street sagged suddenly in the center. With no pause came a succession -of explosions, and the building was prone upon the ground--a jagged -pile of broken stones. - -We turned our glasses on the other end of the village. A column of -black smoke was rising where the church had caught fire. We watched it -awhile in silence. Ruins were getting very common. I swept the glasses -away from the hamlet altogether and pointed out over the distant fields -to the left. - -"Where are the German trenches?" I asked the Major. - -"I'll show you--just a moment!" he answered, and at the same time -signaling to a soldier squatting in the entrance to a trench near by, -he ordered the man to convey a message to the telephone station, which -connected with a "seventy-five" battery at our rear. I was on the point -of telling the officer not to bother about it. The words were on my -lips; then I thought: "Oh, never mind! I might as well know where the -trenches are, now that I have asked." - -The soldier disappeared. "Watch!" said the officer. We peered intently -across the fields to the left. In less than a minute there were two -sharp explosions behind us, two puffs of smoke out on the horizon -before us, about a mile away. - -"That's where they are!" the officer said. "Both shells went right into -them!" - -Away to the right of the village, now reduced to ruins, was another -larger village; we squared around on our mud bank to look at that. -This town was more important; it was Neuville-Saint-Vaast, which was -occupied by both French and Germans, the former slowly retaking it, -house by house. We were about half a mile away. We could see little; -for strangely, in this business of house-to-house occupation, most of -the fighting is in the cellars. But I could well imagine what was going -on, for I had already walked through the ruins of Vermelles, another -town now entirely in French possession, but taken in the same fashion -after two months' dogged inch-by-inch advances. - -So, when, looking at Neuville-Saint-Vaast, I suddenly heard a -tremendous explosion and saw a great mass of masonry and débris of all -descriptions flying high in the air, I knew just what had happened. -The French--for it is always the French who do it--had burrowed, sapped -and dug themselves laboriously, patiently, slowly, by torturous, narrow -underground routes from one row of houses under the foundations of the -next row of houses. There they had planted mines. The explosion I had -just witnessed was of a mine. Much of the débris I saw flying through -space had been German soldiers a few seconds before. - -Before the smoke died away we heard a savage yell. That was the French -cry of victory; then we heard a rapid cracking of rifles. The French -had evidently advanced across the space between the houses to finish -the work of their mine. When one goes to view the work of these mines -afterward all that one sees is a great round, smooth hole in the -ground--sometimes 30 feet deep, often twice that in diameter. Above it -might have been either a château or a stable; unless one has an old -resident for guide it is impossible to know. - -It takes many days and nights to prepare these mines. It takes correct -mathematical calculation to place them. It takes morale, judgment, -courage, and intelligence--this fighting from house to house. And yet -the French are called a frivolous people! - -A cry from a soldier warned us of a German aeroplane directly -overhead; so we stopped gazing at Neuville-Saint-Vaast. A French -aeroplane soon appeared, and the German one made off rapidly. They -usually do, as most German war planes are too light to carry anything -but rifles and bombs; French machines, while slower, all have -mitrailleuses. A fight between them is unequal, and the inequality is -not easily overcome. - -Four French machines were now circling above, and the German batteries -opened fire on them. It was a beautiful sight. There was not a cloud -in the sky, and the sun had not yet gone. We could not hear the shells -explode, but little feathery white clouds suddenly appeared as if some -giant invisible hand had just put them there--high up in the sky. -Another appeared; then another. Several dozen little white clouds were -vividly outlined against the blue before the French machines, all -untouched, turned back to their own lines. - -The soldier with us suddenly threw himself face down on the ground; a -second after a German shell tore a hole in the field before us, less -than a hundred yards away. I asked the officer if we had been seen, -and if they were firing at us. He said he did not think so, but we -had perhaps better move. As a matter of fact, they were hunting the -battery that had so accurately shown us their trenches a short time -before. - -Instead of returning to the point where we had left our motors by the -trench, we walked across an open field in a direction which I thought -was precisely the wrong one. High above us, continually, was a rushing -sound like giant wings. Occasionally, when a shell struck near us, we -heard the shrill whistling sound, and half a dozen times in the course -of the walk great holes were torn in our field. But artillery does not -cause fear easily; it is rifles that accomplish that. The sharp hissing -of the bullet resembles so much the sound of a spitting cat, seems so -personal--as if it was intended just for you. - -Artillery is entirely impersonal; you know that the gunners do not -see you; that they are firing by arithmetic at a certain range; that -their shell is not intended for any one in particular. So you walk on, -among daisies and buttercups. You calculate the distance between you -and the bursting shell. You somehow feel that nothing will harm you. -You are not afraid; and if you are lucky, as we were, you will find -the automobiles waiting for you just over there beyond the brow of the -hill. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -"WITH THE HONORS OF WAR" - - -It was just dawn when I got off a train at Gerbéviller, the little -"Martyr City" that hides its desolation as it hid its existence in the -foothills of the Vosges. - -There was a dense fog. At 6 A.M. fog usually covers the valleys of -the Meurthe and Moselle. From the station I could see only a building -across the road. A gendarme demanded my credentials. I handed him the -_laisser-passer_ from the Quartier Général of the "First French Army," -which controls all coming and going, all activity in that region. -The gendarme demanded to know the hour when I proposed to leave. I -told him. He said it would be necessary to have the permit "viséd for -departure" at the headquarters of the gendarmerie. He pointed to the -hazy outlines of another building just distinguishable through the fog. - -This was proof that the town contained buildings--not just a building. -The place was not entirely destroyed, as I had supposed. I went down -the main street from the station, the fog enveloping me. I had letters -to the town officials, but it was too early in the morning to present -them. I would first get my own impressions of the wreck and ruin. - -But I could see nothing on either hand as I stumbled along in the mud. -So I commented to myself that this was not as bad as some places I had -seen. I thought of the substantial station and the buildings across the -road--untouched by war. I compared Gerbéviller with places where there -is not even a station--where not even one house remains as the result -of "the day when the Germans came." - -The road was winding and steep, dipping down to the swift little stream -that twists a turbulent passage through the town. The day was coming -fast but the fog remained white and impenetrable. After a few minutes -I began to see dark shapes on either side of the road. Tall, thin, -irregular shapes, some high, some low, but with outlines all softened, -toned down by the banks of white vapor. - -I started across the road to investigate and fell across a pile of -jagged masonry on the sidewalk. Through the fog I could see tumbled -piles of bricks. The shapes still remained--specters that seemed -to move in the light from the valley. An odor that was not of the -freshness of the morning assailed me. I climbed across the walk. No -wall of buildings barred my path, but I mounted higher on the piles -of brick and stones. A heavy black shape was now at my left hand. I -looked up and in the shadow there was no fog. I could see a crumbled -swaying side of a house that was. The odor I noticed was that caused -by fire. Sticking from the wall I could see the charred wood joists -that once supported the floor of the second story. Higher, the lifting -fog permitted me to see the waving boughs of a tree that hung over -the house that was. At my feet, sticking out of a pile of bricks and -stones, were the twisted iron fragments of a child's bed. I climbed out -into the sunshine. - -I was standing in the midst of a desolation and a silence that were -profound. There was nothing there that lived, except a few fire-blacked -trees that stuck up here and there in the shelter of broken walls. Now -I understood the meaning of the spectral shapes. They were nothing but -the broken walls of the other houses that were. They were all that -remained of nine-tenths of Gerbéviller. - -I wandered along to where the street turned sharply. There the ground -pitched straight to the little river. Half of a house stood there, -unscathed by fire; it was one of those unexplainable freaks that often -occur in great catastrophes. Even the window glass was intact. Smoke -was coming from the chimney. I went to the opposite side and there -stood an old woman looking out toward the river, brooding over the ruin -stretching below her. - -"You are lucky," I said. "You still have your home." - -She turned a toothless countenance toward me and threw out her hands. I -judged her to be well over seventy. It wasn't her home, she explained. -Her home was "là-bas"--pointing vaguely in the distance. She had lived -there fifty years--now it was burned. Her son's house, he had saved -thirty years to be able to call it his own, was also gone; but then her -son was dead, so what did it matter? Yes, he was shot on the day the -Germans came. He was ill, but they killed him. Oh, yes, she saw him -killed. When the Germans went away she came to his house and built a -fire in the stove. It was very cold. - -And why were the houses burned? No; it was not the result of -bombardment. Gerbéviller was not bombarded until after the houses were -burned. They were burned by the Germans systematically. They went -from house to house with their torches and oil and pitch. They did not -explain why they burned the houses, but it was because they were angry. - -The old woman paused a moment, and a faint flicker of a smile showed in -the wrinkles about her eyes. I asked her to continue her story. - -"You said because they were angry," I prompted. The smile broadened. -Oh, yes, they were angry, she explained. They did not even make the -excuse that the villagers fired upon them. They were just angry through -and through. And it was all because of those seventy-five French -chasseurs who held the bridge. - -Some one called to her from the house. She hobbled to the door. -"Any one can tell you about the seventy-five chasseurs," she said, -disappearing within. - -I went on down the road and stood upon the bridge over the swift little -river. It was a narrow, tiny bridge only wide enough for one wagon to -pass. Two roads from the town converged there, the one over which I -had passed and another which formed a letter "V" at the junction with -the bridge. Across the river only one road led away from the bridge -and it ran straight up a hill, when it turned suddenly into the broad -national highway to Lunéville, about five miles away. - -One house remained standing at the end of the bridge, nearest the town. -Its roof was gone, and its walls bore the marks of hundreds of bullets, -but it was inhabited by a little old man of fifty, who came out to -talk with me. He was the village carpenter. His house was burned, so -he had taken refuge in the little house at the bridge. During the time -the Germans were there he had been a prisoner, but they forgot him the -morning the French army arrived. Everybody was in such a hurry, he -explained. - -I asked him about the seventy-five chasseurs at the bridge. - -Ah, yes, we were then standing on the site of their barricade. He would -tell me about it, for he had seen it all from his house half way up the -hill. - -The chasseurs were first posted across the river on the road to -Lunéville, and when the Germans approached, early in the morning, they -fell back to the bridge, which they had barricaded the night before. -It was the only way into Gerbéviller, so the chasseurs determined to -fight. They had torn up the street and thrown great earthworks across -one end of the bridge. Additional barricades were thrown up on the -two converging streets, part way up the hill, behind which they had -mitrailleuses which could sweep the road at the other end of the bridge. - -About a half mile to the south a narrow footbridge crossed the river, -only wide enough for one man. It was a little rustic affair that ran -through the grounds of the Château de Gerbéviller, which faced the -river only a few hundred yards below the main bridge. It was a very -ancient château, built in the twelfth century and restored in the -seventeenth century. It was a royal château of the Bourbons. In it once -lived the great François de Montmorency, Duc de Luxembourg and Marshal -of France. Now it belonged to the Marquise de Lamberty, a cousin of the -King of Spain. - -I interrupted, for I wanted to hear about the chasseurs. I gave the -little old man a cigarette. He seized it eagerly--so eagerly that I -also handed him a cigar. He fondled that cigar for a moment and then -placed it in an inside pocket. It was a very cheap and very bad French -cigar, for I was in a part of the country that has never heard of -Havanas, but to the little old man it was something precious. "I will -keep it for Sunday," he said. - -I then got him back to the seventy-five chasseurs. It was just eight -o'clock in the morning--a beautiful sunshiny morning--when the German -column appeared around the bend in the road which we could see across -the bridge, and which joined the highway from Lunéville. There were -twelve thousand in that first column. One hundred and fifty thousand -more came later. A band was playing "Deutschland über Alles," and the -men were singing. The closely-packed front ranks of infantry broke into -the goose step as they came in sight of the town. It was a wonderful -sight; the sun glistened on their helmets; they marched as though on -parade right down almost to the opposite end of the bridge. - -Then came the command to halt. For a moment there was a complete -silence. The Germans, only a couple of hundred yards from the -barricade, seemed slowly to consider the situation. The Captain of the -chasseurs, from a shelter behind the very little house that was still -standing--and where his men up the two roads could see him--softly -waved his hand. - -Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack! The bullets from -the mitrailleuses whistled across the bridge into the front ranks of -the "Deutschland über Alles" singers, while the men behind the bridge -barricade began a deadly rifle fire. - -Have you ever heard a mitrailleuse? It is just like a telegraph -instrument, with its insistent clickety click-click-click, only it is a -hundred times as loud. Indeed I have been told by French officers that -it has sometimes been used as a telegraph instrument, so accurately can -its operator reel out its hundred and sixty shots a minute. - -On that morning at the Gerbéviller barricade, however, it went faster -than the telegraph. These men on the converging roads just shifted -their range slightly and poured bullets into the next ranks of infantry -and so on back along the line, until Germans were dropping by the dozen -at the sides of the straight little road. Then the column broke ranks -wildly and fled back into the shelter of the road from Lunéville. - -A half hour later a detachment of cavalry suddenly rounded the corner -and charged straight for the barricade. The seventy-five were ready for -them. Some of them got half way across the bridge and then tumbled into -the river. Not one got back around the corner of the road to Lunéville. - -There was another half hour of quiet, and then from the Lunéville road -a battery of artillery got into action. Their range was bad, so far as -any achievement against the seventy-five was concerned, so they turned -their attention to the château, which they could easily see from their -position across the river. The first shell struck the majestic tower of -the building and shattered it. The next smashed the roof, the third hit -the chapel--and so continued the bombardment until flames broke out to -complete the destruction. - -Of course the Germans could not know that the château was empty, that -its owner was in Paris and both her sons fighting in the French army. -But they had secured the military advantage of demolishing one of the -finest country houses in France, with its priceless tapestries, ancient -marbles and heirlooms of the Bourbons. A howl of German glee was heard -by the seventy-five chasseurs crouching behind their barricades. So -pleased were the invaders with their achievement that next they bravely -swung out a battery into the road leading to the bridge, intending to -shell the barricades. The Captain of chasseurs again waved his hand. -Every man of the battery was killed before the guns were in position. -It took an entire company of infantry--half of them being killed in -the action--to haul those guns back into the Lunéville road, thus to -clear the way for another advance. - -From then on until 1 o'clock in the afternoon there were more infantry -attacks, all failing as lamentably as the first. The seventy-five -were holding off the 12,000. At the last attack they let the Germans -advance to the entrance of the bridge. They invited them with taunts -to advance. Then they poured in their deadly fire, and as the Germans -broke and fled they permitted themselves a cheer. Up to this time not -one chasseur was killed. Only four were wounded. - -Shortly after 1 o'clock the German artillery wasted a few more shells -on the ruined château and the chasseurs could see a detachment crawling -along the river bank in the direction of the narrow footbridge that -crossed through the château park a half mile below. The Captain of -the chasseurs sent one man with a mitrailleuse to hold the bridge. He -posted himself in the shelter of a large tree at one end. In a few -minutes about fifty Germans appeared. They advanced cautiously on the -bridge. The chasseur let them get half way over before he raked them -with his fire. The water below ran red with blood. - -The Germans retreated for help and made another attack an hour later -with the same result. By 4 o'clock, when the lone chasseur's ammunition -was exhausted, it is estimated that he had killed 175 Germans, who made -five desperate rushes to take the position, which would have enabled -them to make a flank attack on the seventy-four still holding the main -bridge. When his ammunition was gone--which occurred at the same time -as the ammunition at the main bridge was exhausted--this chasseur with -the others succeeded in effecting a retreat to a main body of cavalry. -If he still lives--this modern Horatius at the bridge--he remains an -unnamed hero in the ranks of the French army, unhonored except in the -hearts of those few of his countrymen who know. - -During the late hours of the afternoon aeroplanes flew over the -chasseurs' position, thus discovering to the Germans how really weak -were the defenses of the town, how few its defenders. Besides the -ammunition was gone. But for eight hours--from eight in the morning -until four in the afternoon--the seventy-five had held the 12,000. - -Had that body of 12,000 succeeded earlier the 150,000 Germans that -advanced the next day might have been able to fall on the French right -flank during a critical battle of the war. The total casualties of the -chasseurs were three killed, three captured, and six wounded. - -The little old man and I had walked to the entrance of the château park -before he finished his story. It was still too early for breakfast. I -thanked him and told him to return to his work in the little house by -the bridge. I wanted to explore the château at leisure. - -I entered the place--what was left of it. Most of the walls were -standing. Walls built in the twelfth century do not break easily, even -with modern artillery. But the modern roof and seventeenth century -inner walls were all demolished. Not a single article of furniture -or decoration remained. But the destruction showed some of the same -freaks--similar to that little house left untouched by fire on the -summit of the hill. - -For instance, the Bourbon coat of arms above the grand staircase was -untouched, while the staircase itself was just splintered bits of -marble. On another fragment of the wall there still hung a magnificent -stag's antlers. Strewed about in the corners I saw fragments of vases -that had been priceless. Even the remnants were valuable. In the ruined -music room I found a piece of fresh, clean music (an Alsatian waltz), -lying on the mantelpiece. I went out to the front of the building, -where the great park sweeps down to the edge of the river. An old -gardener in one of the side paths saw me. We immediately established -cordial relations with a cigarette. - -He told me how, after the chasseurs retreated beyond the town, the -Germans--reduced over a thousand of their original number by the -activities of the day--swept over the barricades of the bridge and into -the town. Yes, the old woman I had talked with was right about it. They -were very angry. They were ferociously angry at being held eight hours -at that bridge by a force so ridiculously small. - -The first civilians they met they killed, and then they began to fire -the houses. One young man, half-witted, came out of one of the houses -near the bridge. They hanged him in the garden behind the house. Then -they called his mother to see. A mob came piling into the château -headed by four officers. All the furniture and valuables that were not -destroyed they piled into a wagon and sent back to Lunéville. Of the -gardener who was telling me the story they demanded the keys of the -wine cellars. No; they did not injure him. They just held him by the -arms while several dozen of the soldiers spat in his face. - -While the drunken crew were reeling about the place, one of them -accidentally stumbled upon the secret underground passage leading to -the famous grottoes. These grottoes and the underground connection -of the château were built in the fifteenth century. They are a half -mile away, situated only half above ground, the entrance looking out -on a smooth lawn that extends to the edge of the river. Several giant -trees, the trunks of which are covered with vines, half shelter the -entrance, which is also obscured by climbing ivy. The interior was one -of the treasures of France. The vaulted ceilings were done in wonderful -mosaic; the walls decorated with marbles and rare sea shells. In every -nook were marble pedestals and antique statuary, while the fountain in -the center, supplied from an underground stream, was of porphyry inlaid -with mosaic. - -The Germans looked upon it with appreciative eyes. But they were still -very angry. Its destruction was a necessity of war. It could not be -destroyed by artillery because it was half under ground and screened -by the giant trees. But it could be destroyed by picks and axes. A -squad of soldiers was detailed to the job. They did it thoroughly. The -gardener took me there to see. Not a scrap of the mosaic remained. -The fountain was smashed to bits. A headless Venus and a smashed and -battered Adonis were lying prone upon the ground. - -The visitors of the château and environs afterward joined their -comrades in firing the town. Night had come. Also across the bridge -waited the 150,000 reenforcements, come from Lunéville. The five -hundred of the two thousand inhabitants who remained were herded to -the upper end of the town near the station. That portion was not to be -destroyed because the German General would make his headquarters there. - -The inhabitants were to be given a treat. They were to witness the -entrance of the hundred and fifty thousand--the power and might of -Germany was to be exhibited to them. So while the flames leaped high -from the burning city, reddening the sky for miles, while old men -prayed, while women wept, while little children whimpered, the sound of -martial music was heard down the street near the bridge. The infantry, -packed in close formation, the red light from the fire shining on -their helmets, were doing the goose step up the main street to the -station--the great German army had entered the city of Gerbéviller with -the honors of war. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -SISTER JULIE, CHEVALIER OF THE LEGION OF HONOR - - -A little round apple dumpling sort of woman in nun's costume was -bobbing a curtsy to me from the doorway. In excited French she begged -me to be seated. For I was "Monsieur l'Américain" who had come to visit -Gerbéviller, the little community nestling in the foothills of the -Vosges, that has suffered quite as much from Germans as any city, even -those in Belgium. It was her "grand pleasure" that I should come to -visit her. - -I stared for a moment in amazement. I could scarcely realize that this -plump, bobbing little person was the famous Sister Julie. I had pulled -every wire I could discover among my acquaintances at the Foreign -Office and the Ministry of War to be granted the privilege of making -the trip into that portion of the forbidden "zone of military activity" -where Sister Julie had made her name immortal. I carried a letter -from one of the great officials of the Quai d'Orsay, addressed to the -little nun in terms of reverence that one might use toward his mother. -He signed himself "Yours, with great affection," after craving that -she would grant me audience. And there she was, with the letter still -unopened in her hand, telling me how glad she was to see me. - -I confess I expected a different type of woman. I thought a different -type necessary to handle the German invaders in the fashion Sister -Julie handled them at Gerbéviller. I imagined a tall, commanding -woman--like Madame Macherez, Mayor of Soissons--would enter the little -sitting room where I had been waiting that sunny morning. - -In that little sitting room the very atmosphere of war is not -permitted. There is too much close at hand, where nine-tenths of the -city lies in ashes as a result of the German visit. So in that room -there is nothing but comfort, peace and good cheer. Potted geraniums -fill the window boxes, pretty chintz curtains cover the glass. Where -bullets had torn furrows in the plaster and drilled holes in the -woodwork the wounds were concealed as far as possible. It was hard -to realize that the deep, rumbling roars that shook the house while -we talked were caused by a Franco-German artillery duel only a few -kilometers away. - -[Illustration: SISTER JULIE IN THE DOOR OF HER HOSPITAL] - -The little woman drew out chairs from the center table and we seated -ourselves, she talking continuously of how glad she was that one from -"that great America" should want to see her and know about her work. -Ah! her work, there was still so much to do! - -She got up and toddled to the window, drawing aside the chintz -curtains. "Poor Gerbéviller!" she sighed as we looked out over the -desolate waste of burned houses. "My poor, poor Gerbéviller!" - -Tears stood in her brown eyes and fell upon the wide white collar of -the religious order that she wore. She brushed them aside quickly -and turned to the table, again all smiles and dimples. Yes! dimples, -for although Sister Julie is small, she is undeniably plump. She has -dimples in her cheeks and in her chin--chins I might say. She even has -dimples on the knuckles of her hands, after the fashion of babies. -Her face is round and rosy. Her voice low and mellow. She looks only -about forty of her sixty years--a woman who seems to have taken life -as something that is always good. Evil and Germans seem never to have -entered her door. - -Then I remembered what this woman had done; how all France is talking -about her and is proud of her. How the President of the Republic went -to the little, ruined city, accompanied by the Presidents of the Senate -and the Chamber of Deputies, and a great military entourage, just -to hang the jeweled cross of the Legion of Honor about her neck. I -wondered what they thought when she bobbed her curtsy in the doorway. - -For it took a war to distinguish this little woman from the crowd. -Outside her order she was unknown before the Germans came to France. -But it did not matter to her. She just went placidly and smilingly on -her way--"doing the Lord's work," as she told me. Then the day arrived -when the Germans came, and this little round apple dumpling woman blew -up. That is just the way it was. I could tell it from the way her -brown eyes flashed when she told the tale to me. She was angry through -and through just from the telling. She just exploded when the Germans -entered her front door. And then her name was written indelibly on the -scroll of fame as one of the great heroines of the war. - -The Germans wanted bread, did they?--such was the way the story -began--well, what did they mean by coming to her for it? They burned -the baker's shop, didn't they, on the way through the town? Well, -how did they expect her to furnish them bread? Her bread was for her -people. Yes, she had a good supply of it. But the Germans could find -their own bread. - -The German officer pointed a revolver at her head. She reached out her -hand and struck it from his grasp. Then she waved a plump finger under -his nose. Her voice was no longer low and mellow. It was commanding and -austere. How dared he point a revolver at her--a "religieuse," a nun? -He could get right out of her house, too,--and get out quick. - -The officer's heavy jaw dropped in astonishment. He backed his way -along the narrow hall, not stopping to pick up his weapon, and kicking -backward the file of soldiers that crowded behind him. At the door -Sister Julie put a detaining hand on his shoulder. - -"You are an officer," she said--the man understood French perfectly. -"Well, while your soldiers are setting fire to the town, you just tell -them to keep out of this end of the street. This is my house; it is for -me and the five Sisters with me. Now we have made it a hospital. You -barbarians just keep out of here with your burning." - -Barbarians! The officer raised his fist to strike. Something that was -not of heaven made Sister Julie's eyes deadly black. The man lowered -his fist, quailing. "The devil!" he said. Yes, barbarians! She almost -shouted the word at him--and it was quite understood that his men were -not to burn the hospital or the houses adjoining. - -The crowd cleared out of the house rapidly and the breadth of Sister -Julie's form filled the doorway. It was night and the burning was -progressing rapidly, the Germans methodically firing every house. -Some soldiers came to the house next to the hospital, and broke open -the door. Sister Julie left her position in the hospital doorway and -advanced upon them. - -"Go away from here," she ordered. "Don't you dare set that house afire. -It is next to the hospital. If it burns the hospital will burn, too. So -go away--your officers have said that you are not to burn this end of -the street." - -The soldiers gazed at her stupidly. She advanced upon them, waving her -arms. Several, after staring a moment, suddenly made the sign of the -cross, and the entire party disappeared down the street to continue -their destruction elsewhere. - -The little nun then left her post at the door. She went to see that -her food supplies were safe. She had a conference with the other -Sisters, and visited the beds of the thirteen wounded that the -house already contained. Six of the wounded were of the band of -seventy-five chasseurs who had held the Gerbéviller bridge against -the Germans--twelve thousand Germans for eight hours--until their -ammunition gave out. The others were civilians who were shot when the -Germans finally entered the town. - -After visiting her wounded, Sister Julie went out the back door of -the house accompanied by two of the Sisters. The three carried large -clothes baskets, kitchen knives, and a hatchet. Through the gardens and -behind the burning houses they passed down the hill to the part of the -city near the river, which was already smoldering in ashes. They went -into the ruined barns, where the cows and horses were all burned alive. -I was shown a bleached white bone, a souvenir of one of the cows. - -With the hatchet and knives they secured enough bones and flesh from -the dead animals to fill the two great baskets. Then they climbed -painfully up the hill, behind the burning buildings, to the back door -of their home. Water was drawn from their well, and a great fire built -in the old-fashioned chimney in the kitchen. The enormous kettle was -filled with the water, the meat and the bones, and soon the odor from -gallons of soup penetrated the outer door to the street. Again a -German officer headed a delegation into the hall. - -"You have food here," he announced to Sister Julie. - -"We have," she snapped back. She was very busy. She waved the butcher -knife under his nose. She then told him that the soup was for the -people of Gerbéviller and for her wounded. She expressed no regret that -there would be none left for Germans. - -The officer said that the twelve thousand who entered Gerbéviller that -afternoon was the advance column. The main body, with the commissariat, -was coming shortly. Meanwhile, they were hungry. They would take Sister -Julie's supply. They would take it--eh? Take it? They would only do -that over her dead body. Meanwhile, they would leave her kitchen -instantly. They did--the butcher knife making ferocious passes behind -them on their way to the door. Sister Julie was still doing her "work -for the Lord." - -She then ordered all the wash tubs filled with water and brought -inside the hall. The fire was coming into the street. Dense smoke -was everywhere. Even the Germans now seemed willing to save that -particular part of Gerbéviller. It was the portion near the railway -station and the telegraph. A substantial building near the _gare_ would -make an excellent headquarters for their General, who was due to arrive -shortly. The civilians (only a few of the 2,000 inhabitants remained) -were all herded into a field just on the outskirts of the town. Sister -Julie, with Sister Hildegarde, sallied forth with their soup, and fed -them. The next day she would see that the Germans allowed them to come -to the hospital for more. - -When she returned, a number of soldiers who had discovered a wine -cellar were reeling up the street. They stopped in front of the -hospital, but turned their attention to the house opposite. They would -burn it. It had evidently been forgotten. They broke into the place, -and in a moment flames could be seen through the lower windows. - -Sister Julie called to the soldiers. They stared at her from the middle -of the road. She motioned for them to come to her. They came. She told -them to follow her into the hall. There she showed them the wash tubs -full of water. They were to carry those tubs across the street and put -out the fire they had started, and which would endanger the hospital. -This was according to orders given by the officers. After putting out -the fire they were to bring the tubs back and refill them from the well -in the back yard. The work was too heavy for the Sisters. - -When these orders were obeyed, Sister Julie carried a little camp -chair to the front steps and began a vigil that lasted all night long -and half the next day. She saw the great German army of a hundred and -fifty thousand march by, the band playing "Deutschland über Alles," the -infantry doing the goose step as they passed the burning houses. Four -times during the night the tubs of water in the hall were emptied and -refilled when the flames crept close to her house. - -At dawn next morning four officers approached her where she sat upon -the doorstep. One of them informed her that, inasmuch as she was -concealing French soldiers with arms inside the house, they intended to -make a search. - -"You are telling a lie," she informed them calmly, and did not -budge. Two of the officers drew revolvers. Sister Julie sniffed -contemptuously. The first officer again spoke. But his tone altered. It -was less bumptious. He said that, inasmuch as the house had been spared -the flames, at least an investigation was necessary. - -Sister Julie arose and started inside. The officers stopped her. Two -of them would lead the way. The other two would follow. The pair, with -drawn revolvers, entered first and tiptoed cautiously down the hall. -Then came the little nun. The second pair drew poniards and brought -up the rear. She directed them to the rooms on the first floor, the -sitting room, dining room and the kitchen, where Sister Hildegarde was -busy over the fire. Then they went upstairs to the beds of the wounded. -The first officer insisted that the covers be drawn back from each -bed to make sure that the occupants were really wounded. Sister Julie -remained silent at the door. As they turned to leave, she said with -sarcasm, but with dignity: "You have seen. You know that I have spoken -the truth. We are six Sisters of Mercy. Our work is to care for the -sick. We will care for your German wounded, as well as our French. You -may bring them here." - -That morning the invaders began battle with the French, who had -finished their entrenchments some kilometers on the other side of -the town. At night the Germans accepted Sister Julie's invitation, -and brought two hundred and fifty-eight wounded to her house. They -completely filled the place. They were placed in rows in the sitting -room, the dining room, and the hall. They were even in the kitchen and -in the attic. The weather was fine and they were stretched in rows -in the garden. The few other houses undestroyed by fire were also -turned into hospitals, and for fourteen days Sister Julie and her five -assistants scarcely slept. They just passed the time giving medicine -and food and nursing wounds. By the fourteenth day, the French had made -a considerable advance and were dropping shells into the town, so the -Germans decided to take away their own wounded. - -During all this time daily rations were served to the civilian -survivors, on orders secured by Sister Julie at the German -headquarters. The civilians were ill-treated, but they were fed. Sister -Julie gave me concrete instances of outrage. Many were killed for no -reason whatever; some were sent as hostages to Germany. During fourteen -days they were herded in the field. Afterward ten were found dead, -with their hands manacled. Sister Julie told me one instance of an -old woman, a paralytic, seventy-eight years old, who was taken out in -an automobile to show the various wine cellars among the neighboring -farms. The old woman had not been out of her house for years and did -not know the wine cellars. So the Germans killed her. Sister Julie -went out at night and found her body. She and Sister Hildegarde buried -it. - -On the morning of the fifteenth day, the battle was fiercer than ever. -The French had taken a hill near the outskirts, and mitrailleuse -bullets frequently whistled through the streets. Several times they -entered the windows of Sister Julie's house and buried themselves in -the walls. But none of the Sisters was hurt. - -There was a lull in the fighting for the next few days. The French -were very busy at something--the Germans knew not what. They became -more insolent than ever, and drank of the wine they had stored at the -_gare_. In the ruins of the church they found the grilled iron strong -box, where the priest, who had been sent to Germany as a hostage, had -locked up the golden communion vessels, afterward giving the key to -Sister Julie. The lock was of steel, and very old and strong. They -tried to break it, but failed. They came to Sister Julie for the key, -and she sent them packing. "I lied to them," she said softly. "I told -them I didn't have the key." - -Through the grilled iron of the box the soldiers could see the vessels. -They were of fine gold, and very ancient. They were given to the -church in the fifteenth century by René, Duc de Lorraine and King of -Jerusalem. The strong box was riveted to the foundations of the church -with bands of steel and could not be carried away. They shot at the -lock, to break it. But it did not break. Instead the bullets penetrated -the box, a half dozen tearing ragged holes in the vessels. The wine -finally became of greater interest than the gold, and the soldiers went -away. That night Sister Julie went alone into the ruins of the church, -opened the box, and took the vessels out. - -She paused in her story, got up from her chair, and unlocked a cabinet -in the wall. From it she brought the vessels wrapped in a white cloth. -I took the great golden goblet in my hands and saw the holes of the -German bullets. Sister Julie sat silent, looking out through the chintz -curtains into the street. Then she smiled. - -She was thinking of the eighth morning after the wounded had been taken -away. That was the happiest morning of her life, she told me. At 5 -o'clock that morning, just after daybreak, Sister Hildegarde had come -to her bed to tell her that the Germans stationed near the _gare_ in -that part of the town all seemed to be going to the ruined part, near -the river, in the opposite direction from the French. A few minutes -later Sister Julie got up and looked from the window. Then she almost -fell down the stairs in her rush to get out of doors. About fifty yards -up the street was a watering trough. Seated on horseback before that -trough, watering their animals, laughing and smoking cigarettes, were -six French dragoons. - -"I cried at the blessed sight of them," she said. "They sat there, so -gay, so debonair, as only Frenchmen know how to sit on horses." Sister -Julie hurried to them. They smiled at her and saluted as she approached. - -"But do you know the Germans are here?" she anxiously inquired. "You -may be taken prisoners." - -"Oh, no, we won't," they answered in chorus. "There are thirty thousand -more of us just behind--due here in about two minutes. The whole French -army is on the advance." - -Then came thirty thousand. After the thirty thousand came more -thousands. All that day the street echoed to the feet of marching -Frenchmen. Their faces were dark and terrible when they saw what the -Germans had done. Most of the day Sister Julie sat on her doorstep -and wept for joy. Since that morning not a German has been seen in -Gerbéviller. - -Sister Julie ceased her story and wiped the tears that had been running -in streams down her cheeks. We heard the rattle of a drum outside -the window. It was the signal of the town crier with news for the -population. Sister Julie opened the window and looked out. It was the -announcement of the meeting to be held that afternoon, a meeting that -she had arranged for discussion of plans for rebuilding the town. -Five hundred of the population had returned. There was so much work -to do. The streets must be cleared of the débris. The sagging walls -must be torn down and new buildings erected. It would be done quickly, -immediately almost; aid was forthcoming from many quarters. The new -houses would be better than the old. The streets were to be wide and -straight, not narrow and crooked. Gerbéviller was to arise from her -ashes modern and improved. And only a few miles away the cannon still -roared and thundered. - -I asked her about the Cross of the Legion of Honor given her by -President Poincaré. I asked why she did not wear it. A pleased flush -deepened the color in her rosy cheeks. I shall always remember the -grace and dignity of her answer. - -"I do not wear it because it was not meant for me alone," she said. "It -was given to the women of France who have done their duty." - -"Not the little red ribbon of the order," I persisted. "You should pin -that on your dress." - -But Sister Julie shook her head. She is a "religieuse," she explained. -Nuns do not wear decorations. They are doing the work of the Lord. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE SILENT CANNON - - -On a hill commanding a valley stretching away toward the Rhine is a -dense pine forest. From its edge I looked far across the frontier of -Germany. - -In a little clearing a French artillery Major came to meet me and my -guide. Then we walked for miles, it seemed, through dense shade over -paths thick with needles, until we came upon an artillery encampment. -From the conversation between my guide--a Captain of the General -Staff--and the artillery Major I learned that we were about to see -something new in cannon. - -I am always eager to see something new in cannon. Since my visit to -the great factories at Le Creusot, when I was permitted to cable -carefully censored descriptions of the new giant guns France was -preparing against Germany, I have always been looking for these guns -in operation. So, when I saw that here was no ordinary battery, I -began the molding of phrases to use in cabling my impressions. I did -not realize then that I was to have the most poignant illustration -since the war began of the mighty fundamental differences between the -Teutonic and Latin civilizations. - -On a gentle slope, where the tops of pine trees below came up level -with the brow of the hill, there was a great excavation, such as -might have been dug for the foundations of a château. The front part, -facing the valley, was all screened with barricades and covered with -evergreens. - -We entered the excavation from the rear, down winding steps lined on -either side with towering trees. These steps were all concrete, as was -also the entire bottom of the excavation. The air was very fresh and -cool as we descended. Up above the breeze gently swayed the trees, -which closed over us so densely, dimming the daylight. I was reminded -of a dairy I knew on an up-State farm in New York. I almost looked for -jars of butter in the dim recess of the cool concrete cellar. I could -almost catch the odor of fresh milk. - -But in the center of our cavern was a huge piece of mechanism that I -recognized as the "something new in cannon." Above the great steel -base the long, ugly barrel stretched many yards through an aperture in -front, and was covered over with evergreens. The Major described the -gun in detail--its size, range and weight of its projectiles. - -I walked to the front of the aperture to look at the barrel lying -horizontally on the tops of the pine trees growing on the slope below. -The branches had been carefully cut from the higher trees to give a -view over the valley. I got out my field glasses and fixed them on the -horizon many miles away--just how many miles away I am also not allowed -to say. For a long time I studied that horizon just where it melted -into mist. Then the sun's rays brightened it, and I could see more -clearly. - -"Looks like a city out there," I said aloud. - -"It is," said the artillery Major behind me. - -I looked again and could dimly make out what appeared to be the spires -of churches. - -"Look a little to the right; you can see a much larger building over -there," the Major said. - -I looked, and a huge gray mass loomed out of the mist. - -"That's a cathedral," he said. - -I put the glasses down and walked around to the open breech of the -giant cannon, the mechanism of which another officer was explaining. He -gave a lever a twist, and the huge barrel slowly moved from right to -left over the tops of the pine trees. - -The officer was saying in answer to a question: - -"No, we are quiet now. We are just waiting." - -"Waiting for what?" I asked. - -"Oh, just waiting until everything is ready." - -"Then what will you do?" - -"Oh, destroy the forts, I hope. This fellow ought to account for -several," and he patted the side of the barrel. - -"Will you destroy the city?" I asked. - -"What for?" he asked. "What good would that do? If we expect to -occupy a city we do not want it destroyed. Besides,"--he shrugged his -shoulders expressively--"we are not Germans." - -I walked up to the gun and stared into the breech. I adjusted my -glasses again and through them looked down the barrel. Out on the -horizon I could see the huge gray mass that the Major said was a -cathedral. The gun was trained directly upon it--this silent gun. - -"It could hit that cathedral now," I thought to myself. Then I thought -of the Cathedral of Rheims. Again I stared through the glasses into the -barrel of the gun. The light was better now, and the tops of the spires -were visible above the bulky gray mass. - -It was the Cathedral of Metz. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -D'ARTAGNAN AND THE SOUL OF FRANCE - - -I met d'Artagnan in a forest of Lorraine. Perhaps Athos, Porthos -and Aramis were there too, somewhere in the shadows. I saw only -d'Artagnan and talked with him as long as it takes to tell the story. -I had forgotten how he looked to Dumas père, but I knew him at once -by his bearing and his spirit. His swashbuckling manners are just as -arrogantly gay now in the forest of Lorraine and in the trenches of -the Vosges as they were long ago in old Paris and on the highroad. He -swaggers just as buoyantly with the "poilus" of the Republic as with -the musketeers of the Cardinal. - -D'Artagnan is a captain now; when I met him he was attached to the -staff of a General of Brigade. He is always your beau ideal of a man. -He looks just what he is--a fine French soldier. - -My first glimpse of him was from the automobile in which I was riding -with an officer from the Great General Staff whose business it was to -conduct press correspondents to the front. D'Artagnan was walking -towards us on the lonely forest road, and signaled with a long -alpenstock for our driver to stop. He wore the regulation blue uniform, -with the three gold stripes of a captain on his sleeve. He had no -sword. I find that swords are no longer the fashion with the "working -officers" at the front. They are in the way. - -Our car slid to a stop. D'Artagnan's free hand came to salute. It was -an imposing salute--one that only d'Artagnan could have made. His heels -snapped together with a gallant click of spurs; his arm swept up in a -semi-circle from his body; his rigid fingers touched the visor of his -steel helmet--one of the new battle helmets, very light, strong and -painted horizon blue to match the uniform. The chin strap was of heavy -black leather instead of the brass chain of ante-bellum parade helmets. - -D'Artagnan, from the center of the road, roared out his name and -mission. His name, in his present reincarnation, is known throughout -the French army, in fact throughout France. It is known to the Germans -too, but correspondents are not permitted to give the names of their -officers until the war is over. Anyway I immediately recognized him as -d'Artagnan. - -His mission, announced with gusto, was to guide us along the lines -held by his brigade. He leaped to our running-board and ordered our -chauffeur to advance. - -He was an impressive figure, even clinging to the side of the jolting -car. His body lithe and powerful; his hands lean and strong; his face, -under the visor of the helmet, was d'Artagnan's own. A forehead high -and bronzed. Eyes blue and both merry and ferocious. Cheeks high but -rounded. His hair, only a little of it showing under the helmet, was -black, but just enough grizzled to proclaim him in middle age. His -mustache--it was a mustache of dreams and imagination--his mustache -stuck out inches beyond the cheeks, and was wondrously twisted and -curled. - -His medals proved him the survivor of many hard campaigns. Most -officers when at the front wear only the ribbons of their decorations, -if they have any, and leave the medals at home. But not d'Artagnan. He -wore all of his medals, in a blazing row across his chest. And he had -all that were possible for any man in his position to win. First came -the African Colonial medal, then the medal for service in Indo-China. -Next was the Médaille de Maroc. In the center was the Legion of Honor -and then the Croix de Guerre, with four stars affixed, indicating the -number of times during the present war, d'Artagnan has been mentioned -in despatches for courage under fire. Finally came the only foreign -medal--the Russian Cross of St. George--given by the Czar during the -present war to a very few Frenchmen, and only "for great bravery." - -As d'Artagnan again stopped the car and we climbed out into the road, -which had narrowed to a forest path, my companion pointed to the medals. - -"Our captain is a professional soldier, you see," he said. "He has -fought all his life--didn't just come back when his class was called -for this war." - -But I already knew that. How could d'Artagnan be anything but a -soldier--a professional, if you please--but fighting for the love of -it, and the glory? - -He tramped along in front of us, the spurs of his high boots jingling, -and twirling the ends of his fierce mustaches. I glimpsed soldiers -through the trees. Some came out to the path and saluted. To all -d'Artagnan returned a salute with the same wonderful joy in it, as -though it were the first salute of the day, or as if he were passing -a general. There was the same swing outward of the arm, the same -rigid formality of bringing his hand to the helmet. The pomposity of -the salute he may have learned from Porthos, but the dignity, the -impressiveness of it, belonged to d'Artagnan. - -His soldiers adored him; we could see that as we followed. Their eyes -smiled and approved. And the stamp of great admiration was in their -faces. - -"They would go through hell with him," said my companion. "A good many -of them have. He is the favorite of his brigade." - -"He ought to be," I replied. "He is d'Artagnan." - -"D'Artagnan!" my companion cried. "Why, so he is. I never thought of -it. But he _is_ d'Artagnan--alive and fighting." - -He was a little distance ahead of us, among the trees. A sergeant -approached him to make a report. D'Artagnan leaned back grandly on -one leg, his chest forward, his chin tilted up, his hand, as usual, -twisting the mustachios. - -"He loves it," I said. "He loves everything about it--this war. When -peace comes his life will lose its savor." - -My officer of the Great General Staff nodded; d'Artagnan returned -jauntily, swinging his stick, and in ringing tones told us all that he -had arranged for us to see. - -We followed him through a program that has been described many times -by correspondents since the war began--the encampments, the batteries -and the trenches. But never before did a correspondent have such a -guide. It was not my first trip to the front; but d'Artagnan led me -into advanced trenches, closer to the Germans than I had ever been -before. We crawled on hands and knees and spoke in whispers. But I was -fascinated because d'Artagnan, just as Dumas might have shown him, -crawled ahead, waved his hand in quick, impatient gestures for us to -hurry, looked back to laugh and point through a loophole to great rents -in the wire entanglements showing where a recent German attack had -failed. - -Only once, at a point where a road separated two trench sections, and -always dangerous because of German snipers, did he order us to pass -around behind in the safety of a boyau or communication trench. _He_ -leaped across the barrier with a derisive yell of triumph and a catlike -quickness too astonishing to draw the German fire. - -Otherwise he let us take far bigger chances than usually permitted -visitors--and he made us like them. We squinted carelessly through -risky loopholes because d'Artagnan did it first. We talked aloud -because he did, and at times when ordinary guides would have made -us keep silent. He stood up on a trench ledge and looked through a -periscope, then jumped down laughing, holding out the periscope to show -where a bullet had drilled a hole on the side only a few inches above -his head. It was a game of follow the leader, and we followed because -the leader was d'Artagnan. - -"They will get him some day--he takes such chances," an officer -remarked. - -"They haven't got him yet and he has had more war than any of us," -another replied. - -On our way back, behind the line encampments, we met several soldiers -carrying tureens of soup. D'Artagnan halted them, solemnly lifted the -covers and tasted the contents. Then he passed the spoon to us. - -"It is good," he pronounced, and patted the soldiers on the back, as we -hurried on. - -He now took us to his own quarters, in a dense grove of pines. His -house was of pine boughs, half above and half underground, with a -bomb-proof cavern at the rear. Its furniture was a deal table and a -bed of straw. We sat around on camp stools and an orderly brought in -tea. - -D'Artagnan then changed the subject for a few minutes from war. He had -visited nearly all the world, including America. He turned to me, and -to my surprise spoke in English. It was a very peculiar English, but it -was not funny coming from the lips of d'Artagnan. He told me about his -trip to America--how he did not have much money at the time, so he went -as a lecturer to the French Societies in the big cities of the United -States. It was hard to picture this big, weather-beaten soldier in such -a rôle, until he told me the subject of his lecture. It was "The Soul -of France"--always the Soul of France, a soul chivalrous, grand and -unconquerable, that would forever make the world remember and expect. - -In Boston he had tried to speak in English, at the Boston City Club. He -pronounced the letter "i" in city, as in the word "site." He told me -the lecture in English was very funny. Perhaps it was; but the Boston -City Club had not seen their lecturer in the forest of Lorraine. They -did not know that he was d'Artagnan. - -After tea he showed us the park made by his soldiers in front of his -"villa," as the semi-underground hut was called. A sign painted on a -tree announced the "Parc des Braves." Little well-groomed paths wound -among the pine needles; rustic seats were built about the trees. A -dozen little beds of mountain flowers made gay stars and crescents that -would not have disgraced the Tuileries. The "Parc des Braves" had even -an aviary, made of wire netting (left over from the barricades) built -about a tree. D'Artagnan proudly pointed out a great owl and a cowering -cuckoo in different compartments of this unique cage. - -But the chef d'œuvre of the Parc was the reconstructed tableau of -one of the brigade's heroic episodes. A tiny rustic bridge spanned a -miniature brook; beside the brook was built a mill and beyond was an -old farm-house and orchard. Seven tiny French chasseurs, of wood and -painted blue, were holding the bridge against a horde of wooden Germans -painted gray. - -On a great tree shading this story of a glorious hour in the history of -his "little braves," d'Artagnan had fixed a wooden slab, telling its -details in verse. - - "Il y avait sept petits chasseurs - Qui ne connaissaient pas la peur." - (There were seven little chasseurs - Who knew no fear.) - -That is the way the story began; and each verse began and ended with -the same words. I wish I could have copied it all; but d'Artagnan, the -author, was impatient to move on. - -So we left the Parc and followed into the gloom of the forest and up -the steep slope of the mountain. It faced the enemy's trenches. From -the top one could look across the frontier of Germany. - -D'Artagnan was silent now, plunging along through the deepening -twilight. Suddenly we emerged on the edge of a clearing still bright -with sunshine: a clearing perhaps several hundred feet square, lying on -the steep hillside almost at an angle of about forty-five degrees. - -D'Artagnan stopped, took off his helmet, then walked slowly into the -open. We took off our hats and followed him. - -The clearing was a military cemetery--it held the graves of -d'Artagnan's dead. A tall white wooden cross at the top rose almost to -the tops of the pines growing above it. On the cross-piece was written: - -"To our comrades of the --th Brigade, killed by the enemy." - -At the foot of the great cross, stretched in military alignment over -the clearing were hundreds of graves headed by little crosses. So -abrupt was the slope the dead soldiers stood almost erect--facing -Germany. Narrow graveled walks separated them, and on each cross hung -festoons of flowers kept always fresh by the comrades who remained. - -We followed d'Artagnan across the silent place and stood behind him as -he faced, with bared head, the great cross. He made the sign of the -cross upon his breast. There was not a bowed head: we all lifted them -high to read the words written there. - -No one spoke; the wind rustled softly in the tops of the pines that -pressed so densely about us. It was dark among the trees, but the -clearing was still mellow with the fading sunlight. - -"The sun always comes here first in the morning," d'Artagnan said -softly, "and this is the last place from which it goes." - -He swung around with his back to the great cross and flung out his -alpenstock in a gesture that swept the valley before us. His voice rose -harshly: - -"Over there is the enemy," he thundered. "Those who rest here look at -them face to face!" - -His arm dropped; his voice sank. - -"They didn't get over there. But their souls remain here always to -urge us and to point the way which we must go." - -He stopped and seemed to listen. The wind had died; even the tree tops -were still. The sun had gone; the dark began to sweep up over the -graves. D'Artagnan leaned upon his alpenstock; his eyes were closed. - -We did not stir, nor hardly breathe. D'Artagnan was in communion with -the soul of his beloved France. - - - - -PART FIVE - -THREE CHAPTERS IN CONCLUSION - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -A REARPOST OF WAR - - -After a year or more of war, even a latter-day war correspondent who -gets a personally restricted war office Cook's tour to the front -semi-occasionally, may yearn for peace. This is especially true in -the case of a regular correspondent with the French army, because to -France there come so many senators, statesmen and "molders of neutral -opinion," bearing letters from President, King or Prelate, that the -regular correspondent has hard work to edge in even his legitimate -number of tours. - -One morning I awoke early, far from the firing line, safe in my -Paris flat. Before breakfast I read the hotel arrivals listed in the -newspaper. The names of several molders were there. I knew that all -their letters stated definitely what whales they were. I knew that the -tour directors would not be able to resist them and that my seat in the -next front-going limousine would probably be held in another name. So -in the words of the ancient British music-hall classic I decided that -"I didn't like war and all that sort of thing." - -Twelve hours later I was standing on an old stone jetty that runs out -to meet the forty-foot tides on the north coast of Brittany. It was -as far away as I could get and still retain an official connection -as correspondent with the French army. The tiny hamlet at the end of -the jetty has an official name. The name does not matter. There is no -railroad, no post office, no telegraph. But the place is known because -it was there that Pierre Loti wrote his great story of the Iceland -Fisherman. There was nothing to disturb the thoughts, nothing to jar -the nerves. All was quiet and peace; of war there was not the slightest -suspicion. - -The water at the end of the jetty was thirty feet deep, but so clean -that one could see through it as through air. I watched a crab waddle -along the bottom and disappear under a rock. Then I got out my army -glasses and swept the coast. For miles tremendous headlands stuck out -in the sea, rolling over treacherous rocks. Before me was the Ile de -Bréhat, the ancient home of the pirates, which thrusts an arm far out -into the Atlantic--an arm that holds a lighthouse to tell mariners -returning from Iceland that they are almost home. - -Between the island and the mainland the outgoing tide swirled along at -a rate of twelve sea miles per hour. I turned the glasses to the coast -where the tiny Breton stone cottages were tucked behind rocks and hills -that shelter them from storms and the long and terrible winter. Now -they were bowers of color; clusters of roses and geraniums bloomed on -garden walls, tall hollyhocks stood sentinel before the doors. - -I dropped the glasses and sighed contentedly. Here I had found peace. - -Near the old stone jetty a man was swimming. Suddenly he sat bolt -upright on the water. His legs spread straight before him and his hands -flapped idly at little waves. Occasionally he tugged at a long drooping -walrus mustache, then rubbed the salt spray from his lips. He was a -long angular individual and from my position on the jetty he appeared -to be entirely unclad. - -"He is sitting on the top of a rock that is flooded at high tide," some -one near me remarked. As the words were spoken, the bather flopped from -his place and swam toward us. He was puffing heavily when he grasped -the stone side of the jetty and pulled himself up. I then saw that -I was mistaken as to his nudity, for he wore the strangest bathing -costume that I had ever beheld. It consisted of white cotton trunks -about eight inches wide. On one side, embroidered in yellow silk was a -vision of the rising sun; skin tight against the other side was a blue -pansy. - -I was fascinated, and watched the man trudge up the winding road -that led from the jetty. A ray of the lowering sun flashed on the -embroidered pansy rapidly drying against his flanks as he disappeared -in the doorway of a cottage. I turned to an old fisherman who was -puttering about a sail boat: - -"It looks Japanezy, that bathing suit," I said. The old man puffed at -his pipe: "No; his wife made it," he replied. "He wrote to her that he -had learned to swim so she made it and sent it up to him. He had never -seen the ocean before he came here. He is from the Midi." - -"Ah," I replied, "and what did he wear before she sent it?" - -The old man shrugged his shoulders. "About here, you know, it doesn't -much matter about bathing suits. There aren't many folks about." - -"Who is he?" I asked. "Is he a summer visitor?" - -"Summer visitor!" the old man gasped. "Summer visitor--why he hates -this place and everything in it. He only learned to swim because he had -nothing else to do and because he hates it so." - -"Hates it!" I ejaculated. "Well, why on earth is he here then?" - -"He's here because he's got to be here," the old chap replied. "He's -mobilized here. He's a soldier!" - -A cigarette that I had just taken from its case, fell from my nerveless -fingers into the water and swirled out with the tide. - -A soldier--a soldier in my retreat. How unspeakably annoying. And in -that bathing suit I never would have suspected him at all. - -The old fisherman explained, while I lugubriously leaned over the jetty -and watched that crab puddling about his rock. There were eleven more -of them--soldiers, I mean--they all lived in the little cottage near -the jetty. They were there to guard the cable between the mainland and -the Ile de Bréhat, two miles away. They guarded it the twenty-four -hours of the day--those twelve. Every two hours one of them mounted -guard where the cable comes up from the sea and solemnly guarded it -from German attack. - -The old fisherman pointed behind me. I turned and there, even as he had -explained, I saw a man in the blue coat and red pants of the French -territorial army. From the trenches the red pants have gone into the -historic past. Nowadays the red pants are only for the territorials. - -This particular cable sentry was also from the Midi, my fisherman -explained. He too disliked the sea. He sat there and stared moodily -into the sun that was just in the act of gloriously descending into the -water. A last ray caught the steel bayonet of the Lebel rifle lying -across his knees. - -I left the jetty and walked up the winding road to the village. I went -to the single store to buy tobacco and to hear the talk of the people. -There were no newspapers, I thought, so their talk could not be about -the war. Also there I would avoid the sight of the soldiers, because -the store had liquor on its list of commodities. It is forbidden to -soldiers to enter such places except at certain hours. - -A fresh-faced Breton girl served out the tobacco. Cigars at two cents -each were the most expensive tobacco purchase in the shop. I purchased -a dozen and immediately became a celebrity and a millionaire. We -talked. I asked her about the countryside, about the people and about -the wonderful lace coiffures of the peasant women. She told me how -the women of one hamlet wear an entirely different "coif" from those -even of the neighboring farms and that throughout Brittany there are -hundreds of different styles. - -Then I asked her about the men folks, the few who work in the fields -and the great majority who go off in the boats to Iceland in the spring -and come back ten months later--those who ever do come back at all. -Then quite naturally we talked about the war. For she explained that to -her people the war was not so terrible as the times of peace. Then it -was impossible to get letters from a fishing schooner off the Iceland -banks--now it was quite easy to get letters from the trenches every -few days. The men suffered far greater losses from the perils of the -northern ocean than since they were all mobilized to fight the Germans. -Some were killed--that was natural enough--but not half so many as the -number who just sailed out and disappeared. - -I was beginning to feel that perhaps the war was a benefit to this part -of the world. - -An old woman entered the store to buy tobacco. She was bent and -withered and her hand trembled as she drew the few coppers from her -purse. Her voice was high and quavery when she spoke to the girl. She -said that her son had just been wounded near Verdun. His condition was -desperate, but they were bringing him home--to her--to die on the old -Brittany farm, on the hillside overlooking the sea. - -"Ah, la guerre," she murmured, "c'est terrible." - -She explained that her other boys had been lost on a fishing schooner -five years ago. She had tried to keep this one--had wanted him so much -and tried so hard. But if she could see him again it would be better. -She sighed and tucked purse and tobacco under her apron and clattered -out on her heavy wooden sabots--her head bowed under her years and her -woe. "C'est pour la patrie," she murmured as she passed through the -door. - -The next day was a Sunday. On Sunday all Brittany goes to church, -and when one is in Brittany--well, one goes to church too. After the -service I walked through the churchyard, which is also the graveyard -of the village. It was so quiet, so restful and far removed from the -world and the war, that I was content to remain there, for the eleven -soldiers not guarding the cable were disporting themselves on the beach. - -I found a wonderful old wall at one end of the graveyard. It was very -old and overgrown with moss and ivy. It was a dozen feet high and -crumbling in places. I did not know then that the wall was one of the -sights of that countryside, but I did know when I saw it that I was -looking upon the record of mighty tragedies. For it was covered over -with little slabs, sometimes almost lost to view under the climbing -vines. On the slabs were written the names of the men of the village -who had gone to sea and never been heard of again. The dates were -all there and the names of the ships. On several were the names of -two or more brothers--on another slab were listed the males of three -generations of one house. There were hundreds of names, the dates going -back nearly a hundred years. Over many slabs with more recent dates -were hung wreaths of flowers. - -It is called the wall of the disappeared. - -I read all the slabs with keenest interest; this record of toll taken -by an element more resistless even than war. Indeed the battles of the -nations seemed puny against the evidences of inexorable might written -on the wall of the disappeared. - -Near the end of the wall a woman was praying. She was all in black, -with the huge Breton widow's cowl drawn over her head, so that she -looked like a witch in Macbeth. Above her head I noticed a freshly -painted slab newly fixed in the wall. I read the inscription over -her shoulder. The date was September, 1915. Instead of the name of a -fishing boat that went to pieces in a gale off Iceland, was recorded -the man's regiment, followed by his name and the words, "disappeared in -the battle of the Marne." - -The morning following I awoke early, with the sun and the sea sparkling -at my window. I got into a regulation bathing suit and rushed down -the old stone jetty for a plunge before breakfast. The water was so -fresh--so full of life--the day was so wonderful--that I forgot all -about the twelve soldiers, the old woman whose wounded son was coming -home to die, the soldier of the battle of the Marne whose name was on -the wall of the disappeared. - -There was no such thing as war as I dived off the jetty's end, deep -into the cold, clean water. I opened my eyes under the water and could -see the rocks on the bottom, still many feet below. - -Suddenly a roar struck my ears and I struck up to the surface. I knew -how sound travels under water; and I knew this sound. It was a dull, -terrifying boom. I rubbed the salt from my eyes and looked across the -straits to the Ile de Bréhat. Crouched under the towering rocks of the -island, and lying low in the water, was an ugly black torpedo destroyer -flying the tricolor. A cruiser flying the Union Jack, her masts just -visible across a far reach of the island, was picking her way slowly -through the channel. The sound was a signal gun. - -I floated on the water and looked up at the sky. Up there, perhaps, is -peace, I thought; and then I glanced hastily about for aeroplanes. - -As for this village, my thoughts continued, this insignificant village -of L'Arcouëst, par Ploubazlanec, Côtes du Nord, Brittany--that is the -sonorous official address of my tiny hamlet by the sea--why even if -it is not in the "zone of military activity," it has all the elements -that war brings, from the faded uniforms of blue and red to the black -mouths of cannon. It has all the anxiety, all the sorrow, all the hopes -and all the prayers. It has all the zeal and all the despair. All the -horror and all the pomp and empty glory. It may only be a rearpost--way -out where Europe kneels to the Atlantic--and where one can pray for -peace. But war is there, after all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -MYTHS - - -The European war zone at the beginning of hostilities was as busy a -fable factory as were San Juan and Santiago during the Spanish-American -conflict when "yellow journalism" was supposed to have reached its -zenith. It was a great pity, for the truth of the European war is -stupendous enough. Newspaper myths and yellow faking have never had -less excuse. In many cases it may take years to properly classify the -facts. - -Not all of the myths have been deliberate ones. At the outbreak of the -war rumor followed rumor so swiftly, and was so often attested by the -statements of "eye-witnesses," that inevitably it was transformed _en -route_ from fancy into fact. Sometimes a tense public itself raised -definitely labeled rumors to the rank of official communications. In a -few instances war correspondents have deliberately faked. - -The censorship, generally unintelligent, sometimes incredibly stupid, -is responsible for a great many myths. "Beating the censor" was a -gleeful game for some correspondents until it became clear that the -censor always held the winning hand, and that he could even suppress -their activities altogether. The "half truths" of the official -communications have also been responsible for much flavoring of the -real news with fiction. - -The similarity in names of the river Sambre and Somme, the one being in -Belgium and the other in France, undoubtedly had much to do with the -wording of the French communiqués when France was first invaded. Day -after day the despatches laconically referred to "the fighting on the -Sambre." Then one Sunday morning, when it was considered impossible -to keep back the truth much longer, a casual communiqué mentioned the -fighting line "on the Somme." The press of the world, which had been -deliberately kept in the dark for days, can scarcely be blamed for -losing its head a trifle and printing scare headlines unprecedented -since news became a commodity. - -The greatest of all war fakes, and one that had not the slightest -foundation of truth, is the story of the Russian army rushed from -Archangel to Scotland, thence through England to France to aid at the -battle of the Marne. This story is entirely discredited to-day, but it -died hard, and no wonder, for there never was a story with so many -"eye witnesses," so much "absolute proof" of its authenticity. From -the highlands of Scotland to the hamlets of Brittany peasants were -awakened at night by the tramp of marching feet. Upon investigation the -Cossacks of the Czar were revealed hurrying on their way to the western -battle line. I have never heard where the story originated, but every -correspondent with the Allied forces believed it. A friend living near -a French seaport whose honesty I can not question, wrote to me telling -in detail of the landing of an entire Russian army corps. I talked with -officers of both the English and French armies who swore to a definite -knowledge that Russians were then in France and would soon be fighting -in the front line. To my recollection the story was never denied, and -only the fact that the Russians never did reach that front line where -they were so eagerly awaited, brought the story into the classification -where it belonged. - -Another great fake, but different from this one in that it had a slight -foundation of truth, is the story of the French taxicab army under -General Galliéni, that swept out of Paris forty to eighty thousand -strong (accounts differed) and which fell on the flank of the Germans -and saved the city. This story became the most popular of the entire -war, and it is still implicitly believed by thousands of persons. I -saw that taxicab army and am therefore able to state that about ninety -per cent. of the story written about it is fiction. The ten per cent. -fact is that the army of General Manoury was in process of formation -for days before the battle of the Marne. The troops were sent around -and through Paris to occupy a position west of Compiégne. I watched -thousands of them, the Senegalese division, march through Paris on -foot during the latter days of August, 1914. It was the methodical, -though hasty, creation by the General Staff of a new army. At the same -time the General Staff was conducting, under General Joffre, the great -retreat from Charleroi. - -At the beginning of the battle of the Marne a few regiments were still -in Paris. The Military Governor, General Galliéni, was instructed to -rush them north by any means available. The northern railways were in -German hands, and the only way was to send them in taxicabs. So many -chauffeurs had been mobilized that Paris had then probably not more -than two thousand taxis. At the tightest squeeze not more than four -soldiers with heavy marching equipment, could have been carried in one -of the small Paris taxicabs. The taxicab army, therefore, may have -numbered four regiments, or eight thousand men, while the real figures -may possibly be less. It was not the army of Paris gallantly rushing -out to save the city. The army of Paris had instructions to remain in -the city and to defend it. The taxicab army was a fine and dramatic -piece of news, expanded to fit the imagination of an excited world. - -The fable factory actually began operations before the declaration of -war, when with the sudden shortage of money, tales of starving and -otherwise suffering American tourists were cabled to New York by the -yellow press. But the Paris papers, and the general press, awaited -mobilization orders before becoming graphic without the support of -facts. - -On the first day of hostilities several papers printed thrilling -details of the airman Garros having brought down a Zeppelin. Garros was -then waiting for military orders at his Paris apartment and laughed -heartily at the story when I telephoned to him. - -Four times during the first month of the war I read of the death of the -airman Vedrines. Six months later I met him on one of my trips to the -front. The death of Max Linder, the comedian, was also dramatically -related by the Paris press, but a few nights later I found Linder on -the _terrasse_ of a boulevard café relating his very live adventure in -getting there. - -Leaving out of consideration the feelings of the men's families -these were after all comparatively harmless and unimportant fakes. A -more sinister story, hinted at for weeks and finally openly printed, -was that a certain French general had been shot for treachery while -stationed near the Belgian frontier. So persistent was this report -that it was finally necessary for General Joffre himself to issue a -statement that the general in question was alive and well and had -merely been removed to another field of active service. - -Of all the fakes and all the fakirs, I believe the French authorities -will admit that the greatest offenders have been their own papers. The -English correspondents were always fairly reliable, while the accounts -furnished the American papers have received the least criticism of -all--and the greatest praise. The most outstanding example of incorrect -information appearing in the British press was a story early in the war -that the British expeditionary force had been entirely destroyed. It -is only just to state that the writer of the story was ignorant of his -facts and not a wilful fakir. Nevertheless he has since been _persona -non grata_ in France and has confined his activities to the Russian -front. - -Not all of the American accounts have been free from faking. One -American correspondent printed an "exclusive interview" with President -Poincaré which he declared was arranged and took place on the -battlefield. This story was entirely false, the correspondent merely -seeing the President reviewing the troops, a dozen other correspondents -having the same privilege. - -The most glaring example of inaccuracy upon the part of an American -writer was an account of the battle of Ypres which appeared in both -English and American publications. This account, giving the entire -credit for the victory to the English, with faint praise for the -French, was resented by both the English and French officers, the -former as sportsmen not wishing undue praise, and the latter naturally -piqued that a story having such wide circulation should not have been -based more materially upon facts. This correspondent was later denied -the privilege of visiting the French front and has retired from the -zone of military activity. - -Most of the fakes, as I have shown, occurred at the beginning of -the war, or during the first six months, when all the world was in -a state of great excitement, and when correspondents, the majority -of whom had never seen a war before, should have been forgiven for -sometimes letting their imaginations run riot. During the past twelve -months, since organization has taken the place of chaos in so many -activities related to the war, and when correspondents have acquired -experience and perspective, I know of scarcely any cases of wilful -misrepresentation of the truth. During the battle of Champagne in -September, 1915, one correspondent did attempt to project his astral -body to the battlefield for the purpose of writing an "eye witness" -account of the fighting; but he paid dearly for the indiscretion. -He was at once crossed off the official list of correspondents at -the French war office and all his credentials were withdrawn for the -duration of the war. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -WHEN CHENAL SINGS THE "MARSEILLAISE" - - -I went to the Opéra Comique one day to hear Marthe Chenal sing the -"Marseillaise." For several weeks previous I had heard a story going -the rounds of what is left of Paris life to the effect that if one -wanted a regular old-fashioned thrill he really should go to the Opéra -Comique on a day when Mlle. Chenal closed the performance by singing -the French national hymn. I was told there would be difficulty in -securing a seat. - -I was rather skeptical. I also considered that I had had sufficient -thrills since the beginning of the war, both old-fashioned and new. I -believed also that I had already heard the "Marseillaise" sung under -the best possible circumstances to produce thrills. One of the first -nights after mobilization 10,000 Frenchmen filled the street beneath -the windows of the _New York Times_ office where I was at work. They -sang the "Marseillaise" for two hours, with a solemn hatred of their -national enemy sounding in every note. The solemnity changed to a wild -passion as the night wore on. Finally, cuirassiers of the guard rode -through the street to disperse the mob. It was a terrific scene. - -So I was willing to admit that the "Marseillaise" is probably the most -thrilling and most martial national song ever written, but I was just -not keen on the subject of thrills. - -Then one day a sedate friend went to the Opéra Comique and it was a -week before his ardor subsided. He declared that this rendition of a -song was something that will be referred to in future years. "Why," -he said, "when the war is over the French will talk about it in the -way Americans still talk about Jenny Lind at Castle Garden, or De Wolf -Hopper reciting 'Casey at the Bat.'" - -This induced me to go. I was convinced that whether I got a thrill or -not the singing of the "Marseillaise" by Chenal had become a distinct -feature of Paris life during the war. - -I never want to go again. To go again might deepen my impression--might -better register the thrill. But then it might not be just the same. I -would be keyed to such expectancy that I might be disappointed. Persons -in the seats behind me might whisper. And just as Chenal got to the -"Amour sacré de la patrie" some one might cough. I am confident that -something of the sort would surely happen. I want always to remember -that ten minutes while Chenal was on the stage just as I remember it -now. So I will not go again. - -The first part of the performance was Donizetti's "Daughter of the -Regiment," beautifully sung by members of the regular company. But -somehow the spectacle of a fat soprano nearing forty in the rôle of -the twelve-year-old vivandière, although impressive, was not sublime. -A third of the audience were soldiers. In the front row of the top -balcony were a number of wounded. Their bandaged heads rested against -the rail. Several of them yawned. - -After the operetta came a "Ballet of the Nations." The "nations," of -course, represented the Allies. We had the delectable vision of the -Russian ballerina dancing with arms entwined about several maids of -Japan. The Scotch lassies wore violent blue jackets. The Belgian girls -carried large pitchers and rather wept and watered their way about the -stage. There were no thrills. - -[Illustration: MDLLE. CHENAL SINGING THE MARSEILLAISE] - -After the intermission there was not even available space. The majority -of the women were in black--the prevailing color in these days. The -only touches of brightness and light were in the uniforms of the -officers liberally sprinkled through the orchestra and boxes. - -Then came "Le Chant du Depart," the famous song of the Revolution. The -scene was a little country village. The principals were the officer, -the soldier, the wife, the mother, the daughter and the drummer boy. -There was a magnificent soldier chorus and the fanfare of drums and -trumpets. The audience then became honestly enthusiastic. I concluded -that the best Chenal could do with the "Marseillaise," which was next -on the program, would be an anti-climax. - -The orchestra played the opening bars of the martial music. With the -first notes the vast audience rose. I looked up at the row of wounded -leaning heavily against the rail, their eyes fixed and staring on the -curtain. I noticed the officers in the boxes, their eyes glistening. I -heard a convulsive catch in the throats of persons about me. Then the -curtain lifted. - -I do not remember what was the stage setting. I do not believe I saw -it. All I remember was Chenal standing at the top of a short flight of -steps, in the center near the back drop. I indistinctly remember that -the rest of the stage was filled with the soldier chorus and that near -the footlights on either side were clusters of little children. - -"Up, sons of France, the call of glory--" - -Chenal swept down to the footlights. The words of the song swept over -the audience like a bugle call. The singer wore a white silk gown -draped in perfect Grecian folds. She wore the large black Alsatian -head dress, in one corner of which was pinned a small tricolored -cockade. She has often been called the most beautiful woman in Paris. -The description was too limited. With the next lines she threw her -arms apart, drawing out the folds of the gown into the tricolor of -France--heavy folds of red silk draped over one arm and blue over -the other. Her head was thrown back. Her tall, slender figure simply -vibrated with the feeling of the words that poured forth from her lips. -She was noble. She was glorious. She was sublime. With the "March -on, march on," of the chorus, her voice arose high and fine over the -full orchestra, and even above her voice could be sensed the surging -emotions of the audience that seemed to sweep over the house in waves. - -I looked up at the row of wounded. One man held his bandaged head -between his hands and was crying. An officer in a box, wearing the -gorgeous uniform of the headquarters staff, held a handkerchief over -his eyes. - -Through the second verse the audience alternately cheered and stamped -their feet and wept. Then came the wonderful "Amour sacré de la -patrie"--sacred love of home and country--verse. The crashing of the -orchestra ceased, dying away almost to a whisper. Chenal drew the folds -of the tricolor cloak about her. Then she bent her head and, drawing -the flag to her lips, kissed it reverently. The first words came -like a sob from her soul. From then until the end of the verse, when -her voice again rang out over the renewed efforts of the orchestra, -one seemed to live through all the glorious history of France. At the -very end, when Chenal drew a short jeweled sword from the folds of her -gown and stood, silent and superb, with the folds of the flag draped -around her, while the curtain rang slowly down, she seemed to typify -both Empire and Republic throughout all time. All the best of the past -seemed concentrated there as that glorious woman, with head raised -high, looked into the future. - -And as I came out of the theater with the silent audience I said -to myself that a nation with a song and a patriotism such as I had -witnessed could not vanish from the earth--nor again be vanquished. - - -THE END - - -[Illustration: FRONT D'ARTOIS] - - - - -NOTE - - -The attached map of the "Front d'Artois" is the first of the kind ever -presented to the public. The author of this book has been specially -authorized to reproduce it by the French Ministry of War, under whose -direction it was first executed from photographs by French airmen taken -on their trips over the German lines. - -It bears the date September 25, 1915, that being the day when the -great offensive was launched against the Germans both in Artois and -Champagne. On that occasion the map was given only to French officers. - -The heavy blue zigzag line shows the front line of the German trenches. -The thin blue lines running to the rear show the communication trenches -extending back to the second and even the third lines of defense. -The French trenches are naturally not shown, but were to the west of -the Germans, in some places not over fifteen yards of barbed wire -entanglements separating them. At the time of the September attack all -these trenches were captured by the French. - -The Artois front, which is often called "the sector north of Arras," -is one of the most important on the entire line, inasmuch as the army -holding the plateau holds also the key to the channel ports. The -bloodiest and most desperate battles of the war have occurred there. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASSED BY THE CENSOR *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Passed by the censor</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>The Experience of an American Newspaper Man in France</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Wythe Williams</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Contributor: Myron T. Herrick</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 11, 2022 [eBook #68970]<br /> -[Last updated: October 19, 2022]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Graeme Mackreth and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASSED BY THE CENSOR ***</div> - - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> -<img src="images/illus02.jpg" alt="pic"/> -</p> - -<p class="caption"> MYRON T. HERRICK<br /> - -UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR TO FRANCE<br /> - -From a hitherto unpublished drawing by Royer</p> - - - - - -<p class="ph1" style="margin-top: 10em;">PASSED BY THE CENSOR</p> - -<p class="ph4">THE EXPERIENCE OF AN<br /> -AMERICAN NEWSPAPER MAN IN FRANCE</p> - -<p class="ph5" style="margin-top: 5em;">BY</p> -<p class="ph3"> -WYTHE WILLIAMS</p> - -<p class="ph5">PARIS CORRESPONDENT OF THE NEW YORK TIMES,<br /> -OFFICIALLY ACCREDITED TO THE FRENCH<br /> -ARMIES ON THE WESTERN FRONT</p> - -<p class="ph5" style="margin-top: 10em;">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY</p> -<p class="ph3">MYRON T. HERRICK</p> -<p class="ph5">FORMER UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR TO FRANCE</p> - -<p class="ph5" style="margin-top: 15em;"> NEW YORK</p> -<p class="ph5">E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY</p> -<p class="ph5">681 FIFTH AVENUE</p> - - - - - - -<p class="ph6" style="margin-top: 15em;">Copyright, 1916</p> -<p class="ph5"><span class="smcap">By</span> E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY</p> - -<p class="ph6">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> - - - - - -<p class="ph3" style="margin-top: 15em;"><i>TO VIOLA</i></p> - - - - -<p class="ph3" style="margin-top: 5em;">PREFACE</p> - - -<p>Special correspondents in great numbers have come from America into the -European "zone of military activity," and in almost equal numbers have -they gone out, to write their impressions, their descriptions, their -histories, their romances and songs.</p> - -<p>Other correspondents who are not "special," but who by the grace of -the military authorities have been permitted to enter the forbidden -territory, and by the favor of the censor have been allowed to tell -what they saw there, have entered it again and again at regular -intervals.</p> - -<p>These are the "regular" correspondents, who lived in Europe before war -was declared, and who during many idle hours speculated on what they -would do with that great arm of their vocation—the cable—when the -expected hour of conflict arrived.</p> - -<p>Few of their plans worked out, and new ones were formed on the -minute—on the second. For the Germans did not cut the cable, as some -of the correspondents, in moments of despair, almost hoped they would -do, and the great American public clamored insistently for the "news" -with its breakfast.</p> - -<p>It is a journalist's methods in covering the biggest, the hardest -"story" that newspapers were ever compelled to handle, that this book -attempts to describe.</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 35%;"><span class="smcap">Wythe Williams.</span></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Paris, October, 1915.</p> - - - - -<p class="ph3">AN ENDORSEMENT</p> - - - -<p><span class="smcap">By Georges Clemenceau</span></p> - -<p>Former Premier of France.</p> - - -<p>"In the crowded picture which this American journalist has presented we -recognize our men as they are. And he pronounces such judgment as to -arouse our pride in our friends, our brothers and our children. Such -a people are the French of to-day. They must also be the French of -to-morrow. Through them France sees herself regenerate.</p> - -<p>"Of our army, Mr. Wythe Williams says:</p> - -<p>"'It seems to me to be invincible from the standpoints of power, -intelligence and humanity.'</p> - -<p>"Is there not in that something like a judgment pronounced upon -France before the people of the world? Where I am particularly -surprised, I admit, is that the eye of a foreigner should have been so -penetrating, and that our friendly guest should have coupled the idea -of an 'invincible' army with the supreme ethical consideration of its -'humanity.'</p> - -<p>"Mr. Wythe Williams is right to proclaim this, even though it is -something of a stroke of genius for a non-Frenchman to have discovered -it."—(From an editorial in <i>L'Homme Enchainé</i>.)</p> - - - - -<p class="ph3">LETTER TO THE AUTHOR FROM SENATOR LAFAYETTE YOUNG</p> - - -<blockquote> - -<p> - -<i>My Dear Williams</i>:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I am glad to know that you are going to write about the war in book -form. In doing this you are discharging a plain duty. You have been -in the war from the start. You have studied the soldier in the -trench, and out. You have witnessed every phase of battle. The war -is in your system. You are full of it. Therefore, you can write -concerning it with inspiration and fervor.</p> - -<p>I remember our long marches in and near the trenches in Northern -France in April and May, last. I know how deeply you are interested; -therefore, I know how well you will write.</p> - -<p>A thousand historians will write books concerning the present great -conflict, but the real historians will be the honest, independent -observers such as you have been.</p> - -<p>Newspaper reports will be the basis of every battle's history.</p> - -<p>Take the battle of the Marne, for instance. Who knows so well -concerning it as men like yourself, who were in Paris or near it -during the seven days' conflict?</p> - -<p>The passing years may bring dignified historians who will compose -sentences which shall sound well, but none of them will be so full of -real history as your volume if you write your own experiences.</p> - -<p>I never knew a man freer from prejudice, and at the same time fuller -of enthusiasm than yourself. I want you to write your book with the -same free hand you write for the <i>New York Times</i>. Forget for the -time that you are writing a book.</p> - -<p>I am pleased to know that you have been with the army several times -since I parted company with you. This, with your experience as an -ambulance driver, when the first hostilities were on, has certainly -made you a military writer worth while.</p> - -<p>I count you to be one of the three best and most truthful American -correspondents who have been in the war from the start.</p> - -<p>I am hoping the time will come when these wars shall end, when bright -men like yourself shall return to the work of journalism in America.</p> - -<p>With greatest affection, I subscribe myself,</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 35%;">Lafayette Young</span>.<br /> -</p></blockquote> - - - - -<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> - - -<table summary="toc" width="55%"> - -<tr><td> </td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#AN_INTRODUCTION">Introduction by Myron T. Herrick</a></span></td><td></td></tr> - - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center"><a href="#PART_ONE">PART ONE</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center">THE HECTIC WEEK</td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER </td><td> </td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">I</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">The Day</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">II</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">The Night</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">III</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Herrick</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">IV</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Les Américains</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">V</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">War</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center"><a href="#PART_TWO">PART TWO</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center">THE GREATEST STORY</td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">VI</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">The Actuality</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">VII</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">The Field of Glory</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center"><a href="#PART_THREE">PART THREE</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center">THE ARM OF MILITARY AUTHORITY</td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">VIII</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">The Field of Battle</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td> </td> <td> (A) Sentries in the Dark</td> <td></td></tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td> (B) The Wounded Who Could Walk</td><td> </td> </tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td> (C) A Lull in the Bombardment</td><td></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">IX</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">"Detained" by the Colonel</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">X</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">The Cherche Midi</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XI</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Under the Croix Rouge</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td> (A) Trevelyan</td><td></td></tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td> (B) The Rue Jeanne d'Arc</td><td></td></tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td> (C) Those from Quesnoy-sur-Somme</td> <td></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center"><a href="#PART_FOUR">PART FOUR</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center">WAR-CORRESPONDING DE LUXE</td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XII</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Out with Captain Blank</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XIII</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Joffre</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XIV</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">The Man of the Marne and the Yser</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XV</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Battle of the Labyrinth</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XVI</td> <td>"<span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">With the Honors of War</a></span>"</td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XVII</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Sister Julie, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor</a></span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XVIII</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">The Silent Cannon</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XIX</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">D'Artagnan and the Soul of France</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center"><a href="#PART_FIVE">PART FIVE</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="3" align="center">THREE CHAPTERS IN CONCLUSION</td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XX</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">A Rearpost of War</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XXI</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Myths</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right">XXII</td> <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">When Chenal Sings the "Marseillaise"</a></span></td> <td align="right"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> -</table> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="AN_INTRODUCTION" id="AN_INTRODUCTION">AN INTRODUCTION</a></p> - - - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Myron T. Herrick</span>,</p> - -<p class="center">Former United States Ambassador to France.</p> - - -<p>The rigid censorship placed on journalism upon the declaration of -war in Europe brought the representatives of the American press into -close relationship with the Embassy. The news which they brought to -the Embassy and such news as they received there, required unusual -discretion, frankness and confidence on the part of all concerned in -order that the American public should receive accurate information, -while avoiding the commission of any improprieties against the -countries involved in the great conflict.</p> - -<p>In this supreme test the American newspaper representatives appreciated -that they were something more than mere purveyors of news; they -arose to the full comprehension of their responsibility, and were of -invaluable assistance to the Embassy, and through it to the nation.</p> - -<p>While there has been no opportunity to read the advance sheets of -this book, my confidence in the character and ability of the author, -begotten in those days when real merit, and demerit as well, were -revealed, makes it a pleasure to write this foreword, and to commend -this volume unseen.</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">(Signed)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 5%">Myron T. Herrick</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Cleveland, Ohio, October 19th, 1915.</p></blockquote> - - - - -<h2>A FOREWORD</h2> - - -<p>At the outbreak of the European war, the author, who was then stationed -in Paris as the correspondent of the <i>New York Times</i>, was refused, -with all other correspondents, any credentials permitting him to -enter the fighting area. He entered it later, immediately after the -battle of the Marne, with what were in Paris considered sufficient -credentials. But he was arrested, returned to Paris as a prisoner of -war and lodged in the Cherche Midi prison, the famous military prison, -where Dreyfus was confined. He was released upon the intervention -of Ambassador Herrick, but still baffled in getting to the front as -a war correspondent, he volunteered for service in the Red Cross as -an orderly on a motor ambulance. A few of the descriptions in the -following pages are written from notes made during the two months he -remained in that service.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of 1915, the author was officially accredited as a -correspondent attached to the French army, and at the beginning of -February sent to his paper the longest cable despatch permitted to -pass the censor since the beginning of the war, and the first authentic -detailed description of the French forces after the battle of the Marne.</p> - -<p>The following spring, at the height of the first great French offensive -north of Arras, the famous ground, every yard of which is stained with -both French and German blood, the author was selected by the French -Ministry of War as the only neutral correspondent permitted there. The -first description given to America of the battle of the Labyrinth was -the result.</p> - -<p>Since then the author has made a number of trips to the front, always -under the escort of an officer of the Great General Headquarters Staff, -and has seen practically the entire line of the French trenches, up -to the moment of the autumn offensive in Champagne. He was the first -American correspondent to foreshadow this offensive in a long cable to -his paper at the end of August, in which he asserted that the attack -would commence "before the leaves are red," that being the only wording -of the facts permitted by the censor, but which exactly timed the date -of the action. A few of the following chapters have been rewritten -from the author's article published in the <i>New York Times</i>, to which -acknowledgment is made for permission to use such material. The author -however wishes alone to stand sponsor for the sentiments and opinions -expressed throughout the volume.</p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="PART_ONE" id="PART_ONE">PART ONE</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE HECTIC WEEK</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>PASSED BY THE CENSOR</h2> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE DAY</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">A member</span> of the Garde Republicaine, whose duty was to keep order in -the court, was creating great disorder by climbing over the shoulders -of the mob in the press section. He ousted friends of the white-faced -prisoner in the dock, to make room for a fat reporter from <i>Petit -Parisien</i>, who ordinarily did finance but was now relieving a confrère -at the lunch hour. The case in court was that of the famous affaire -Caillaux and all the world was reading bulletins concerning its -progress as fast as special editions could supply them.</p> - -<p>I was sitting in the last of the over-crowded rows allotted to the -press, but filled with whoever got there first. I was one of the few -Americans permitted to cover this important "story" first hand, instead -of having to write my nightly cables from reports in the evening -papers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<p>As the <i>Petit Parisien</i> man wheezed and jostled his way to a seat on -the bench just in front of me, I caught some words he flung to a friend -in passing. Maitre Labori was proclaiming the innocence of the prisoner -with all the fervor for which he is celebrated, and I was wondering how -soon an adjournment would let us escape from the stifling heat of the -room. It was the latter part of July, 1914; and true to French custom -all of the windows were shut tight.</p> - -<p>The words of the fat reporter pricked my flagging attention, "There is -a panic on the Bourse."</p> - -<p>The words caused a buzz of comment all around me. One English -journalist, monocled and superior, even stopped his writing, and the -financial reporter, his fat body half crowded into his seat, paused -midway to add: "The Austrian note to Serbia that has got them all -scared."</p> - -<p>Another French newspaperman some seats away overheard the talk and -joined in loudly. It did not matter how much we talked during the -proceedings of the affaire Caillaux. Everybody talked. Often everybody -talked at the same moment. This journalist prefaced his remarks by a -derisive laugh.</p> - -<p>"They are crazy on the Bourse," he said. "You may be sure that nothing -matters now in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> France but this trial. No panic, or Austrian note, or -Russian note or anything, will rival it as a newspaper story, I am -certain."</p> - -<p>The fat reporter again wheezed into speech.</p> - -<p>"I do not know very much concerning this affaire Caillaux," he replied, -"but I will bet you money that the verdict will not get a top headline."</p> - -<p>"Why?" cried some of us, mocking and incredulous.</p> - -<p>"Because of what I've told you. There is a panic on the Bourse."</p> - -<p>The presiding judge announced the luncheon adjournment; we trooped -to the basement restaurant of the Palais de Justice. I found myself -sitting at a table with the superior Englishman. We discussed the -qualities of French cuisine for a moment; then he said:</p> - -<p>"It will be jolly annoying if this Bourse business develops into war, -you know."</p> - -<p>This was the first mention that I remember of the word "war" in -connection with the events that followed so fast for the next few -weeks, that now as I look back upon them, they do not seem real at all. -One week to the day following this luncheon, I remember saying to a -fellow newspaper correspondent, "Is it a week, or is it a year,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> since -we had Peace in the world?" But at the first mention of the word—the -first premonition of the nearness of the tragedy that was descending -upon Europe—I remember signaling somewhat abstractedly to a waiter, -and giving him an order for food.</p> - -<p>Every one of the Americans who covered that session of the Caillaux -trial had lived in Europe for years; and the majority were to remain as -onlookers of the great war that had been so long predicted. But on this -day none of us realized, and none of us knew; and that was the greater -part of all our troubles.</p> - -<p>I remember a conversation only a few weeks before all this happened, -with Mr. Charles R. Miller, the editor of the <i>New York Times</i>, who was -passing through Paris on his return to New York from Carlsbad. He asked -me when I intended going home, and I replied to him as I had to many -others:</p> - -<p>"Not until they pull off this war over here. I have been in the -newspaper game ever since I left college, but I have never been lucky -enough to cover a war. So I do not propose to miss this one."</p> - -<p>Then came the invariable question:</p> - -<p>"When do you think it will come?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> - -<p>I had my reply ready. All of us had made it many times.</p> - -<p>"Oh, perhaps in a few years. Perhaps it will not be so very long."</p> - -<p>The next remark of at least half the persons with whom I discussed -the question was, "Pooh, pooh, there'll never be a European war." Mr. -Miller only said, "What will you do when it comes?"</p> - -<p>Again the reply was pat to hand, but how vague it seems now, in the -light of then fast approaching events! It was:</p> - -<p>"There will be warning enough to make our plans for beating the censor, -I am certain."</p> - -<p>It is easy enough to look back now and declare that incidents such -as Agadir, the Balkan war and Sarejebo should have been sufficient -handwriting on the wall. All those affairs were exactly that, but we -simply could not grasp the idea, that actual Armageddon could come -without at least months of announcement—time enough for all of us to -make our plans. In this I do not think we should be blamed, for we -followed so exactly the fatuous beliefs of even foreign ministries. -That the great moment should come in a week never entered our -imaginations.</p> - -<p>We filed back to the court room on that after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>noon of the Caillaux -trial and fought for the last time the twice daily battle for our -seats. I sat beside the superior Englishman. We listened idly to famous -politicians and famous doctors and famous lawyers garbling as best -they could the dead question of the murder of Gaston Calmette, and the -more burning though irrelevant one as to whether Joseph Caillaux was a -traitor.</p> - -<p>My companion and I discovered that our arrangements for a summer -vacation included the same tiny Brittany hamlet by the sea. We passed -a portion of the afternoon making mutual plans for the coming month, -and at the adjournment drove away from the ancient building on the -banks of the Seine in the same fiacre, both trying to align the chief -features of the day's sitting, and planning the writing of our night's -despatches.</p> - -<p>After an hour at my desk that evening, I remember turning to Mr. Walter -Duranty, my chief assistant, and saying, "It is about two thousand -words to-night. With all the direct testimony that the Associated Press -is sending, it ought to lead the paper to-morrow morning. Mark it -'rush.'"</p> - -<p>"But about this panic on the Bourse story! Don't you think we should -send a special on that?" Mr. Duranty asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why?" I questioned.</p> - -<p>"Because there is an Austrian brokerage firm that has been selling like -mad—started all the trouble; it is the identical firm that two years -ago—" His voice broke off suddenly. "Listen!" he then shouted. We made -a rush to the front windows looking upon the Boulevard des Italiens -near the Opera.</p> - -<p>The street was seething, which signified exactly nothing, for the -Caillaux case had kept the boulevards stirred up for days.</p> - -<p>"They are yelling, 'Down with Caillaux!'" I said, as we tore open the -window sashes.</p> - -<p>"No—it's something else."</p> - -<p>We leaned far out. Under the lights moved thousands of heads. Hundreds -were reading the latest editions, but in the middle of the road a mob -was surging, and we heard a monotonous cry. It was a cry heard that -night in Paris for the first time in forty-four years.</p> - -<p>The mob was shouting, "To Berlin!"</p> - -<p>I slammed shut the window. "Cut that Caillaux cable to a thousand -words," I yelled, as I seized my hat, ran down the stairs, and plunged -into the crowd, snatching the latest editions as I ran.</p> - -<p>The Austro-Serb and Russian news had become<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> worse within a few hours, -and there were already rumors of Franco-German frontier incidents. I -hurried along the boulevards, calling at the offices of the <i>Matin</i> and -the <i>London Daily Mail</i>, but could get no inside information; nothing -but official announcements which would be cabled by the news agencies, -and did not interest me, the correspondent of a paper receiving all -agency matter.</p> - -<p>Later I returned to my office, cabled a story that pictured the scene -in the boulevards and gave some details concerning the Austrian -brokerage firm that had precipitated the trouble on the Bourse by -its selling orders. My paper alone carried the next morning the -significant information that this same Austrian house, with high Vienna -connections, had made an enormous fortune just two years before, when -it had accurate and precise information concerning the hour that the -conflict in the Balkans would begin.</p> - -<p>This story was a "beat"—probably it was the first "beat" of the -European war, but it was almost lost in the mass of heavy despatches -that on that night began crowding the cables from every capital in -Europe. The next morning probably every newspaper in the world led its -columns with the subject of war. Even in Paris the affaire Caillaux was -relegated to the second page.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE NIGHT</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">A "beat"</span> or a "scoop," otherwise known as exclusive news, is a -great matter to a newspaper man. To "put over a beat" gives soul -satisfaction, but to be beaten causes poignant feeling of another sort.</p> - -<p>There have been some great beats and a multitude of little ones, but up -to the beginning of the European war, the greatest beat that was ever -put over came from a Paris correspondent.</p> - -<p>This was the occasion when Henri de Blowitz, the famous representative -of the <i>London Times</i>, gave the full text of the treaty of Berlin -before the hour when it was actually signed. That was a real beat, -not to be classified with the majority of beats of later years, which -were often scandalous, more often paltry, and which often caused us to -wonder whether they were worth the cable tolls.</p> - -<p>In ante-bellum discussions, the Paris correspondents often opined that -the coming conflict would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> open a more important field. At least we -would no longer chronicle the silly ways of fashion and the crazy ways -of society. The turf, the mannequin, the Rue de la Paix, and those -who drank tea at the Pré Catalan would give way to real and stirring -matters. We all schemed to put over a real beat as soon as the war -drums began to roll and the new Paris was revealed. The old Paris, in -the minds of American editors, had only been an important place for -unimportant things.</p> - -<p>Looking back now at the beginnings of Armageddon, and at the particular -corner in which I performed a minor rôle, I can say generally that all -our schemes went wrong and that there were no "beats" of the slightest -importance secured by anybody. Remember, I am only speaking of Paris -and France. There were a few great beats elsewhere. There was the -famous "scrap of paper" interview given to the Associated Press. There -were some exclusive interviews secured in both Germany and England. -But France, the real theater of action, where beats were expected, was -quite the equal of Japan in her sudden tight sealing of every crevice -from which news either big or little might leak.</p> - -<p>France had learned several lessons from the year 1870, but this one she -learned almost too well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> So far as the neutral opinion of the world -was concerned, it was scarcely known that France had an army. Later, -but much later, and then very gradually, some real stories were passed -by the censor—but even then very few of them were beats.</p> - -<p>But during the hectic week when France went to war the censorship was -almost overlooked and there were a few precious hours during which -the correspondents and their methods of communication were free. The -first sign of the censor was the shutting off of the telephone between -Paris and London. It had been my custom to talk with our London office -nightly in order that the news of the two capitals might be checked, -and that we might not duplicate stories.</p> - -<p>The second night following the events of the foregoing chapter I talked -to our London bureau for the last time. All that day my mind had been -busy with one idea: "If war is declared, how can we beat the censor?"</p> - -<p>The first answer that probably occurred to every correspondent was: -"Code." Alas, events moved too quickly. A secret code was a matter -that might have been arranged had we been given our expected months of -notice, but there was no time now.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - -<p>I gave the call for our London office, however, with this idea still -uppermost in mind. I waited a quarter of an hour to be put through. -Then I heard the voice of my colleague. It sounded harassed. I shall -never forget his first remark after the communication was established. -I could almost see him pass a hand over a fevered brow; I could almost -hear the sigh that I am sure accompanied the words which were:</p> - -<p>"My gracious, I never expected to live to see such days as these!"</p> - -<p>It was quite natural that he should have said just that, but somehow -there did not seem any fitting reply. Also it seemed rather hopeless to -talk about codes. So I said:</p> - -<p>"I am told that we will not be allowed to telephone after to-night."</p> - -<p>He replied: "That's a fact. I guess this is good-by for a while." He -paused—then as an afterthought, added: "I think you would better just -send everything you can from Paris without paying any heed to whether -London does or not."</p> - -<p>Inasmuch as a moment had arrived when there was only one possible way -to do many things, I quite agreed with him.</p> - -<p>The conversation lagged.</p> - -<p>"Well, good-by," I shouted.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Good-by," he replied, "and good luck."</p> - -<p>That was the end of the telephone as an adjunct to transatlantic -journalism. I have never spoken with our London office from that night.</p> - -<p>After hanging up the receiver I had an idea.</p> - -<p>It did not and does not now seem a particularly brilliant one; but, -again, it was the only possible thing to do. I turned to Mr. Duranty -and said:</p> - -<p>"We will have a little race with the censor. We will crowd everything -possible on the cable before he gets on the job."</p> - -<p>All the late editions were on my desk. I clipped and pasted everything -of interest on cable forms and sent them to the Bourse. Mr. Duranty -took them himself, "just to see if there were any signs of the censor," -as he expressed it. Then I began to write, interrupted continually by -my dozen extra assistants. I had hired every freelance newspaper man -I could find—and I had also a number of volunteers, young American -visitors, too interested in events to be in a hurry to get out of the -city.</p> - -<p>The night was warm and the windows all open. The boulevards were dense -with shouting people. There was no mistaking the cries on this night. -"À Berlin—À Berlin," echoed above the roar of the traffic and the -mob. Cuirassiers frequently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> rode through the streets but the crowd -immediately surged in behind them.</p> - -<p>At ten o'clock the concierge mounted to protest against the street door -being open. She was afraid. She was alone in the <i>loge</i>. I told her -that the business of the office required the doors kept unlocked. She -went away and in a few moments came back with the proprietor of the -building, whom she had called by telephone. He insisted on closing the -street door. I told him this was a violation of my lease. In view of -the circumstances he persisted in his demand. I wheeled my chair about -and said to him:</p> - -<p>"This office remains open—all night if I desire. It is a newspaper -office and we cannot close. If you interfere with me I guarantee that I -will keep a man there, but if necessary that man will be a soldier."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I mean that I will apply to the American Embassy for the protection of -my rights as an American citizen."</p> - -<p>He went away and that difficulty ended.</p> - -<p>I turned back to my work. I wrote thousands of words that night; when -not writing I was dictating, and piecing together the reports of my -assistants.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Duranty returned from the Bourse. His clothes were awry and he was -trembling with excitement. He had diverged, in his return trip, to the -Gare du Nord, to get a story of the stormy scenes there—thousands, -chiefly Americans, fighting for places in the trains for England. He -had been arrested, he explained. Oh, yes, he had been surrounded by a -mob at the Gare, who spotted him as a foreigner, and the police had -rescued him. He explained his identity and was released.</p> - -<p>At the end of the story he suddenly leaped across the room to the -window. I leaped at the same moment and so did the stenographer. Across -the boulevard was a store that dealt in objects of art. The proprietor -was a German. During the day he had boarded the place with stout -planks. As we reached the window the sound of splitting and tearing -planks sounded above even the cries and roars of the angry people. One -look and Duranty was out of the office and in the street.</p> - -<p>I sat in the window and watched the mob do its work. The torn planks -were used as battering rams through the plate glass, through the -expensive statuary and costly vases. In five minutes the place was -a ruin. Then the cuirassiers came and drove the crowd away. Duranty -returned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> with the details of the story. I asked him what the police -had said to the crowd.</p> - -<p>"A man came out holding a marble Adonis by the arm," he replied. "A cop -said to him, 'Be good now—be good!' and the chap replied, 'Well, if I -can't smash it, you smash it!'—So the cop took it and leaped upon it -with both feet."</p> - -<p>"Write it," I said; "also the Gare du Nord story."</p> - -<p>It was midnight and the uproar was greater than ever. Processions -blocks long wended through the middle of the streets singing the -"Marseillaise," the "Carmagnole" and other fire-eating songs of the -Revolution. Through it all I worked, and steadily sent messenger after -messenger to the Bourse with the latest news from the various scenes of -action. No signs yet of the censor.</p> - -<p>About one o'clock the crowd concentrated just below my window. The -cries grew fiercer and louder, with a more terrible note. I went to -the window. The faces of the mob were turned to an upper window of the -building next door. Some rash voice had shouted from that window a cry -that no man might shout that night in Paris with safety. He had cried: -"Hurrah for Germany!"</p> - -<p>I crawled out on my window ledge and watched.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> The crowd filled the -street completely. They watched that upper window, they yelled their -rage and they battered against a great grilled iron door that baffled -their efforts. The police tried to disperse them, but as soon as the -street was partly cleared they surged back again. They hung about that -door, their faces turned up, the hate showing in their eyes, their -mouths open, bellowing forth their rage. They waited as patiently as -wolves that have surrounded a quarry that must come out to meet them -soon. But the waiting was so long that I crawled back from my window -ledge into the office.</p> - -<p>I finished a despatch that I had compiled from various documents given -out to the morning papers by the Foreign Ministry, and of which I had -secured a copy. They were an undisputable proof that Germany meant -war on France, for they noted a dozen incidents proving that German -mobilization had been under way for days. The dawn was breaking as I -pushed my chair from the desk.</p> - -<p>I told the stenographer and other assistants to go home and get some -sleep—not to report again until late afternoon. Duranty, who, like -myself, kept no hours but worked always while there was work to do, -sauntered into the private room. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> had counted the words of copy that -had been filed that night—nearly twenty thousand.</p> - -<p>The yelling of the mob below had given way to low rumbling. We had -ceased to think about it. We lighted our pipes and yawned.</p> - -<p>"Shall we cut it out for a few hours?" Duranty asked.</p> - -<p>"Think so," I replied. "We will hunt a cab and go home until noon."</p> - -<p>I stifled another yawn and relighted my pipe.</p> - -<p>A scream came from the sidewalk—my pipe dropped to the floor and we -were out on the window ledge.</p> - -<p>A man was struggling in the middle of the street. He was the man who -had so rashly shouted "Vive l'Allemagne" from the window.</p> - -<p>He fell and passed out of sight under a mass of bodies. The crowd -opened once. The man struggled to his knees. His face was covered with -blood. Again we lost sight of him. Then cuirassiers charged down the -street. One of them lifted a broken body across his saddle. That story -never reached New York. The censor was on the job.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></p> - -<p class="center">HERRICK</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the morning of September 3, 1914, an "official statement," so -called, was inserted by the American Ambassador, Myron T. Herrick, in -the Paris edition of the <i>New York Herald</i>. This announcement read:</p> - -<p>"The American Ambassador advises, as he has done before, that all -Americans who can go, leave Paris, for obvious reasons."</p> - -<p>The French Government was then most anxious to get every foreigner -possible out of Paris. A siege was imminent and the food question -might become very grave. Preparations were made for taking out the -British residents. Mr. Herrick arranged with General Galliéni, then the -Military Governor, for trains to transport a thousand of them a day, -the British Government furnishing the money.</p> - -<p>I now have Mr. Herrick's permission to state for the first time, -that the American Embassy was then in receipt of a telegram from Mr. -Gerard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> our Ambassador in Berlin, in which he said in substance that -the German General Staff "advises you and all Americans to leave Paris -at once by Rouen and Havre."</p> - -<p>For a considerable length of time there was practically no doubt that -there would be a siege, and very many believed it would be followed by -a German entry into Paris. What happened at Louvain seemed reasonably -likely to be repeated at the Louvre; in fact, it was well known to the -Government that the German plan was to blow up Paris section by section -until the French were forced to capitulate.</p> - -<p>When the ministry changed and Delcassé and Millerand came into power, -there was a change also in policy, and it was determined that the city -should be defended.</p> - -<p>On the morning of September second, the President of the Republic -summoned Mr. Herrick to the Elysée, to thank him for remaining in -Paris. He added that "We propose to defend the city at the outer gates, -at the inner gates, and by the valor of our troops, and there will be -no surrender."</p> - -<p>Under these circumstances the advice to Americans was inserted in -the <i>Herald</i>. I called on Mr. Herrick immediately after the notice -was written.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> He said to me: "What explanation can be made if no -such warning is given, and if there is a siege, with many killed and -wounded, in face of the situation as it is to-day, and of the warning -telegram I have received from Berlin?"</p> - -<p>The question has since been asked, sometimes critically, as to why -this warning was given, since after all the Germans did not enter -Paris. I have therefore given these heretofore unpublished facts at -the beginning of this chapter, in order that it shall be known just -how faithfully our ex-ambassador guarded his trust to the American -people, to give an insight into the character of the man who was easily -the most remarkable figure in Paris at the beginning of the war, who -was not only the rock upon which the thousands of Americans leaned so -heavily, but was also an outstanding favorite of the Paris public.</p> - -<p>On one of the nights just preceding mobilization, when the boulevards -were at the zenith of their frenzy, I looked out my office window and -saw an open carriage, with footmen wearing ambassadorial livery and -cockades, driving slowly along the Boulevard des Capucines. Voices -snarled in the crowd. Certain ambassadors were not popular in Paris -in those days; so just who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> might this ambassador be, at that moment -straining his eyes to read a paper under the electric arc lights?</p> - -<p>He looked up as he heard the hoots directed at himself—then smiled and -shouted something at the crowd.</p> - -<p>"Ah, l'Ambassadeur Americain!" they passed the word. Then rose cries -of "Vive l'Amérique!—Vive Herrick!" Men jumped on the carriage steps -and Mr. Herrick shook their hands. Banter was exchanged on all sides, -and cheers followed him down the boulevard. The Paris public felt then -what they came to know later, that he liked them almost as much as "his -Americans." They knew, when the French Government went to Bordeaux, -that the American Embassy remained—that the eye of the great neutral -republic would see what happened should the Germans enter their city.</p> - -<p>The later significant comment made by Mr. Herrick, when a German taube -dropped bombs on a spot he had just passed, that "A dead ambassador -might be more useful than a live one," has been written in the -history of France. And when the war is over I believe that the names -of Franklin, Jefferson and Herrick will constitute a triumvirate of -American ambassadors to France, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> all French school children of the -future will be taught to remember and respect.</p> - -<p>I passed much time at the Embassy during the first weeks of war, for -it was a real center of news for an American newspaper. And I remember -quite distinctly a statement that I made at home during one of the -rare moments when I was able to reach it and which I repeated many -times afterwards. It was a simple "Thank God that Myron T. Herrick is -the American Ambassador." To the mild inquiry "why?" I could only say: -"Because he is such an honest-to-God sort of man."</p> - -<p>Mr. Herrick was undoubtedly shrewd in his friendships for newspapermen -and he was clever in his use of them. But he always knew that we -understood his cleverness and he always saw to it that we got value -received in the way of "copy" for the praise that was often bestowed -upon him as the result of it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Herrick often said to us, in a manner quite casual, things that he -had thought over carefully before our arrival. He knew just how those -cables would look in the newspaper columns, and what the effect would -be upon the reader, long before he handed out the subject matter. But -if I ever argued to myself that I was receiving a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> rather <i>intime</i> -portrait of a clever and an astute diplomat, I could always honestly -say, especially during the eventful days I am attempting to describe, -that he was one man in Paris whose poise was undisturbed by the rapid -succession of giant shocks, and that all the things which he did and -said were to his everlasting credit and honor.</p> - -<p>The American correspondents were sometimes referred to as "journalistic -attachés" of the Embassy. We went there regularly, and it was ordered -that our cards be taken to "His Excellency" the moment that we arrived.</p> - -<p>He sometimes revealed to us "inside information" which, had we been -able to print it, would have been, to say the least, sensational. On -one occasion when he did not extract the suspicion of a promise that -I preserve secrecy, Mr. Herrick told me a story which, if published -to-day, would cause one of the biggest sensations of the war. But it is -a story that can be printed only when the war is over, and perhaps not -then, unless Mr. Herrick himself then gives permission.</p> - -<p>Since leaving Paris, however, he has "released for publication" some -things that could not for various reasons be printed at that time. For -instance, when the French Government moved to Bordeaux, the American -banks in Paris were in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>clined to follow them and in fact did send -considerable amounts of money there. Mr. Herrick told them that he -wished them to remain; that their services were necessary to carry -on the relief work for the German and Austrian refugees, and other -charities of which he was in charge. He told them they might use the -Embassy cellar for their money, that there was a row of vaults across -the cellar and under the sidewalk. At one time, when the German peril -was most extreme those vaults contained more than three million dollars -in gold, which was guarded night and day by six marines from the U.S.S. -<i>Tennessee</i>.</p> - -<p>Also, in order to avoid panic, we could not print at that time, that -the Embassy expected any day a rush of refugees; Mrs. Herrick had -stocked the Embassy cellars with provisions for a thousand persons -for several weeks. Mrs. Herrick, too, proved herself an excellent -executive, for not only did she take this entire burden of preparing -for the Americans, should the Germans enter Paris, but at the same -time she organized a hospital at the American Art Club and vigorously -assisted French as well as American charities.</p> - -<p>I feel now that a sufficient period has passed for the publication in -more detail of some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> memorable interviews that took place in -the private room of the Embassy. At the time some of them were printed -in the form of short cable-grams, but more often lost in the rush of -events.</p> - -<p>I shall never forget a talk that took place just two days before the -declaration of war.</p> - -<p>Mr. Herrick was sitting at his big, flat-topped desk smoking a -cigarette and looking out of the open window. He waved his hand toward -the cigarette box as he greeted me and pointed at a chair. He continued -looking out of the window, but I knew that he saw nothing. There were -no preliminaries; only one subject interested every mind in Paris.</p> - -<p>"What do you know?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"It's bad," he replied.</p> - -<p>"Any fresh developments?"</p> - -<p>"None you don't already know—but come again to-night and I'll tell you -anything I learn."</p> - -<p>"What will you do with the Americans—the town is full of them? What -about them if it comes?" I next asked. We always referred to the war as -just "it."</p> - -<p>"Take care of 'em," he announced briefly—then a pause; and he laughed. -"Don't know yet that they'll need it—let's hope it won't come."</p> - -<p>"But you expect it?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>He looked me directly in the face as he slowly answered:</p> - -<p>"Yes—it's only a question of days—or hours."</p> - -<p>We both drew long breaths.</p> - -<p>"And—" I began; but he went on talking slowly and heavily.</p> - -<p>"It's what the Orient has waited for—waited for all these -centuries—the breaking down of Occidental civilization—" He drew -himself up with a jerk. "But that's too much like pessimism. Have -a cigarette. I've got to keep smiling, you know. That's part of an -ambassador's job."</p> - -<p>And he did keep smiling. There were few moments during all those days -when there was not a smile upon his face and an honest welcome in his -manner. But once I saw him angry.</p> - -<p>He was furiously angry at certain information I had brought to the -Embassy. It was the first day after the military order that all -foreigners residing in Paris should register at their local police -commissariats within twenty-four hours. The city was no longer a city -officially. It was an intrenched camp. Only military law prevailed. -The penalty for not obeying orders was severe, and for the thousands -of Americans to obey the order in question was manifestly impossible. -I myself had no police permit—not even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> a passport. I had no time to -go near a police station. My wife telephoned that at our commissariat -the line of waiting foreigners was about eight hundred. She flatly -declined to take her turn—permit or no permit. I suggested that she go -home; but later I heard disquieting rumors, that there had been several -arrests of foreigners unable to show a <i>permis de séjour</i>. I did not -blame the police, for the city was full of spies; but I could see no -good reason why the Americans should suffer and I went full speed to -the Embassy to put the facts before the Ambassador.</p> - -<p>His face changed color. His hands gripped the sides of his chair.</p> - -<p>"Say that over again," he said quietly.</p> - -<p>I repeated. Suddenly both his hands left the arms of his chair, and -doubled into fists, crushed down upon his desk.</p> - -<p>"By God," he shouted, half rising, his jaw thrust forward. "By God, -they won't arrest any of <i>my</i> people."</p> - -<p>He pushed a button on the desk, at the same time calling the name of -one of the Embassy secretaries. Rapidly and explosively outlining the -situation, the Ambassador finished with the order:</p> - -<p>"Now you get to the Foreign Office quick; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> let them know that if -one American is arrested for not having his papers, until this rush at -the commissariat is over, it means trouble—that they'll answer to me -for it."</p> - -<p>I believe this incident more correctly illustrates the character of -the ex-ambassador than anything one could say or write about him. -When he came first to France, with a reputation as a successful Ohio -politician, no one knew whether he was a real diplomat or not. I do -not believe Mr. Herrick knew himself; but I do not believe that either -then or later he ever thought much about it. He had sufficient <i>savoir -faire</i> to make him greatly admired and respected by the French people, -and his record proves whether or not he was a good diplomat. But there -were moments, such as the one I have described, when he did not stop to -consider whether or not an ambassador was supposed to be a diplomat.</p> - -<p>I can picture other ambassadors I have known going over in their -minds the rules of diplomacy and then delicately, oh, how delicately, -approaching the subject. Herrick sometimes rode roughshod over all -rules of diplomacy. He did it successfully, too—for there were no -Americans arrested in France for not having their <i>permis de séjour</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<p>I have seen multi-millionaires standing in line at the Embassy, waiting -their turn to get temporary passports; and I have seen powerful -politicians and trust magnates waiting in the hall outside that famous -private room, while Mr. Herrick talked to a little school teacher from -Nebraska who had arrived earlier in the morning and secured a position -ahead of them in the line.</p> - -<p>I have seen him walk through the salons of his residence, which he -kept open night and day to hundreds of Americans who felt safer just -to be there, smiling, shaking hands and telling stories, although I -knew he had not slept for twenty-four hours. And I have waked him up -at midnight to tell him details concerning American refugees and their -suffering which only he could alleviate and which he did alleviate -without sleeping again until the work was done.</p> - -<p>I witnessed many things in company with Mr. Herrick behind the scenes -of the mighty drama as it was unfolding; most of them I am sure it -would not be good "diplomacy" on my part to repeat. But all of them -combined to make more fervent my thanks to the Almighty that in those -days Myron T. Herrick was the American Ambassador to France.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></p> - -<p class="center">LES AMÉRICAINS</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">My</span> first and most poignant recollection of the thousands of Americans -caught in France at the outbreak of war is in connection with a cable -containing some five thousand of their names, which was killed by the -censor on the ground that it was code. I worked hard on that cable, -too. I compiled it in the hope that it would relieve the anxiety of -friends and relatives at home. But the censor, after pondering over the -Smiths, Jones, Adamses and Wilsons in the list, believed that I had -evolved a scheme to outwit the authorities and that important war news -would be published if it were allowed to pass.</p> - -<p>I have lived long enough in France to know when not to argue. In this -case I was meekly and respectfully silent. The censor said it was -code—therefore it must be code. He even refused to pass a private -message to my editors, who had asked for all the names of Americans -that I could get, in which I said that I had tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> to meet their -wishes but had failed. This, too, the censor thought had a hidden -meaning.</p> - -<p>The story of the Americans alone would have been almost the biggest -that a newspaper man ever had to handle, had it not been for the fact -that after all they were only incidental to a far bigger matter. -Naturally they did not consider that they could be of lesser importance -than anything. Also, the New York editors thought them almost, if not -quite, as important as the declaration of war. Unfortunately newspaper -correspondents, even Americans, located in the capital of a belligerent -power, had officially to think with the authorities, and let the story -of the Americans take what place it could find in the jumble of greater -and lesser news. True, their story was covered—after a fashion—and -the world knew what a real sort of a man the American Ambassador was in -the way he protected his people. But most of the tragedy and nearly all -of the comedy—much of it was comedy—was lost in the roll of drums.</p> - -<p>In those days Europe was for Europeans. As I recall the Americans now, -it seems to me that no nation finding herself in such a position as -France, could have treated so patiently, so unselfishly, so kindly, as -she, the strangers within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> her gates. As for the strangers, alas, many -of them felt distinctly aggrieved that war should come to spoil their -summer holidays and bitterly resented their predicament. They ignored -the fact that France was fighting for her life.</p> - -<p>Their predicament, after all, was not so serious. After all, no -American died; no American was wounded; no American even starved. -Their troubles were really only inconveniences; but none of them would -believe that Uhlans would not probably ride down the Champs Elysées the -following morning, shouting "hands up" to the population.</p> - -<p>I visited one afternoon the office of the White Star Line, jammed as -usual with white-faced, anxious-voiced Americans seeking passage home. -The veteran Paris manager of the line was behind the counter. He was -speaking to a frightened woman in tones sufficiently clear to be heard -by everybody.</p> - -<p>"I speak from personal experience, madam," he told the woman. "I -know that there will be plenty of room for everybody just as soon as -mobilization is over. In two weeks the situation will be much easier."</p> - -<p>"How do you know?" was the question. "What is your experience?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> - -<p>His answer should have brought assurance, had assurance been at all -possible.</p> - -<p>"I was here in eighteen-seventy," he replied.</p> - -<p>The prediction was nearly right. It took longer than two weeks to clear -the ways; but when the battle of the Marne began, almost the last batch -of tourists were at Havre, awaiting their boat.</p> - -<p>The American newspaper correspondents who remained were looked upon -as fools. The tourists could not understand our point of view that -perhaps, after all, Paris instead of Belgium would produce the biggest -story of the war.</p> - -<p>I was on one amusing occasion the "horrible example" of the man who -would not leave town, in a little sidewalk drama whose stellar rôle was -played by one of the best known American actors. On one of the first -evenings after mobilization I decided to go to our consulate, then in -the Avenue de l'Opera, in order to learn the number of people applying -for aid and learn if possible the approximate number of American -tourists in Paris.</p> - -<p>It was late. When I reached the consulate it was closed, but a large -crowd remained waiting on the sidewalk. I learned from the concierge -that the staff had departed for the night. As I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> turned to go I met -William H. Crane, the comedian, entering the building. I told him the -place was shut, and we stood in the doorway talking.</p> - -<p>The benevolent face and gray hair of Mr. Crane marked him with the -crowd, and they immediately decided that if he was not the Consul -General himself, he was at least a person of highest importance in -the affairs of our Government. A group of school teachers timidly -approached. I spoke to him quickly in French.</p> - -<p>"You can act off the stage, can't you?"</p> - -<p>He muttered something about getting away quickly, but I seized his coat -lapel, saying: "Look here, there are many persons in this line and they -have picked you out to be the big chief. The consulate is closed and -if you don't play your part they will stand here all night. They are -desperate."</p> - -<p>Crane hesitated—then walked down the line, hearing each tale of woe -and giving advice. He remained an hour, until the last question was -asked and the last tourist satisfied. But he insisted that I remain -with him. He told them all that I was so unfortunate as to live in -Paris, that I had a house and family there, and that I had no possible -chance to get out. And so, he argued, how much better off were they -than "this mis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>erable person," for they would surely get away in few -days or weeks at the latest. As they did.</p> - -<p>My last recollection of <i>les Américains</i> with which the word poignant -might be used, was the morning before the battle of the Marne. It -appeared certain to all of us who remained that the entry of the -Germans could be only a question of hours. I, however, was fairly happy -that day, for at four o'clock that morning my family had left the -city for safety. The American Ambassador had told me confidentially -something I already knew—that Paris was no longer a safe place for -women and children. I had set forth my own belief for days, but my -wife had remained. However, she was a great believer in the American -Ambassador. So when I gave her the "confidential information"—and I -set it forth strong—she consented to go to England.</p> - -<p>I walked the streets that morning feeling a load off my mind. I had -been up all night, getting my little family off and inasmuch as the day -was too important for sleep, I took a refreshing bath and then strolled -along the empty Boulevard des Capucines. I had found a shady nook on a -sidewalk <i>terrasse</i> when some one touched me on the arm. I turned and -looked into the terrified faces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> of an American friend and his wife. -"What are you doing here?" they inquired anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Why, I live here," I replied. "Won't you sit down and have something?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," the man answered. "We are on our way to the train; we were in -the country when the trouble began. It was awful. They arrested us as -spies. We only got here this morning. We have seats in the last train -for Marseilles and will sail from there."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I said, somewhat uninterestedly I fear, "but you have lots of -time—sit down."</p> - -<p>My friend grasped my shoulder. "Man, are you crazy?" he cried. "You -look as if you were going to play tennis. You come along with us to -America."</p> - -<p>"Can't do it," I replied. "I've got to stay."</p> - -<p>They stared at me silently. The woman took my hand.</p> - -<p>"Good-by," she whispered.</p> - -<p>The man took my hand in both of his. "Good-by," he quavered. "I'll tell -them in New York that I saw you."</p> - -<p>"Do," I replied.</p> - -<p>I was not at all courageous in remaining in Paris. I did not remain -because I so desired. I remained because, as a newspaper man appointed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -to cover the news of Paris, I could not run away. Then, also, the -biggest news that perhaps Paris would ever know seemed so near. I -bought a number of American flags that day and hung them outside my -windows.</p> - -<p>I felt more fortunate than my fellow Americans who had gone away.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></p> - -<p class="center">WAR</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">A night</span> spent sending despatches—a yelling, singing mob beneath -the windows making it almost impossible for messengers to cross to -the cable office;—a dawn passed in riding from one ministry to -another, wherever any portion of the war councils might still be in -session;—and a forenoon spent in a Turkish bath, brought me near to -the fateful hour on Saturday, August 1st, when France went to war.</p> - -<p>I went to the bath establishment for sleep; but insistently I heard -the voices of the night before—the yells, the cheers and the -"Marseillaise." They were just as audible in that Moorish room, with -dim lights and a trickling marble fountain. There was no such thing as -sleep.</p> - -<p>I went to my office and found a sum of gold awaiting me. I was glad to -get that gold. I had sent an urgent letter in order to get it, in which -I used such phrases as "difficulty of getting cash," "moratoriums, -etc." My debtor wrote back, "What is a moratorium?" but he sent the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -cash. It saved the situation for me during the next month, while the -financial stringency lasted. I went over to my bank, The Equitable -Trust Company, to deposit it. Mr. Laurence Slade, the manager, was in -the hall.</p> - -<p>"Is it safe to leave this with you," I asked, "or must I go clinking -around town with it hung in a leather belt festooned about my person?"</p> - -<p>"Leave it," he suggested.</p> - -<p>"But the moratorium?" I inquired.</p> - -<p>"Won't take advantage of it with any of our customers and we will keep -open unless a shell blows the place up."</p> - -<p>I thrust it into his hands, thankful that I had always used an American -banking institution in Paris. All French banks took advantage of the -moratorium the moment it was declared.</p> - -<p>On the boulevards the crowds were thinner than the days before. I stood -watching them idly. Every one seemed to realize that the declaration of -war was hanging just over our heads. There was less excitement, less -feeling of all kind. I said to myself, "Well, it's coming, the greatest -story in all the world and there isn't a line to be written." It was -just too big to be written then—and except the official bulletins of -marching events I know of nothing that was sent to any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> newspaper on -that day either remarkable from the standpoint of writing or facts.</p> - -<p>After idling along the boulevard for a few moments, I decided to go to -my usual hunting ground for news—the Embassy. I hailed a taxi, and -just as I opened the door on one side to enter, a bearded Frenchman -opened the door opposite. I stated that the taxi was mine, and he -declared emphatically that it belonged to him. The chauffeur evidently -saw us both at the same instant and could not make up his mind as to -our respective rights. A crowd began to gather, as the Frenchman, -recognizing that I was a foreigner, began haranguing the chauffeur.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" he cried. "Do you propose to let foreigners have -taxis in times like this? Taxis are scarce."</p> - -<p>The crowd began to mutter "foreigner." In a minute they would have -declared that I was a German. But I had an inspiration.</p> - -<p>"I want to go to the American Embassy," I told the Frenchman. "If you -are going that direction why not come with me? We can share the cab."</p> - -<p>I have always maintained that a Frenchman, no matter how excited he -is—and when he is excited he is often almost impossible—will always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -listen to reason if you can get his attention. My proposition was so -entirely unusual that immediately he listened, then smiled and stepped -into the cab, motioning me to do the same.</p> - -<p>"<i>L'Ambassade Americaine</i>," he bellowed to the chauffeur, and as we -drove away he was accepting a cigar from my case.</p> - -<p>He explained both his excitement and his hurry. When the mobilization -call came it would be necessary for him to join his regiment on the -first day. I wanted to tell the chauffeur to drive to his home first, -but he would not allow this, and when we arrived at the Embassy it was -actually with difficulty that I forced upon him the payment for the -taxi up to that point.</p> - -<p>I was soon in the famous private room of conference and confidence. The -Ambassador, as usual, was sitting with his face to the open window, and -smoking a cigarette.</p> - -<p>I placed my hat and stick upon the desk and seated myself in silence. -We remained quiet for quite a full minute. Finally Mr. Herrick said, -with a short laugh:</p> - -<p>"Well, there does not seem anything more to talk about, does there?"</p> - -<p>"No," I replied, "we seem to be at that point. There isn't anything -even to write about."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - -<p>A door behind us opened quietly, and Mr. Robert Woods Bliss, the first -secretary of the Embassy, entered. He walked to the desk. Neither the -Ambassador nor I turned. Mr. Bliss stood silent for a moment, then said -quietly:</p> - -<p>"It's come."</p> - -<p>"Ah," breathed Mr. Herrick.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Mr. Bliss, "the Foreign Office has just telephoned. The -news will be on the streets in a minute."</p> - -<p>It was the biggest moment, perhaps, the world will ever know. It was so -big that it stunned us all.</p> - -<p>I rose and took my hat and stick.</p> - -<p>"Well," I ejaculated somewhat uncertainly.</p> - -<p>"Well," said the Ambassador in much the same manner.</p> - -<p>Then we shook hands; and like a person in a trance I walked out of the -room and down to the street.</p> - -<p>The isolated Rue de Chaillot was quite deserted; I walked down to the -Place de l'Alma to find a cab. There the scene was different. Cabs by -the dozen whirled along, but none heeded my signals. A human wave was -rolling over the city. Fiacres, street cars, taxis filled with men and -baggage were sweeping along. Almost every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> vehicle was headed for one -or another of the railway stations. Already the extra editions had -notified the populace of the state of affairs and mobilization was -under way.</p> - -<p>Finally an empty fiacre came along and I signaled the driver, jumping -aboard at the same moment. Just as an hour earlier when I signaled a -cab, a Frenchman stepped in at the opposite side. Only, this time, the -Frenchman wasted no words concerning his rights to the carriage.</p> - -<p>He bowed. "I go to the Place de l'Opera," he said pleasantly.</p> - -<p>I bowed. "I go to exactly the same spot," I replied tactfully.</p> - -<p>We sat down and he directed the driver. We remained silent as we drove -down the Cours la Reine until we came opposite the Esplanade of the -Invalides. The sun was setting behind the golden dome over the tomb of -Napoleon. Then my companion spoke:</p> - -<p>"I will take the subway at the Opera station and go to my home. It will -be the last time. I join my regiment to-morrow."</p> - -<p>I looked at him for a moment, then asked curiously: "How do you feel -about it? Tell me—are you glad—and are you confident?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<p>He looked me straight in the eye. "I am glad," he answered. "We are all -glad—glad that the waiting and the disappointments, the humiliations -of forty-four years, are over."</p> - -<p>"And will you win—you think?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know, but we will fight well—that is all I can say, and this -time we are not fighting alone."</p> - -<p>We arrived at the Opera. He jumped to the sidewalk and put out his -hand. "Good-by," he said, smiling. "May we meet again." I wrung his -hand and watched him dive down the stairs to the subway station.</p> - -<p>I remained at the office as the afternoon slipped into evening and -evening into night, writing my despatches on the actual outbreak of -war. As I sat by the window, I suddenly realized that instead of the -dazzling illumination of the boulevards I was gazing into the darkness. -I investigated this phenomenon and I wrote another despatch upon the -new aspect of the city of Paris on the first night of the war. It was -a cable describing the death of the old "Ville Lumière" and the birth -of the new French spirit. For not only were the boulevards dark, but -the voices of the city were hushed. It began to rain—a gentle, warm, -summer rain; the gendarmes put on their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> rubber capes and hoods and -melted into the shadows.</p> - -<p>I went out to take my despatches to the cable office. The streets were -quiet as death. A forlorn fiacre ambled dismally out of a gloomy side -street, the bell on the horse's neck giving forth a hollow-sounding -tinkle. I climbed in. The driver turned immediately off the boulevard -into a back street, when suddenly the decrepit horse fell to his -haunches in the slippery road. At once I felt, for I could scarcely -see, four silent figures surrounding us. The night before I would have -scented danger; but now I had a different feeling entirely. The four -shadowy figures remained silent, at attention, as the driver hauled the -kicking and plunging horse to his feet.</p> - -<p>"He thinks of the war," said the driver.</p> - -<p>A quiet chuckle came from the quartet, and I could now distinguish that -they were gendarmes.</p> - -<p>"You travel late," one of them said, addressing me.</p> - -<p>"<i>La presse</i>," I replied briefly.</p> - -<p>"<i>Bien</i>!" was the reply. We drove down the dark street, I astonished -at this city that had found itself; this nation that had got quietly -and determinately to business, at the very signal of conflict, to the -amazement of the entire world.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="PART_TWO" id="PART_TWO">PART TWO</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE GREATEST STORY</p> -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> -<img src="images/illus01.jpg" alt="pic"/> - -</p> - -<p class="caption"> WYTHE WILLIAMS OF THE "NEW YORK TIMES"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE ACTUALITY</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the sidewalk <i>terrasse</i> of a little café a few doors from the -American Embassy I was one of a quartet of newspaper men on one of the -final afternoons of August, 1914.</p> - -<p>War news, thanks to the censor, had lapsed in volume and intensity; but -the troubles of refugee Americans still made our cables bulky, and we -continued to pass much time at the Embassy or in its vicinity.</p> - -<p>A man wabbled wearily down the street on a bicycle. I recognized him -as a "special correspondent" who had called on me ten days before, -asking advice as to where he should apply for credentials permitting -him to describe battles. He later disappeared into the then vague -territory known as the "zone of military activity," without any papers -authorizing the trip.</p> - -<p>He leaned his bicycle against a tree and joined us. He had little to -say as to where he had been, but told us that he had been a prisoner -of the British army for several days. He mentioned a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> town near the -Belgian frontier where, as he described the situation, "the entire army -came piling in before he had a chance to pile out."</p> - -<p>I do not know what made me suspect that Mr. Special Correspondent -was then the possessor of big news, for he gave not the slightest -suggestion of the direction in which the British army was traveling. -But I suspected him. In a few minutes he left us to call on the -Ambassador. Later, when I saw him ride away from the Embassy on his -bicycle, I sent in my card.</p> - -<p>Mr. Herrick was as bland as usual, but there was a worried look on his -face. I wasted no time.</p> - -<p>"Mr. —— called on you this afternoon," I said, naming the special -correspondent. "He told you some real news."</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is so," the Ambassador replied. "How did you guess it?"</p> - -<p>I explained that I only had a suspicion, and the Ambassador continued:</p> - -<p>"He cannot cable it, you need not worry. He will not attempt it. He has -gone now to write an account for the mail. He told me so that I could -make some plans."</p> - -<p>"Some plans?" I interrupted. "The news is bad then."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Herrick eyed me keenly for a moment—then he leaned over his -desk and spoke in a whisper. He kept the confidences of the "special -correspondent," but he gave me information that supplemented it, which -he had from his own sources. He told me no names—no details—but he -gave me the news appearing in the official communiqués three full days -later;—that the British had been forced back at Mons—the French -defeated at Charleroi, and that the entire Allied line was retreating. -I did not learn where the line was. But as I left the Embassy I -realized that France was invaded; I realized that the greatest story in -the world was at hand. The fear was upon me, although I failed to grasp -it entirely, that this was a story which in its entirety would never be -written for a newspaper.</p> - -<p>Mr. Special Correspondent passed two days in the seclusion of his hotel -writing a splendid chapter for which he received high praise, but he -was unable to get it printed until several weeks after the entire story -had gone into history. Other correspondents were able to write half and -quarter chapters which in a few instances received publication while -the story was in progress.</p> - -<p>I sat at my desk that night pondering on how to cable some inkling of -my information to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> America. I confess that I almost wished the cable -was cut and the loose ends lost on the bottom of the Atlantic.</p> - -<p>I studied the map of Europe facing me on the wall. Sending a courier to -England was as useless as cabling direct, for the English censor was -equally severe as the French. A code message was under censorial ban. A -courier aboard the Sud-express might have filed the news from Spain or -Portugal but the mobilization plans of General Joffre had arranged that -there would be no Sud-express for some time.</p> - -<p>There were undoubtedly other correspondents who knew as much concerning -the state of affairs as I. Many British correspondents, without -credentials, were dodging about the armies, getting into captivity and -out again. Several American correspondents were in Belgium following -the Germans as best they could. But none of them was at the end of a -cable. Had they been they would have been quite as helpless as I. For -had I been able that night to use the cable as I desired, I would have -beaten the press of the world by three full days with the story of the -danger that threatened Paris.</p> - -<p>The next night, although I was completely ignorant whether the news was -then known in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> America, I tried to beat the censor at his own game. I -succeeded to the extent of having my despatch passed, but unfortunately -it was not understood in the home office of my newspaper. This was my -scheme:</p> - -<p>During the day rumors of disaster began to spread; but the Paris -papers printed nothing of the truth, and officially the Allied armies -continued to hold the Belgian frontier. That night refugees from French -cities began entering Paris at the Gare du Nord.</p> - -<p>I began an innocent despatch that seemed hardly worth the cable -tolls. It ambled along, with cumbrous sentences and involved grammar, -describing American war charities. Then without what in cable parlance -is known as a "full stop," which indicates a complete break in the -sense of the reading matter, I inserted the words "refugees crowding -gare du nord to-night from points south of Lille," and continued the -despatch with more material of the sort with which it began.</p> - -<p>I went home hoping for the best and wondering if I had made myself -sufficiently clear to arouse the suspicion of the copy reader on the -other side of the ocean who handled my copy. If I had I knew that those -eleven words would be printed in the largest display type the following -morning.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> - -<p>Two weeks later, when the next batch of newspapers reached Paris, I -read those words with interest. They were all there, but carefully -buried in the story of war charities exactly where I had placed them.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE FIELD OF GLORY</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> battle of the Marne was fought by the Allies in the direct interest -of the city of Paris. The result was the city's salvation. At the time, -only a small percentage of the inhabitants knew anything about it. But -as all the world knows now, the battlefield of the Marne was the first -field of glory for the Allied armies in the great European war. When -the war is over, the sight-seeing motors will reach it in two hours, -probably starting from the corner of the Avenue de l'Opera and the Rue -de la Paix—a street that by now might have a different name had it not -been for the thousands who died only a few miles away.</p> - -<p>On one of the first days of September, 1914, the few journalists -who remained in Paris gathered at the Café Napolitain early in the -afternoon, instead of at the <i>apéritif</i> hour. The Café Napolitain, -around the corner from the sight-seeing motor stand, is the rendezvous -for journalists, and always has been. At the <i>apéritif</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> hour—just -before dinner—you may see all the best-known figures in the French -journalistic world, also the correspondents of the London and New York -press, seated on its sidewalk <i>terrasse</i>.</p> - -<p>I sat on the <i>terrasse</i> on that never to be forgotten afternoon of -September. We were mostly Englishmen and Americans. The majority of -our French confrères were serving in their regiments. Some of them, -with whom we had argued only five weeks before concerning the trial of -Madame Caillaux, were now lying on the fields of Charleroi and Mons. -Some of the Englishmen had decided, because of the rumored orders of -the Kaiser concerning the fate of captured British journalists, that -Bordeaux was a better center for news than Paris, and had followed the -Government to their new capital, on the anniversary of Sedan. Several -of the Americans had also left town, but in order to better follow the -movements of the Allied armies. Owing to the vigorous unemotionalism of -General Joffre, none of them was any nearer the "field of operations" -than we who sat on the Café <i>terrasse</i>.</p> - -<p>I doubt if ever a world capital presented such a scene, or ever will -again, as Paris on that afternoon. The day itself was perfect—glorious -summer, not hot—just pleasantly warm. The sun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> hung over the city -casting straight shadows of the full leaves, down on the tree lined -sidewalk. But there was not an automobile, nor carriage, scarcely even -a person in the boulevards. The city was completely still. It had seen -in the three days previous probably the greatest exodus in the history -of the world. The ordinary population had shrunk over a million. -The last of the American tourists left that morning for Havre. The -railroad communications to the north were in the hands of the German -army. There were no telegraph communications. Even the telephone was -rigidly restricted. The censor made the sending of cables almost an -impossibility. We were in a city detached—apart from the rest of the -world.</p> - -<p>That morning, at the headquarters of the military government, we were -advised to get out quickly—on that same day in fact—or take our own -chances by remaining. Possibly all the bridges and roads leading out of -the city might be blown up before next morning. Uhlans had been seen in -the forest of Montmorency, only ten miles away. It seemed that Paris, -which has supplied so much drama to the world's history, was about to -add another chapter, and the odds were that it would be a final one.</p> - -<p>So, as I have said, I sat with my fellow jour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>nalists on the <i>terrasse</i> -of the Café Napolitain that fateful afternoon—and waited. That is -why we were there—to wait. Several times we thought our waiting was -rewarded, and we strained our ears. For we were waiting to hear the -guns—the guns of the German attack. Through that entire afternoon, not -one of us, singly or in partnership, would have offered ten cents for -the city of Paris. We felt in our souls that it was doomed. It was an -afternoon to have lived—even though nothing happened.</p> - -<p>Toward nightfall we learned that the German forces had suddenly -diverted their march to the southeast. We sat on our <i>terrasse</i> and -wondered. That night every auto-taxi in the city was conveying a -portion of General Maunoury's army out of the north gates, to fall on -the enemy's right flank. The next morning, bright and early, those of -us who were astir, heard very faintly—so faintly we could scarcely -believe, but we heard nevertheless, the opening guns of the battle of -the Marne.</p> - -<p>I know only one journalist who actually saw the battle of the Marne. -I know several who said they saw it, but I did not believe them, and -I know better than to believe them now. Of course there are French -journalists who took a military part in the battle, but they have not -yet had opportu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>nity to chronicle their impressions—those of them who -live. This one journalist saw the battle as a prisoner with his own -army; he was lugged along with them clear to the Aisne.</p> - -<p>The week following the German retreat to the Aisne, I was permitted -to visit the field of glory. It was only after skilful maneuvres and -great difficulties that I secured a military pass. And then my pass was -canceled after I had been out of Paris only three days—and I was sent -back under a military escort. But I saw the battlefield before the hand -of the restorer reached it.</p> - -<p>The trees still lay where they fell, cut down by shells. Broken cannon -and aeroplanes were in the ditches and in the fields. Unused German -ammunition and food supplies were strewn about, showing where the enemy -had been forced to a hasty retreat. Sentries guarded every cross roads. -The dead, numbering thousands, lay unburied and dotted the plain as far -as the eye could see. It was still the field of glory. It was still wet -with blood.</p> - -<p>We who took that trip were thrilled by all the silent evidence of the -mighty struggle that had taken place there only a few days—only a few -hours before. It was easy for us to picture the mammoth combat, the -battle of the millions, across<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> that wonderful, beautifully undulating -plain. The war was terrible—true. But it was glorious. The men who -died there were heroes. Our emotions were almost too much for us. And -in the very near distance the artillery still thundered both night and -day.</p> - -<p>On the third of February, 1915, five months from the time I sat on the -<i>terrasse</i> of the Café Napolitain waiting to hear the guns, I travel -for a second time over the battlefield of the Marne.</p> - -<p>This time I do not have a military pass. It is no longer necessary. The -valley of the Marne is no longer in the zone of operations. I go out -openly in an automobile. There are no sentries to block the way. The -road is perfectly safe; so safe that I take my wife with me to show -her some of the devastations of war. She is probably the first of the -visitors to pass across that famous battlefield, perhaps soon to be -overrun by thousands.</p> - -<p>Our car climbs the steep hill beyond Meaux, which is the extreme edge -of the battlefield, about ten in the morning; and during the day -circuits about half the area of the fighting, a distance of about -seventy-five miles—or a hundred miles.</p> - -<p>The "Field of Five Thousand Dead" is what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> the majority of the tourists -will probably call the battlefield of the Marne, because of the tragic -toll of life taken on that one particular rolling bit of meadow.</p> - -<p>We stop at this field in the morning soon after leaving Meaux. As -we look across it we see none of the signs of conflict that I had -witnessed in September. There are none of the ruined accouterments -of war. No horses lie on their backs, four legs sticking straight in -the air. There are no human forms in huddled and grotesque positions -in the ravines and on the flat. True, every tree bears the mark of -bullets, every wall has been shattered by shells, but these signs are -not overpowering evidences of massive conflict. There is nothing to -make vivid the fearful charge of the Zouaves against the flower of Von -Kluck's army only five months before.</p> - -<p>Yes—there is something. As we look more closely we see far away a -cluster of little rude black wood crosses. They are not planted on -mounds, they just stick up straight from the level ground. There are -other little clusters throughout the field. Each cross marks a grave. -Each grave contains from a dozen to fifty bodies. Together the crosses -mark the total of five thousand dead.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> - -<p>An old woman hobbles along the main road. She looks at us curiously -and stops beside the car. I ask if we can go close to the little black -crosses. She replies that we can but that the fields are very muddy. -I ask if any of the graves are marked with the names of the fallen -soldiers. She shakes her head. No, they are the unknown dead. The -regiments that fought across that field are known—that is all. There -are both French and German dead. The relatives of course know that -their men were in those regiments and they may assume, if they have -not received letters from them recently, that they have been buried -there—out on that vast, undulating, wind swept plain under one of the -little black crosses. But, of course, one can never be sure. They might -not be dead at all—only prisoners—or again, they might have died -somewhere else. It is all very confusing and vague—what happens to the -men who no longer send letters home. It is safe to believe they are -just dead—to determine where they died is difficult.</p> - -<p>The old woman suggests that we visit the little village graveyard, at -the corner of the field. The Zouave officers are buried there—those -who were recognized as officers. Some English had also been found and -carried there. She is the caretaker<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> of the little graveyard. She will -show it to us. She says that it is much more interesting than the -field. The field is much too muddy.</p> - -<p>The world is as still as the death all around us when we enter that -little country graveyard. It has been trampled by a multitude. The five -months that have elapsed and the hard work of the little old woman have -not destroyed the signs of conflict there. But the time has taken the -glory. The low stone wall that surrounds the place has been used as a -barricade by the Zouaves. It is pierced with holes for their rifles. In -many places portions of the wall are missing, showing where the shells -have struck.</p> - -<p>In the center of the yard, one of them has opened a grave. It is a -child's grave. I look down into the hole about three feet below the -muddy surface of the yard. I see a weather-beaten headstone. It bears -the child's name. A hundred years, according to date, that stone has -silently borne witness of the few years of life before death, and -then it has been rudely crushed into the earth on a glorious day -in September. The graves of the soldiers who died there that same -glorious day are all fresh mounds. There are only twenty or thirty -mounds, but five hundred dead are buried beneath them. Above the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -mounds are freshly painted crosses. On some of them are roughly -printed the names of the fallen officers. On several are wreaths or -artificial flowers—beads in the shape of violets and yellow porcelain -immortelles. In one corner under a little cross is inscribed the name -of an English lieutenant of dragoons—aged twenty. The old caretaker -says that his family may take his body to England when the war is -over—but, of course, he is not buried in a coffin—just put into the -ground on the spot where he was found clutching a fragment of his sword -in his hand.</p> - -<p>We drive away to the north. On both sides of the road little clusters -of black crosses are planted in the fields. Several times we pass great -charred patches on the earth. These are the places where the Germans -burned their dead before retreating. There are trenches too—trenches -and the dead. There are old trenches and new—those made in a few hours -while both armies alternately advanced and retreated, and those which -the French engineers have made since for use if the Germans again -advance.</p> - -<p>We are a dozen miles from the river Aisne when our chauffeur stops. If -we go nearer we will be in "the zone of operations" where passes are -rigidly required—where if one does not pos<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>sess a pass one is under -rigid suspicion. We do not take the chance of advancing further.</p> - -<p>We are in a devastated village. We have passed through many but this -one seems worse than the others. The church has been demolished and -two-thirds of the houses gutted by shells and fire. The place is almost -deserted by the inhabitants. When we halted our car there was not the -sound of a living thing. Then a few scare-crow children gathered and -examined us curiously. We examine the remnants of the House of God. It -has doubtless been used as a fortress. Bloody uniforms are scattered -among the tumbled stones. Five bodies are rotting underneath the altar. -Our minds have gone morbid by the horror. The chauffeur turns the car -about. An old man comes from the ruins of a shop. He asks if we want -to buy souvenirs. The word "souvenirs" halts us. We wonder how many -thousand will be sold in this village, and in all the villages during -the years following the war. I recall that only a few years ago one -might buy "authentic souvenirs of the battle of Waterloo." The old man -lugs forth a German helmet and the cartridge of a French shell—one -of the famous "seventy-fives." He asks if we are Americans. Then he -places a value of five dollars on the helmet and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> one dollar for the -cartridge. We think that the thrifty inhabitants of these villages -may yet triumph over the devastation of war if they lay in sufficient -stock of souvenirs. Our chauffeur informs us that we can pick up all we -desire in the fields, and we take to the road again.</p> - -<p>We stop the car beside a large open meadow a few miles south. The field -contains the same clusters of crosses. Part of it is plowed ground and -is soggy from the rains. We stumble along it, mud to our shoe tops. We -stop beside the crosses. They do not mark all the graves. I suddenly -feel my feet sink in the mud. I hastily free myself. My wife asks me -what is the matter, and I rush away further into the field. I have -accidentally stepped into a grave—the mud being so soft—and have felt -my boot touch something. As I looked down I saw a couple of inches of -smeared, muddy, gray cloth.</p> - -<p>We leave the plowed ground and come into a field of stubble. We stand -silent a moment at the top of a knoll. The short winter day is dying -rapidly. The horizon for the moment seems lost in cold blue vapors. It -seems appropriate to the place—it is like battle smoke.</p> - -<p>I stoop over to pick up a shrapnel ball imbedded in the mud. My wife -seizes me by the arm. "Lis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>ten," she whispers. The gloom of dusk is -creeping about us. "Did you hear?" she asks. Then we hear. "Boom, -boo-o-m, boom, boo-o-om." It is quite as faint as the opening sounds of -the battle of the Marne to the early risers in Paris. But it is quite -as distinct. We have just heard the guns which are still disputing the -possession of the Aisne.</p> - -<p>The chauffeur is signaling to us. The wind sweeps over the desolate -field with a few drops of rain. We make a detour near a haystack. Close -to the base—almost under it, I pick up torn strips of gray uniform. -They are covered with blood. There is also a battered brass belt -buckle, and a bent canteen—evidence of the ghastly and lonely tragedy -enacted there. A few feet away looms through the dark the usual black -wood cross of the field of glory.</p> - -<p>The chauffeur has lighted the lamps on the car. We hear the sound -of the engine as we hasten through the mud. We are surfeited with -devastation, with horror, and with the field of glory. We tell him -to hasten toward Meaux where we will take the next train for Paris. -He drives us swiftly into the coming night over the hill that looks -upon the "Field of Five Thousand Dead." There we stop a moment to see -the last struggles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> of the descending sun tipping the forests on the -horizon with rosy flames.</p> - -<p>We return by a different road through another devastated village. It -is not really a village—just a large farmstead—a model farm it was -called before the war. Now the stone walls have crumbled. The buildings -are twisted skeletons of iron bars—all that withstood the appetite of -the flames. Their outlines are vivid black against the sky. They seem -to writhe in the wind.</p> - -<p>A man and a woman and little girl stand in the road. The car stops and -we get out. The man is the owner of the ruin. The woman and child are -his wife and daughter. They had fled when the Germans approached. After -the glorious victory they returned to their home. The woman asks us to -enter the broken gateway. At one end of the walled yard was the house. -A broken portion of it remains. The man had boarded up the holes and -the cracks in the walls and the empty window frames. He explains that -the place had been taken and retaken four times before the French were -finally victorious. He tells us of the toll that death had taken in -the yard. The woman tells of bodies found in the house—so many in the -parlor—so many in the bedroom—so many lying on the stairs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>We walked back to the road where the side lamps of the car cast -flickering flames into the night. The chauffeur turns on the electric -head lamps that throw a blinding light fifty feet away. The little girl -dances in front of them and across the road to a mound of mud. She -laughs. Her mother asks her why she is happy. "Oh, the lights," she -calls back. "It's like Christmas—and folks are here." She picks up a -stone and throws it toward the mound of mud. I noticed that the mound -is regular in form—and oblong, about a dozen by six feet in size. -Around it runs a border of flat stones. They are set on the corners and -arranged in angular criss-cross lines such as a child builds with his -toy wooden blocks. We watch the little girl as she kicks one of the -stones loose. Her mother calls to her and she hastily puts it back in -position. A tall tree casts a shadow across the center of the mound. -Through the top of the tree the rising wind begins to sob, and the rain -drops blow into our faces. The mother again calls to the child, who -comes back across the road stubbing her toes into the mud.</p> - -<p>The chauffeur starts the engine and turns the front of the car so that -the headlights are direct on the mound, with its border of stones -arranged like toy blocks. The shadow of the tall tree points<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> in -another direction. Where it had been—where I could not see before—I -now see a black wooden cross. "How many under that?" I asked the man -casually. "Eighteen or twenty-two," he answers, "I forget. We found -them here in the road."</p> - -<p>We jump into the car and leave the field of glory in the dark.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="PART_THREE" id="PART_THREE">PART THREE</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE ARM OF MILITARY AUTHORITY</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> -<img src="images/illus03.jpg" alt="pic"/> -</p> - - - - -<p class="caption">THE AUTHOR'S PASS</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE FIELD OF BATTLE</p> - - -<p>"<span class="smcap">To</span> see the damage done by the Germans in unfortified villages."</p> - -<p>This was the quest that first passed me into the zone of military -operations, that first landed me on the field of battle, and gave me my -first experience under fire.</p> - -<p>Ambassador Herrick had procured a pass for me and two other Paris -correspondents; it covered also an automobile and chauffeur, and was -signed by General Galliéni, the Military Governor and Commander of the -Army of Paris. Mr. Herrick explained that he had requested it, because -we had not attempted to leave the city without credentials—as had many -correspondents—"by the back door," as he said. He considered that it -was time for some of us to go out openly "by the front door," in order -to later tell the truth to America.</p> - -<p>We took the pass thankfully. It was good for a week and would take us -"anywhere on the field<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> of battle." We have always been thankful that -this pass was handed to us by Ambassador Herrick in his private room at -the American Embassy, and that it was requested of General Galliéni by -the Ambassador himself—that it was his idea and not ours. For later -it developed that a pass from General Galliéni was not sufficient to -take us "anywhere on the field of battle"—the pass itself disappeared -and we came back to Paris as prisoners of war. We were told that we -were arrested because we were "at the front without credentials." Our -defense was clear, because, we argued, when an ambassador asks for -something, a record of that request exists. Ambassador Herrick made a -similar declaration, and we were not only released but "expressions of -regret" for our "detention" were tendered us.</p> - -<p>We rented a car and a French chauffeur. We wore rough clothes and heavy -overcoats, we took extra socks, collars, soap, shaving utensils and -candles. As food we took sardines, salmon, cocoa, biscuits, coffee, -sausage, bread, bottles of wine and water. We also bought an alcohol -lamp, aluminum plates, collapsible drinking cups and jack-knives. At -four o'clock that afternoon we started.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<p>In retrospect I divide the ensuing days into two parts, and in the -latter part I believe that the high water mark of my existence was -reached—at least the high tide from the standpoint of new sensations, -excitement, and genuine thrills. To digress for an instant, I have -somewhere read the account of a person, a well-known novelist, who -visited the French trenches months after the period I shall describe; -when he got away from his censor and was safe back in America, he -reported that no correspondents have really seen anything in this -war—and that many of their stories are fakes. Some correspondents, -including this one, have not seen much. Some stories have been -fakes, including the one which he told. I wish it were permissible -to enumerate some of the fakes in detail—but I wish for the sake of -this person that he had been along in either the second or the first -portions of that trip;—when, just a few miles outside Paris, we first -heard the Sentries in the Dark—when, the next morning we met the first -batch of Wounded Who Could Walk—and later, when we ate luncheon to an -orchestra of bursting shells, a luncheon ordered quietly—to be eaten -quietly, during a Lull in the Bombardment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">(A) <span class="smcap">Sentries in the Dark</span></p> - -<p>The car whizzed down the straight country road. We were trying to -make night quarters thirty kilometers away. The dusk was already upon -us—and the rain. Every night for a week the rain had come at dusk. -We were well behind the battle lines, but the Germans had held that -countryside only a few days before. Many of them still lurked in the -dense woods. At dusk they were apt to shoot at passing motors. If -they killed the occupants, they secured clothes and credentials and -attempted cutting through to their own lines. The night before, a -French general had been killed on the road we were passing. Therefore -it was not well to be abroad at dusk, too far northward on the -battlefield of the Aisne. But we had cast a tire and lost considerable -time. It was necessary to go forward or strike back toward Paris. -To remain in the open held an additional risk of being stopped by a -British patrol—we were near their lines—and the British were not -so polite as the French about requisitioning big touring cars. Our -credentials were French.</p> - -<p>So we dipped into the night down a long road that ran between solid -shadows of towering trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> behind which ran the continuous hedge of -the French countryside, making an ideal hiding place for enemies. The -rain increased and so did the cold. Our French driver struggled into an -ulster and we crouched low in the body of the limousine, watching the -whirling road revealed by our powerful headlights fifty yards in front -of the car.</p> - -<p>Suddenly came a sharp cry. The chauffeur crashed on the brakes and the -car slid to a standstill. I knew that cry from many a novel I had read, -but I had never actually heard it before. It was the famous "Qui vive" -or "Who goes there?" of the French army. We sat waiting. We saw no one. -The rain poured down.</p> - -<p>The cry was repeated. A soldier stepped into the road and stood in the -light of our lamps about thirty feet away. His rifle was half thrown -across his arm and half aimed towards us. He was a tall, handsome chap -wearing a long coat buttoned back at the bottom away from his muddy -boots. His cap was jammed carelessly over one eye. He bent forward and -peered at us under our lights, which half blinded him. Then we saw two -dusky shadows at either side of the car. We caught the steel flash of -bayonets turned toward us.</p> - -<p>The chauffeur saw them too, for he cried out nervously, "Non, non!" The -soldier in the road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> ignored him. In the dramatic language of France -his "<i>Avancez—donnez le mot de la nuit</i>" sounded far more impressive -than the English equivalent about advancing to give the countersign. He -spoke the words simply, a little monotonously, with an air of having -done it many times during his period of watch. Then he bent lower and -peered more intently under the lights, brushing one arm across his face -as though the pelting rain also interfered with his business of seeing -in the night.</p> - -<p>The chauffeur stated that we carried the signed pass of General -Galliéni. If we had mentioned the Mayor of Chicago we would not -have made less impression. The ghostly sentries at the sides of the -car did not budge. The patrol in the center of the road in the same -almost monotone announced that one of us would descend. One would -be sufficient. The others might keep the shelter of the car. But he -would see these credentials from General X——. If to him they did not -appear in order, our fate was a matter within his discretion. We were -traveling an important highway and his orders were definite. So the -member of our party who carried the important slip of paper descended.</p> - -<p>The sentry in the road moved further into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> light. As he read the -pass he sheltered it from the rain under the cape of his coat. The -guards at the sides of the car remained as though built in position. -Then the leader handed back the paper and brought his hand to salute. -The others immediately broke their pose; moved into the light and -likewise saluted. The tension relieved, we all felt friendly. As we -started forward I held a newspaper out of the window and three hands -grasped it simultaneously. We had hundreds of newspapers, for some one -had told us how welcome they would be at the front.</p> - -<p>At an intersection of roads a couple of miles further on, the rain was -pelting down so fiercely that we did not clearly hear the "qui vive." -The chauffeur desperately called out not to shoot as a file of soldiers -suddenly swung across the road with rifles leveled. On their leader -we then tried an experiment which we afterwards followed religiously. -We handed over a newspaper with our pass. To our surprise he turned -first to the government war communiqué on the first page and read it -through, grunting his satisfaction meanwhile, before he even glanced -at the document which held our fate and on which the rain was making -great inky smears. Then he saluted and we drove on rapidly—everybody -smiling.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>The road then led up an incline through a small village that was -filled with soldiers. A patrol halted us as usual and informed us -that there was no hotel within another five miles, and possibly even -that hotel might be closed. At this news our excitable chauffeur -immediately killed his engine and the car started slipping backward -down the incline. Fifty soldiers leaped forward and held it while the -brakes were applied. We distributed a score of newspapers and as many -cigarettes before we could get under way.</p> - -<p>We passed no more patrols, but when our lights finally picked out the -first signs of the next village they also brought into bold relief a -pile of masonry completely blocking the road. We stopped. A villager -loomed out of the dark at the side of the car and informed us that -the road was barred because the bridge just beyond had been blown -up and that we could not pass over the pontoon until morning. The -inn, he said, had never been closed nor was its stock of tobacco yet -exhausted. He offered to conduct us, and when the innkeeper—a very -fat innkeeper—looked over our credentials from General Galliéni he -insisted that certain guests should double up, in order to make room -for us in the crowded place. He then called his wife, his daughter, his -father and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> father's wife, that they might be permitted the honor -of shaking us by the hand, as he held aloft the candle, the flame of -which flickered down the ancient stone corridor that led to our rooms.</p> - - -<p class="center">(B) <span class="smcap">The Wounded Who Could Walk</span></p> - -<p>We were crossing a battlefield four days old. It was remarkable how -much it resembled the ordinary kind of field. The French had conquered -quickly at this point and the dead had been buried. Except for frequent -mounds of earth headed by sticks forming crosses; except for the marks -of shrapnel in the roads and on the trees; except for the absence of -every living thing, this countryside was at peace. The sun was shining. -The frost had brought out flaming tints on the hills. It was glorious -Indian summer.</p> - -<p>The road we were motoring wound far away through the battlefield. For -the armies had fought over a front of many miles. We traveled slowly. -As we topped a rise and searched the valley below with our glasses, a -mile away in the cup of the valley we saw a moving mass. It filled the -roadway from hedge to hedge and appeared to be approaching us. We drove -more slowly, stopping several times. The movement of the car made the -glasses quiver and blur. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> saw that the moving mass stretched back a -considerable distance—perhaps the length of a city block. We stopped -our engine and waited in the center of the road.</p> - -<p>As the mass came nearer it outlined itself into men. We saw that they -were soldiers; but we could not distinguish the uniform. So we waited. -We even got our papers ready to show if necessary. Then we saw that -the soldiers were not of the same regiment—that their uniforms were -conglomerate. We saw the misfits of the French line regiments, the gay -trappings of the Spahis and Chasseurs d'Afrique, the skirt trousers of -the Zouaves, Turcos and Senegalese, the khaki of the English Tommies -and the turbans of the Hindoos. But all these men in the varied -costumes of the army of the Allies wore one common mark—a bandage. -Arm or head or face was wrapped in white cloths, usually stained with -blood. For these on whom we waited were the wounded who could walk. -They were going from the battle trenches to somewhere in the rear.</p> - -<p>The front rank glanced wonderingly at the big motor that blocked the -center of the road and moved aside in either direction. Those behind -did likewise, until there was a lane for the car to pass. But we -waited. As the front rank came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> level with us, a dust-caked British -Tommy, with a bloody bandage over one eye, winked his good one at us -and touched his cap in salute. We took our hats off as the tragic crowd -surrounded us. Tommy sat down on our running board and I handed him a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>The cigarette established cordial relations at once. Tommy's lean face -was browned by the sun and streaked with dirt. About the bandage which -encircled his head and crossed his right eye were cakes of dirt and -clots of blood. His hair where his cap was pushed back was sand color -and crinkly. The eye that turned up to me was pale blue and the skin -just about it was white and blue veined.</p> - -<p>"Is this Frawnce or is it Belgium?" he asked me. At my answer he -squirmed around on the running board, calling to a companion in khaki -just coming up—his arm in a sling—"'Ee says it's Frawnce." The other -nodded indifferently and saluted us.</p> - -<p>I asked the man about the battle, but he only stared. His friend on the -running board turned his eye upward and said, "It's 'ell, that's wot -it is." I replied that my question had to do with the course of the -battle—which side was winning; and he too only stared at that. Then he -arose and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> plodded on and I gave a cigarette to his companion.</p> - -<p>A score of men stood about the front of the car where the chauffeur -was busy handing out apples and pears. My companions were busy on the -opposite side with a dozen French infantrymen, telling the latest news -from Paris and giving out newspapers. I leaned over them, the box of -cigarettes still in my hand. A tall Senegalese standing back from -the group caught sight of the box and called out, "Cigarette, eh!" I -motioned him to my side of the car. He came running weakly, followed at -once by fifty others. I handed out until that box and several others -that I dug from my valise were exhausted. I called several times that -I had no more, but still they crowded about, stretching out their arms -and crying, "Cigarette, eh?" One of my companions warned me that we -might ourselves feel the want of tobacco—that money would not buy it -in the country we were traversing, because it did not exist.</p> - -<p>We still had a box of cigars and I had several loose in my pocket. -The black face of a Turco appeared at the car window. One arm was in -a sling and a bandage was wound about his brow. But his eyes shone -brightly at the thought of tobacco, and at the smell of it now arising -on all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> sides. He was tobacco hungry. He was more than that. He was -tobacco starving. He poked his other arm into the car. I motioned him -to crowd his entire bulk into the window so that the others would not -see. Then I gave him a cigar. He hung over the car frame as I held out -the lighted tip of my own cigar. He puffed a cloud into the interior. -He looked at the cigar fondly and seemed to measure its length. It was -a good cigar. If it had been a miserable cheroot his regard would have -been the same. He took another puff, and drew a complete mouthful into -his lungs. His cheeks bulged and his eyes glinted inwards as though he -looked at the tip of his nose. I wondered how long he could keep that -huge mouthful of smoke within him. Again he held the cigar close to his -eyes and seemed to measure its length. It burned perfectly round and -the ash was white and solid. Finally he poured forth the smoke from -nose and mouth and ejaculated the only English word he knew—"good." I -nodded and asked in French where he had been fighting. He cocked his -head toward the fore part of the car and took another puff. I asked him -where he had been wounded and he replied that he did not know but that -it occurred in the trenches "là bas." I asked him how long he had been -fighting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> in France—how long since he had left Africa, and he spread -his arm far out to indicate that the time had been long. I asked him -where he was going; he rolled his eyes to the rear of the car and said -he did not know.</p> - -<p>I sank back in my seat and he climbed down into the road. Most of the -troop had limped off. To the few still lingering we indicated that our -stock of things to give away was exhausted. They eyed us wistfully, -then passed on.</p> - -<p>The chauffeur asked if he should start the car, but some one said, -"No, let's wait until they all pass." The rear guard straggled up; -many were ready to drop with fatigue and pain and loss of blood. I -asked a Britisher how long they had been on the road. He replied "since -sunrise" and plodded stolidly on. It was then noon. Several sank -down for moments under the trees by the roadside. A chasseur stopped -and asked our chauffeur to tighten a thong of his bandage, which was -stained with fresh blood. We asked him where they were going and he -replied vaguely, "To the rear." "And what then?" one of us asked. "Oh! -I hope we will all be fighting again soon," he replied. They were all -like that. They wanted to be fighting again soon. They were not happy. -They were not unhappy. They were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> indifferent; more or less, made so by -utter fatigue and the pain of their wounds. But they all wanted to be -fighting again soon.</p> - -<p>We watched them top the rise of the hill to disappear down the long -road "to the rear." The last straggler, his head bound with white and -red, vanished. They were all privates—all common men of all the world -from Scotland to Hindustan. The majority were coming from and going -they knew not where, and wanting to fight again for they knew not -what—except possibly the men of France, who began to hear about this -war in their cradles.</p> - -<p>We cranked up the car.</p> - - -<p class="center">(C) <span class="smcap">A Lull in the Bombardment</span></p> - -<p>The sentry just outside the town advised us to right about face and -travel the other direction. But he only advised us. Our credentials -appeared in order and he did not feel that he could issue a command -on the subject. In fact our credentials were very much in order. The -sentry saluted us most respectfully; but his advice was wasted. We -argued to ourselves that if we went to "the front" we must take a few -chances.</p> - -<p>So we entered Soissons—one of the most beautiful and historic towns in -Northern France. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> has now become even more historic; but its beauty -has changed from the crumbling medieval. It is a ruin—more—a remnant -of the Great War.</p> - -<p>We did not notice this so much as we rode down the winding road to -the outskirts. We did notice the unusual fall of autumn foliage. We -commented on the early season; the preceding night had been frosty, -following rain. Then we noticed many branches lying across the road. -Many trees were chipped as with an ax, but the chipped places were -high up—out of reach. We wondered why the trees were chipped so high. -Then we skirted a great hole in the center of the road. A tree further -on was cut off close to the ground. The truth came to us. The fallen -leaves and the chipped places were the work of bullets—a multitude of -bullets. The hole in the road and the fallen tree were the results of -shells.</p> - -<p>We saw horses lying in the fields. Their legs stuck rigidly into the -air. Horses were lying along the roadside. Insects were crawling over -them. Fallen trees lined the way into the town.</p> - -<p>We turned into the main street and rattled over its cobblestones. -We met no one. Crossing an open square we saw that over half the -trees were down. Up a side street a house had fallen forward from -its foundations and settled in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> crumbled heap in the center of the -road. The sun which had been shining brightly went behind a cloud. We -stopped for a moment. We could hear the wind sighing in the tops of the -remaining trees. Some one asked, "Is this Sunday?" and was answered, -"No. It's Friday. Why?" He replied, "Because it is so still. Did you -ever see a place where people live that is so completely silent?" "It -reminds me of London on Good Friday—everybody gone to church," said -another.</p> - -<p>We drove on. A block along the main street a soldier in the French -uniform of the line lounged in a doorway. His long blue overcoat -flapped desolately over his baggy red trousers. His rifle leaned in the -corner. We asked if any hotel remained open. He replied, "I don't know. -Have you a cigarette?" I drew out a box and he ran to the car, seizing -it as a hungry animal snatches food. He settled back into his doorway, -smiling; then said in French argot which translated into American best -reads: "Do you guys know you ain't safe here?" We smiled and waited -explanation. But he merely shrugged his shoulders. We started the car.</p> - -<p>More French soldiers lounged in doorways. Once we saw the white and -frightened face of a woman peering at us from a window. She was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> -entirely incurious. Her gaze was dispassionate. She appeared to have -not the slightest interest either in us or our big car, which surely -was a rare sight in the streets of that town on that day. But the -fright upon her face was stamped.</p> - -<p>Several villagers stood at the next corner. They exhibited interest. -We again asked about a hotel and one pointed to a building we had just -passed. We noted that its doors and windows were barred; but we thought -they might open up.</p> - -<p>We asked, then, when the firing on the town had ceased. The man -laughed. Anything so normal as a laugh seemed out of place in that -ghastly silence. It grated. But it seemed that after all one might -observe the function of laughing even during war. He informed us that -the German gunners were probably at lunch. We asked the position of -the French batteries, and as he pointed vaguely toward the south -we realized that we were then in an advance position on the firing -line—that the force of soldiers was only an outpost. The same man told -us that the town had been under fire for eight days, that the French -had shifted the position of their heavy guns and that the Germans -were now trying to locate them. We returned to the hotel, stabled our -automobile and ordered luncheon, which the landlord informed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> us would -be ready in half an hour. So we continued the exploration of the town -on foot.</p> - -<p>The chauffeur did not accompany us, for there was a captured German -automobile in the barn that interested him greatly. Under the seat he -found the army papers of the German driver. He advised us not to touch -them. They were dangerous. If found in our possession we might be -arrested as spies. So we dropped them back under the seat, and went out -into the market place.</p> - -<p>As is usual in small French cities the market consisted of a large -building entirely open at the ends and fronting on a large square -paved with cobbles. We walked into the building; it was deserted and -our footsteps echoed. In the center was a pile of masonry, beneath a -large hole in the roof torn by a shell. The explosion had cracked the -side walls. In one of the cracks was jammed the top of a meat table, -forcibly caught up from the floor and hurled there. A little further on -a shell had passed through both side walls, leaving clean holes large -enough for a man to stand.</p> - -<p>I stood in one of them and saw where the shell had spent its force -on a residence across the square. It had caught the house plumb on a -corner and at the floor of the second story, so that the floor sagged -down into the room below. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> room above had been a bedchamber. The -entire side wall was gone, so all that remained of the intimacies of -the room were exposed. The bed with the covers thrown back as though -the occupant quitted it hurriedly had slipped forward until stopped by -a broken bit of the wall. From another jagged piece of masonry that -formed part of the wall the blue skirt of a child flapped desolately -over the sidewalk. We left the market building and stood in the center -of the square looking down the six streets that emptied into it. They -were narrow, winding streets, and we could not see far. But in all we -could see the ruin—the crumbled masonry and walls blackened by fire.</p> - -<p>We looked at our watches and hurried toward the hotel. Entering the -street, about half a block distant, we stopped to look down a side -alley. As we looked we heard what seemed to be a shrill whistle, -pitched high and very prolonged. It seemed like the shriek of a -suddenly rising wind; but it was followed by a dull boom and the crash -of falling masonry. We looked behind us and saw clouds of smoke and -dust rising a short distance beyond the market place. We ran toward -the hotel. At the entrance we again heard the high-pitched screaming -whistle, ending in a crash much more acute. "That struck nearer," one -of us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> observed. But we did not wait to see. As we entered the hall, -the landlord remarked, "<i>Ça commence encore</i>."</p> - -<p>We filed into the dining room in time to see him carefully place the -soup upon the table.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></p> - -<p class="center">"DETAINED" BY THE COLONEL</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> had just passed a sentry on the outskirts of a village. He had -brought his rifle to an imposing salute as he read the name upon our -military credentials. One of my companions, smiling fatuously, remarked:</p> - -<p>"Well, fellows, this is a real pass. It gets us anywhere."</p> - -<p>At that very instant the Colonel leaped on the running board of our -automobile.</p> - -<p>He too was smiling, but not fatuously. Although he was French he -was sufficiently an Anglophile to affect a monocle, and this gave a -chilling, glassy effect to his smile.</p> - -<p>"Your pass!" he said, stretching out his hand, at the same time -signaling the chauffeur to stop. The pass was given him, one of us -explaining that we had just shown it to a sentry, who had permitted us -to enter the town.</p> - -<p>"Ah, quite so," he murmured. He carefully read the pass, screwing his -monocle into his eye.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> "Ah, <i>quite</i> so. But you will please follow me." -He signaled us to get out of the car and directed the chauffeur to turn -to the side of the road and to remain there. Then he led the way down a -narrow lane. At the door of a small house he told us to wait. He left -the door open and we saw him pass down the hall and into a rear room. -Then came a burst of laughter.</p> - -<p>"More '<i>journalistes Américains</i>,'" we heard; and then another peal of -merriment. We stood about the doorstep and wondered.</p> - -<p>The Colonel reappeared and again directed us to follow. This time he -led the way to a barn a short distance along the road. A cow yard -surrounded the barn, enclosed by a high stone wall. At the gate stood a -soldier with fixed bayonet. On the gate-post was written a single word.</p> - -<p>I had been suspecting for several minutes that a hitch had occurred in -our plans for going war-corresponding. My companions had similar ideas, -but we had kept silent. Now, as we stared at this word written on the -wall, I turned to the chap who had spoken so confidently about our pass.</p> - -<p>"You were right about the pass," I said. "It gets us anywhere."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> - -<p>For the word written on the wall was "Prison."</p> - -<p>The Colonel stopped at the gate of the cow yard, twirled his mustache, -and screwed his monocle. He bowed. We bowed. Then we preceded him -through the gate.</p> - -<p>A derisive yell greeted us from a quartet seated on a wooden bench -outside the door of the barn. The quartet arose and came towards us -laughing.</p> - -<p>"You know these men?" asked the Colonel.</p> - -<p>Oh, yes, we knew them. They too were newspaper men, at least three -of them. Two represented Italian papers, one an Amsterdam journal. -The fourth was an Italian nobleman whose name was frequently in the -social columns because of his dinners at the Ritz and Armenonville. -He explained that he had accompanied the others as their gentleman -chauffeur, driving his own big car. It had been requisitioned for the -army at the same moment they themselves were escorted into the cow yard -three days before. The Colonel stood by during our greetings, still -twirling his mustache. He addressed the quartet.</p> - -<p>"Since you know these men," he said, indicating us, "you will please -explain to them where they will sleep and the arrangements for food."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then he turned to us, at the same time pointing to a corner of the -building nearest the wall gate. He said:</p> - -<p>"You are permitted to remain out of doors as much as you like, but -you are not to pass that corner. If you do—well—" a shrug and the -monocled smile, "the soldier at the gate will probably shoot."</p> - -<p>The sage of our party became sarcastic.</p> - -<p>"I presume that the soldier's gun is loaded," he remarked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," the Colonel still smiled. "The gun is always ready—also the -bayonet—it would be regrettable—" again he shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"But why are we prisoners," the sage one demanded, "and where is our -pass? If we cannot go on we will go back to Paris. What right have you -to keep us here?"</p> - -<p>The Colonel raised his eyebrows and spread out his hands. His tones -were so polite as to be almost apologetic.</p> - -<p>"Right?" he questioned. "My dear fellow, it is simply a question of the -<i>force majeure</i>. And besides you are not prisoners."</p> - -<p>"Not prisoners?" we shouted in unison. "If we are not prisoners, then -what are we?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You are not prisoners," the Colonel insisted. "You are simply -detained. You can neither go forward nor back until I receive further -instructions concerning you. For the moment you are my guests."</p> - -<p>He bowed politely and gracefully.</p> - -<p>"And the soldier with the rifle? And the dead line at the corner of the -building?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, quite so—quite so," murmured the Colonel; then bowed again to us -and went out the gate.</p> - -<p>"Consequential little cuss," sputtered one of our trio.</p> - -<p>"Better play up to him," advised one of the Italians. "We have been -here three days. Come see where we sleep—"</p> - -<p>They led the way to a stone outhouse near one end of the stable. A -soldier with loaded rifle sat in the door. We peered within. Two cow -stalls heaped with filthy straw. One of the stalls was empty; in the -other we could dimly discern some huddled forms.</p> - -<p>"We sleep in the empty one," our confrères informed us. "You will sleep -there too."</p> - -<p>"And those in the other stall?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, those! They are German spies captured during the day. They take -them out every morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>ing—they don't come back—fresh ones take their -places."</p> - -<p>I shuddered. "What becomes of them?" No one answered and the other -Italian said: "Don't talk about such things. We too are prisoners, you -know."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," said some one. "We are not prisoners—we are merely -detained—guests of the Colonel."</p> - -<p>That evening the Colonel clattered into the yard on horseback. About -twenty of his men were loafing about. On his appearance there was -a great to-do. They sprang stiffly to attention in lines on either -side of the horse. I learned later that this was the regular evening -ceremony when the Colonel returned from his ride. I had to admit -that he cut a fine figure on a horse. His body was slender and very -straight. His hair slightly grizzled, his face grim, but with always -that glassy, haughty smile. He wore high boots of the finest leather. -His spurs jingled. His uniform was immaculate. His cape swung jauntily -over one shoulder. His sword clanged. His medals were resplendent. -His head was held high as he rigidly returned the salutes. At every -moment I expected to hear the orchestra's opening bars, and the Colonel -proclaim in a fine baritone, "Oh, the Colonel of the regiment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> am I," -with the soldier chorus echoing, "the Colonel of the regiment is he."</p> - -<p>However, the Colonel dismounted into very real pools of mud and manure.</p> - -<p>"<i>Les correspondants Américains!</i>" he shouted.</p> - -<p>We lined up—hopefully—before him.</p> - -<p>"Your automobile," he informed us curtly, "has become the property of -the army. I have directed that your overcoats and other belongings, and -the food you carry with you, be brought to you here. You may eat this -food and also draw your daily ration of the army fare."</p> - -<p>This was a concession; and one of the Italians, who had drawn near, -immediately asked for another.</p> - -<p>"Now that there are seven of us," he asked "can't we have an audience -with the commanding general of this division?"</p> - -<p>The Colonel considered, then said: "If you ask an audience for only one -of your number, you may draw up a petition."</p> - -<p>The Italian, having made the suggestion, wrote the petition, we -all signed it and an hour later he was led away between files of -soldiers to see the General. Returning, after only a few minutes, he -said the General had received him courteously but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> would give him no -satisfaction, saying that he was waiting for instructions concerning us -from General Joffre.</p> - -<p>There was nothing to do then but make the best of it.</p> - -<p>At six o'clock the Colonel's cook informed us that we could go to the -great open oven in the cow yard and draw our evening rations. It was -lucky that we had our aluminum plates, for there were no others for us. -We filed across the yard with the soldiers and got a mixture of beans -and beef that was decidedly unpalatable even though we flavored it with -our own wine and bread. As we finished it, our chauffeur, a trench -"reformë," appeared in the kitchen. He told us he was not a prisoner -but was "detained" in the town with the car. He asked for a bottle of -our wine, which we gave him, with a cake of chocolate, and a bottle of -our water.</p> - -<p>My two friends and myself then discussed our sleeping problem. We had -resolved not to sleep in that outhouse with the Germans. When the -Colonel next came into the yard we tackled him, asking if we might not -have the freedom of the town under parole, in order to find beds.</p> - -<p>He said he could not consider it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Then," said our spokesman, "rather than sleep in the outhouse may we -stay here in the yard?"</p> - -<p>The Colonel stiffened with sudden resentment at our making so many -difficulties. He strode fiercely to a door of the stable and threw it -open, showing piles of straw on the earthen floor.</p> - -<p>"There I sleep with my officers," he said with dignified reproach.</p> - -<p>"But," we explained, "it is not the hardship to which we object. We do -not wish to be classified and kept in the same place with German spies."</p> - -<p>"Ah," said the Colonel. He stared a moment, then smiled. He was human -after all. He could appreciate that point and liked us the better for -making it.</p> - -<p>He said we might stay in the yard and then, after stamping about the -room a few minutes, he pointed to a ladder to a loft above his quarters -and said:</p> - -<p>"You may use that place if you like. It is not occupied. The others can -sleep there too if they like."</p> - -<p>We quickly scaled the ladder and discovered a large, bare room that had -evidently been used as a granary, for there were piles of grain and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -some farm implements lying about. A small window, which the Colonel had -evidently overlooked, opened on to the street and also a great door on -the courtyard.</p> - -<p>At eight o'clock we stumbled up into our loft, lighted a candle and -fixed up our beds. We had bought some straw for two francs, from -a farmer one of the soldiers found for us. The beds were hard and -uncomfortable. Naturally we slept in all our clothes and with our coats -over us also; but by morning we were chilled through, for the wind -howled through all the cracks, and several panes of glass in the window -were broken. So at least we had fresh air.</p> - -<p>All through the previous afternoon we had heard the constant booming of -heavy artillery, which the Colonel said was about twelve miles away, -and was the bombardment of Rheims, which he very openly stated was then -in process of destruction, chiefly by fire. At four in the morning this -cannonade again started, waking us up. We rose and descended to the -yard followed by the sleepy Italian quartet. We found the Colonel, very -wide awake, spick and span. He fixed the Italians with his monocle.</p> - -<p>"I understand that one of them is a prince," he said. "Tell me which -one."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<p>We pointed out the nobleman, who was the smallest and the most -dispirited of the lot.</p> - -<p>The Colonel grunted:</p> - -<p>"A prince, eh? Well, I like his automobile quite well."</p> - -<p>That day we got another bench to sit on and a box that we transformed -into a dining table. With some candles we rigged up a lantern. For a -table-cloth we had some old canvas maps. These were furnished by the -Colonel himself. In fact after we once got behind that monocle we -came to like our Colonel immensely. It was plain that he liked "les -Américains" better than the others. Although he could not officially -recognize all that we did, it was understood that we were permitted to -bribe his cook. So we had real coffee for breakfast. We had vegetables -not included in the army menu; and on one great occasion we secured -enough apples and pears to make a magnificent compote in our little -alcohol stove.</p> - -<p>We got up the second morning about 6.30, greatly discouraged, although -the Colonel's cook, to whom we had given twenty francs the night -before, brought us coffee. There was no water to be had until the -soldiers had finished at the pump, and we did not have moral courage -enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> to shave or wash anyhow; we just stood around the courtyard -in a drizzle of rain, cursing everything and everybody, chiefly our -captors. We argued over and over again that it was ridiculous to arrest -us; if our pass was no longer valid the thing to do was to send us back -to Paris, under guard if necessary.</p> - -<p>That morning one of the Italians dropped a letter out of the window of -our loft opening on the street, to a soldier, who said he would post -it in Paris. It was addressed to the "Gaulois" and contained a note -from us to the American Ambassador, which I learned later never saw -its destination. The first news of our whereabouts reached Paris in -a message that our chauffeur sent by hand to the automobile company, -merely saying that the car had been requisitioned; and we did not know -about this until we returned to Paris.</p> - -<p>We also drafted a long letter to the Commanding General, asking to send -an enclosed telegram to Ambassador Herrick. The telegram stated that -the three of us were detained at that point, and asked him to notify -our offices in Paris. The Colonel took this letter and said he would -deliver it to the General; but the telegram enclosed never reached -Paris.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> - -<p>At five o'clock the third morning we were awakened by a soldier coming -into the loft and waving a lantern over us as we lay on the floor. -He called out the names of the quartet and told them to follow him. -They did so, and that was the last we saw of them. I confess it gave -us rather an extra chill, even though we were all chilled to the bone -from the weather, to see them led out in that fashion and at that -ghastly hour. It was still very dark. We heard them clatter out into -the courtyard. I peered out of the loft door and dimly saw a file of -soldiers. I heard one of our late companions complaining about the loss -of his hat.</p> - -<p>At breakfast our fears were set at rest by the Colonel explaining that -as the quartet had been arrested before us their case had been settled -first, and that they had been taken to Paris. He had found the missing -hat, which he gave to me, and asked anxiously whether I would search -out the owner when I returned to Paris. Inasmuch as this was some -indication that I really might see Paris again, I gladly promised.</p> - -<p>The weather cleared and we passed considerable time in the yard. A -small enclosed orchard lay adjoining the courtyard, and one afternoon -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> Colonel gave us permission to walk there. We found some wild -flowers and put them in our buttonholes. This touch of elegance called -forth the admiration of the Colonel when we again saw him.</p> - -<p><i>"C'est comme à Paris</i>," he said.</p> - -<p>We even got up enough courage to shave and scrape the mud off our -clothes and boots, and clean up generally as well as we could. We had -given the cook another twenty francs and he heated some water for us.</p> - -<p>At noon the next day the Colonel told us that arrangements had been -made for us to return to Paris at three o'clock and in our own -automobile; inasmuch as his soldiers did not like it, it was to be -turned over to the authorities in Paris. He asked us what had become -of our French chauffeur. We insisted that no one could know less about -this than we; and a detail of soldiers was sent out to rake the town -for him. After the midday meal we noticed that the guard at the gate -had been withdrawn, so we suggested that perhaps we could pass our -"dead line" and look out at the world. As we reached the gate four men -in civilian dress accompanied by a soldier entered. The soldiers in -the cow yard and ourselves burst into a mighty laugh. "More Ameri<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>can -correspondents," was the shout that greeted the newcomers.</p> - -<p>Two of them were special correspondents for American and English -papers, one was a "famous war correspondent," the fourth was an -amateur journalist whose claim to war corresponding lay in his former -experience as an officer in the New York militia. Also he was the -relative of a wealthy politician.</p> - -<p>No credentials were found on the person of any one of the quartet; but -they were making a great fuss about the "injustice" that was being done -them. Our Colonel, to whom they addressed their remarks, became bored. -He left them still talking and came over to us.</p> - -<p>"They go to Paris at the same time as you," he announced. "They are -fortunate. I should have liked to entertain them for a few days." He -shrugged his shoulders and grinned sardonically.</p> - -<p>He then asked us for our cards. He shook our hands. The monocle dropped -from his eye and he let it dangle on the silken cord.</p> - -<p>"I shall call on you in Paris when the war is over," he said, "er-er, -that is—if I am still here." He hastily jammed the monocle back into -its proper position.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<p>The automobiles for the party were now in the yard, and a captain who -was to conduct them told us to take our places. As we drove out our -Colonel was standing beside the gate. He was twirling his mustache. As -we passed, his free hand came to a friendly salute.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE CHERCHE MIDI</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the automobile which brought us back to Paris, we were guarded by -a phenomenon of nature—a taciturn French soldier. His rifle dangled -handily across his knee; he gazed at the passing scenery and was dumb -to all questions. He was even downright mean; for when a tire blew up, -causing half an hour's delay, he would not allow us to stretch our -cramped legs in the road.</p> - -<p>He would not even let us talk English among ourselves. Once when some -one was relating a tale of German atrocity he had heard, our guard -scowled blackly at us, lifting his rifle from his knee; and I whispered -hastily: "Quiet, or we may become atrocities ourselves!"</p> - -<p>We halted before the headquarters of the Military Governor in the -Boulevard des Invalides; before the war it had been a school for girls. -Although it was late in the evening when we arrived the sidewalk was -crowded, as usual, with civilians. The chauffeur waited while the gates -into the courtyard were opened. The crowd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> caught sight of the armed -escort and as we moved forward we caught murmurs of "prisoners of war" -and "spies."</p> - -<p>We smiled at that—for in a few moments, thought we, this foolishness -would all be over, we would be free again. Our "detention" by the -jolly Colonel was already a memory, listed in among our "interesting -experiences." Speaking in French to pacify our guard, we blithely -planned a belated dinner at a boulevard restaurant. We were ravenous; -we decided upon its menu from hors-d'œuvres to cheese and were settling -the question of wine when some one said:</p> - -<p>"We seem to be waiting here a long time. Do you suppose they'd keep us -prisoners until morning?"</p> - -<p>Our soldier, who by this time had evidently become a little tired of -his silence, told us curtly that the Captain in charge of the party, -who had preceded us in another car, was conferring as to our fate with -officials inside. We were so surprised at this gratuitous information -that we offered one of our few remaining cigarettes, which was promptly -accepted.</p> - -<p>The Captain finally ran down the steps of the building. The other -prisoners, who rode in the car with him, had been given some liberty, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> were walking about the courtyard. He called to them and said -something which seemed to throw them into fits of rage and dismay.</p> - -<p>Then he came to our car, and we knew at once that our dinner, like the -Kaiser's, was indefinitely postponed. The Captain did not speak to -us at all. He merely ordered the chauffeur to follow the car ahead, -then retraced his steps. All the other prisoners but one had reseated -themselves.</p> - -<p>This one, the amateur journalist who had at one time been an officer -in the American militia and was also the relative of a rich man, was -standing beside the car. The Captain curtly motioned him to enter; he -shook his head vigorously. We could not hear all of the conversation -that followed, but it was brief. Finally the Captain raised his voice: -"So you will not get into the automobile?" "No," replied the American. -"I am an ex-army officer and decline to be treated in such fashion." He -also mentioned his influential relative.</p> - -<p>I admit that at the moment my sympathies were somewhat with my fellow -countryman; but even then I could not help feeling how utterly futile -was his objection, on whatever ground it was based. Throughout our -entire period of arrest, we—the two friends with whom I had left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -Paris and myself—had followed but one rule. Inasmuch as we had -suddenly found ourselves in a situation where the chief argument was a -rifle and cartridge, we always did exactly as we were ordered. To rebel -against soldiers and officers who were only following the orders of -their superiors seemed mere folly. The fate of the ex-militia man who -declined to enter the automobile proved this point.</p> - -<p>The Captain apparently had never heard of his wealthy relative, for -he silently signaled to a soldier standing on the steps. The soldier -placed the point of his bayonet gently against the stomach of the -prisoner, who forthwith backed up the steps of the car and fell across -the knees of his companions, who had been cursing him audibly for -"playing the fool." The Captain seated himself beside his chauffeur and -both cars started out into the night.</p> - -<p>We traversed many streets, but I kept peering out of my window and knew -our general direction. In a few minutes we drew up in a side street -leading from the Boulevard Raspail, before a grimy old building. A -soldier with a rifle at salute stood beside its heavy doors. I knew -that building. I had passed it every day during many months, for it was -just a few blocks from my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> house and on the direct route to my office. -I had glanced at it curiously as I passed. I had read its history. -I wondered if it were as bad on the inside as some of the history -depicted.</p> - -<p>The doors opened, and I confess I shuddered as we slipped softly into -the thick blackness of the courtyard. There was not a sound for a -moment, after the chauffeurs cut off the engines. Then a door to the -right opened, throwing out a shaft of light. The Captain descended from -the car ahead. At the same moment the doors closed with a depressing -crash of iron. In that moment my sensations were of an entirely -original character.</p> - -<p>We all got out of the cars, the prisoners ahead joining us, and stood -together in an angry group.</p> - -<p>"Where are we?" asked some one.</p> - -<p>"Don't you know?" the ex-militia man snarled. "They've landed us at -Saint Lazare!"</p> - -<p>"Saint Lazare!" cried several in unison.</p> - -<p>One of my friends snorted. "Don't be silly. St. Lazare is the prison -for women, not war correspondents."</p> - -<p>I roused from my gloomy meditations to break into the conversation.</p> - -<p>"I'll tell you where we are if you really care to know," I said. "We're -in the Cherche Midi—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>the foremost military prison of France. This is -the place where Dreyfus awaited his trial. This is the place of the -historic rats, etc."</p> - -<p>I ceased abruptly. Here I was, a bare ten minutes' walk from my -home—and I might as well have been a thousand miles. The clang of -those doors had shut off all the world. How long did they expect to -keep us there? A night? A week? A month? Perhaps until the war was -over? What could we do about it? Nothing. Those doors shut off all -hope. We could get no word to any one if our captors did not desire -it. We would remain there exactly as long as they wished. No matter -what we thought about it—no matter how innocent we were of military -misdemeanor. We were prisoners of war in the Cherche Midi—and I -understood the Dreyfus case better.</p> - -<p>Just before we filed into the examination room whence came the shaft of -light, the sage of our party, who had suggested back in the courtyard -that we be good prisoners until the right moment arrived, tapped me on -the shoulder and spoke in my ear:</p> - -<p>"Now's the time," he said. "We must kick now or never. I will begin the -rumpus and you follow—and kick hard."</p> - -<p>They lined us up in the tiny office where a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> lieutenant duly inscribed -our names and nefarious profession in the great register. He slammed -the book shut, and began directions to an orderly about conducting us -to our cells—when the sage spoke.</p> - -<p>"What about dinner?" he began.</p> - -<p>"Too late," said the officer. "It's midnight."</p> - -<p>"Not too late to be hungry," was the reply. "We have had nothing to eat -since noon. Do you want it printed that prisoners are starved in the -Cherche Midi?"</p> - -<p>The officer reflected. He then consulted with several orderlies and -finally stated that there was no available food in the prison, but that -he would permit us, at our expense, to have dinner served from a hotel -near-by. We agreed to this and the orderlies departed.</p> - -<p>This arranged two things which we desired: food—for we were really -famished—and time to plan our campaign for liberty before being -separated into cells. While the orderlies were gone we made an -argumentative onslaught on the Lieutenant in his little cubby-hole -office, separated by a low partition from the big gloomy hall where we -were told to await our dinner.</p> - -<p>We told him in detail who we were, how we happened to be there, all -the time insisting on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> injustice of our treatment. He replied that -although he could not discuss the merits of our case, it might interest -us to know that his orders were to keep us for eight days in solitary -confinement, not allowing us to even talk with each other, after that -dinner which the orderlies were now spreading on a big table.</p> - -<p>Eight days!—and we had already been there a year—or so it seemed. -Eight days! Why it was an eternity. And we would not stand it. The -fight in all of us was finally aroused. They could drag us to cells and -keep us; yes, but dragging would be necessary. We assured him of that.</p> - -<p>And then the eagle began to scream. I have often wished when traveling -in Europe that so many American tourists would not so constantly keep -America and Americanism in the foreground of everything they thought -and said and did—but on that night in the Cherche Midi I was as -blatant and noisy and proud an American as ever there was. We waved -the Stars and Stripes and shouted the Declaration of Independence at -the now bewildered officer until he begged us to desist. Earlier in -our conversation we had discussed the mighty effects of journalism -and how it visited its pleasures and its displeasures. Now we quoted -the Constitution of the United States and pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>duced our passports. We -demanded an immediate audience with the American Ambassador.</p> - -<p>Our dinner was waiting, and the officer declared finally that if we -would only eat it he would see what he could do for us, to the extent -of telephoning to the Military Governor. We could hear his part of the -telephone conversation as we attacked our food. We never learned with -whom he was talking, but he made it strong. He never had such persons -as ourselves inside his prison and he would be devoutly thankful to be -rid of us. And besides—this was whispered but we caught the drift of -it—they were Americans, these prisoners, and perhaps it might be just -as well to send some word about them to the American Embassy.</p> - -<p>There was more that we could not hear, but finally he informed us that -an officer was coming from headquarters to talk with us; that we were -to wait where we were.</p> - -<p>I do not know what influence, aside from the telephone conversation, -intervened in our behalf that night. But I am sure that conversation -had little to do with it beyond perhaps securing an immediate rather -than deferred action. Perhaps it was an accident, perhaps a change of -opinion at the Military Governor's headquarters as to the sentence that -had been passed upon us. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> any rate, at the moment we were paying for -our dinner and demanding a receipt dated from inside the prison walls -(every one of us kept an eye open to newspaper copy in demanding the -receipt in such fashion) the door was flung open and a high Government -official whom most of us knew personally, entered the room.</p> - -<p>His first act was to fling the money from the hands of the hotel -servant back upon the table—snatch the receipts, and tear them in -pieces.</p> - -<p>"Gentlemen, the dinners are on me," was his greeting.</p> - -<p>A few hours later the military attaché of the American Embassy who had -been roused from his bed, explained that Mr. Herrick would undertake -the personal responsibility for our parole. The gates of the Cherche -Midi opened. The heavy arm of military authority had lightened; but the -free road to the battle front was still closed.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></p> - -<p class="center">UNDER THE CROIX ROUGE</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">I never</span> expected to drive a motor ambulance, with badly wounded men, -down the Champs Elysées. But I did. I have done many things since the -war began that I never expected to do;—but somehow that magnificent -Champs Elysées—and ambulances—and groans of wounded seemed a -combination entirely outside my wildest imaginations.</p> - -<p>This was a result of the eight days' parole, after my release from the -Cherche Midi; I was forbidden to write anything concerning my trip to -the battle fields.</p> - -<p>During those eight days I came to the conclusion that the popularity -of journalism in France had reached its lowest ebb. In the ante-bellum -days newspapermen were rather highly regarded in the French capital. -They occasionally got almost in the savant class, and folks seemed -rather glad to sit near their corners of the cafés and hearken to their -words. I found that now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> in popular estimation, they were several -degrees below the ordinary criminal, and in fact not far above the -level of the spy. Also the wording of my parole was galling. I could -not even write private letters to my family, without first obtaining -permission at headquarters of the Military Governor.</p> - -<p>We had "run into an important turning movement of troops on that trip -to the front" was the final official reason assigned for our particular -predicament. We were dangerous; we might tell about that turning -movement. Therefore the eight days' parole.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, for eight days my activities for my newspaper were -suspended, and even then the hope of getting to the front seemed more -vague than ever. I thought over every plan that might produce copy, and -finally I called on the Ambassador—which was the usual procedure when -one had an idea of front-going character.</p> - -<p>"I am weary of the reputation that has been bestowed upon me," I -told Mr. Herrick. "I am tired of being classified with the thugs and -yeggmen. I am tired of being an outcast on the face of Paris. In other -words, for the moment I desire to uplift myself from the low level of -journalism. I desire to don the brassard of the Red Cross."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes," said the Ambassador, "I don't blame you."</p> - -<p>"All right," I rejoined, "but as a journalist they won't have -me—unless you give me a bill of health. If you tell them I am not so -bad as I look nor so black as I am painted, I stand a chance. I confess -frankly that I am actuated by the low motives of my profession. I am -first and last a newspaperman and I believe that a Red Cross ambulance -may get me to the battle front. However, I am willing to do my share of -the work, and if I go into the service with my cards face up and your -guarantee—why—"</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Mr. Herrick. "And that goes, provided you will not use -the cable until you leave the service."</p> - -<p>I promised. The Ambassador kept his word. A week later, vaccinated and -injected against disease of every character, clad in khaki, with the -coveted badge of mercy sewed on the left sleeve, I was taken into the -ranks of the Croix Rouge as an ambulance orderly. I remained for two -months—first hauling wounded from great evacuation stations about -Paris to hospitals within the walls. Most of our wounded went to the -American Ambulance, when we broke all speed laws going through the -Champs Elysées, en route<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> to Neuilly. Later I was stationed at Amiens -with the second French army, at that time under the command of General -Castelnau. We slept on the floor in a freight station and we worked in -the black ooze of the railway yards. The battle front was still many -miles away.</p> - -<p>One morning when the weather was bleakest (it was now December) and -the black ooze the deepest, and the straw from where I had just risen -was flattest and moldiest, I received word from Paris to get back -quick—that at last the War Office would send correspondents to the -front, and that the Foreign Office was preparing the list of neutrals -who would go.</p> - -<p>I resigned my ambulance job and took the next train. But I kept my -brassard with the red cross upon it. I wanted it as a proof of those -hard days and sometimes harder nights, when my profession was blotted -from my mind—and copy didn't matter—I wanted it because it was my -badge when I was an ambulance orderly carrying wounded men, when I -came to feel that I was contributing something after all, although a -neutral, toward the great sacrifice of the country that sheltered me. -I shall keep it always for many things that I saw and heard; but I -cherish it most for my recollection of Trevelyan—the Rue Jeanne<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> d'Arc -and those from a locality called Quesnoy-sur-Somme.</p> - - -<p class="center">(A) <span class="smcap">Trevelyan</span></p> - -<p>The orderly on the first bus was sitting at attention, with arms -folded, waiting for orders. It was just dawn, but the interior of his -bus was clean and ready. He always fixed it up at night, when the rest -of us, dog tired, crept into the dank straw, saying we could get up -extra early and do it.</p> - -<p>So now we were up "extra early," chauffeurs tinkered with engines, -and orderlies fumigated interiors; and the First Orderly, sitting at -the head of the column, where he heard things, and saw things, got -acquainted with Trevelyan.</p> - -<p>The seven American motor ambulances were drawn up with a detachment -of the British Red Cross in a small village near B——, the railhead -where the base hospital was located, way up near the Belgian frontier. -The weather was cold. We had changed the brown paint on our busses to -gray, making them less visible against the snow. Even the hoods and -wheels were gray. All that could be seen at a distance were the two big -red crosses blinking like a pair of eyes on the back canvas flaps. The -American cars were light and fast and could scurry back out of shell -range<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> quicker than big lumbering ambulances—of which there was a -plenty. Therefore we were in demand. The morning that the First Orderly -met Trevelyan our squad commander was in conference with the fat major -of the Royal Army Medical Corps concerning the strenuous business of -the day.</p> - -<p>Both the First Orderly and Trevelyan were Somebodys. It was apparent. -It was their caste that attracted them to each other. The First Orderly -was a prominent figure in the Paris American colony; he knew the best -people on both sides of the Atlantic. Now he was an orderly on an -ambulance because he wanted to see some of the war. He wanted to do -something in the war. There were many like him—neutrals in the ranks -of the Croix Rouge.</p> - -<p>The detachment of the Royal Army Medical Corps to which Trevelyan -belonged arrived late one night and were billeted in a barn. The -American corps were in the school house, sleeping in straw on the wood -floor. A small evacuation hospital was near where the wounded from the -field hospitals were patched up a little before we took them for a long -ambulance haul.</p> - -<p>Trevelyan was only an orderly. The American corps found this "quaint," -as Trevelyan himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> would have said. For the orderly of the medical -corps corresponds to the "ranker" of the army. In this war, at a time -when officers were the crying demand, the gentlemen rankers had almost -disappeared. Among the American volunteers, being the squad commander -was somewhat a matter of choice and of mechanical knowledge of our -cars. We all stood on an equal footing. But Trevelyan was simply -classed as a "Tommy," so far as his medical officers were concerned.</p> - -<p>So he showed a disposition to chum with us. He gravitated more -particularly to the First Orderly, who reported to the chauffeur of the -second bus that Trevelyan had a most comprehensive understanding of the -war; that he had also a keen knowledge of medicine and surgery, with -which the First Orderly had himself tinkered.</p> - -<p>They discussed the value of the war in several branches of surgery. -The chauffeur of the second bus heard Trevelyan expounding to the -First Orderly on the precious knowledge derived by the great hospital -surgeons in Paris and London from the great numbers of thigh fractures -coming in—how amputations were becoming always fewer—the men walked -again, though one leg might be shorter.</p> - -<p>Trevelyan, in his well fitting khaki uniform,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> seemed from the same -mold as hundreds of clean built Englishmen; lean face, blond hair. His -accent was faultlessly upper class. The letter "g" did not occur as a -terminating consonant in his conversation. The adjectives "rippin'" or -"rotten" conveyed his sentiments one way or the other. His hand clasp -was firm, his eye direct and blue. He was a chap you liked.</p> - -<p>At our midday meal, which was served apart for the American contingent, -the First Orderly asked the corps what they thought of Trevelyan. "I've -lived three years in England," said the chauffeur of the second bus, -"and this fellow seems to have far less 'side' than most of his class."</p> - -<p>The First Orderly explained that this was because Trevelyan had become -cosmopolitan—traveled a lot, spoke French and Spanish and understood -Italian, whereas most Englishmen scorned to learn any "foreign" tongue.</p> - -<p>"Why isn't he in a regiment—he's so superior!" wondered the chauffeur -of the second bus. The First Orderly maintained stoutly that there was -some good reason, perhaps family trouble, why his new friend was just a -common orderly—like himself.</p> - -<p>The entire column was then ordered out. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> hauled wounded from the -field hospitals to the evacuation camp until nightfall. After dusk they -made several trips almost to the trenches. But there were fewer wounded -than usual. The cold had lessened the infantry attacks, though the -artillery constantly thundered, especially at nightfall.</p> - -<p>New orders came in. They were:—Everything ready always for a possible -quick advance into L——, which was then an advance post. An important -redistribution of General French's "contemptible little army" was hoped -for. At coffee next morning our squad commander, after his customary -talk with the fat major, admonished us to have little to say concerning -our affairs—that talk was a useless adjunct to war.</p> - -<p>That day again the First Orderly's dinner conversation was of -Trevelyan. Their conversation of that morning had gotten away from -armies and surgeons and embraced art people, which were the First -Orderly's forte. People were his hobby but he knew a lot about art. -This knowledge had developed in the form of landscape gardening at the -country places of his millionaire friends. It appeared that he and -Trevelyan had known the same families in different parts of the world.</p> - -<p>"He knows the G's," he proclaimed, naming a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> prominent New York family. -"He's been to their villa at Lennox. He spoke of the way the grounds -are laid out, before he knew I had been there. Talked about the box -perspective for the Venus fountain, that I suggested myself."</p> - -<p>The corps "joshed" the First Orderly on that: asked him whether -Trevelyan had yet confided the reason for his position in the ranks. -The First Orderly was indifferent. He waved a knife loaded with -potatoes—a knife is the chief army eating utensil. "He may be anything -from an Honorable to a Duke," he said, "but I don't like to ask, for -you know how Englishmen are about those things. I have found, though, -that he did the Vatican and Medici collections only a year ago with -some friends of mine, and I'm going to sound them about him sometime."</p> - -<p>There were sharp engagements that afternoon and the corps was kept -busy. At nightfall, the booming of the artillery was louder—nearer, -especially on the left, where the French heavy artillery had come up -the day before to support the British line. The ambulance corps was -ordered to prepare for night work. They snatched plates of soup and -beans, and sat on the busses, waiting.</p> - -<p>At eight o'clock a shell screamed over the line of cars, then another, -and two more. "They've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> got the range on us," the fat Major said. -"We'll have to clear out." Eighteen shells passed overhead before the -equipment and the few remaining wounded got away and struck the road to -the main base at B——.</p> - -<p>The American squad was billeted that night in the freight -station—dropping asleep as they sank into the straw on the floor. At -midnight an English colonel's orderly entered and called the squad -commander. They went out together; then the squad commander returned -for the Orderly of the first bus. The chauffeur of the second bus waked -when they returned after several hours, and heard them through the -gloom groping their way to nests in the straw. They said nothing.</p> - -<p>It was explained in the morning at coffee. "Trevelyan" had been shot at -sunrise. He was a German spy.</p> - - -<p class="center">(B) <span class="smcap">The Rue Jeanne d'Arc</span></p> - -<p>We were sitting in a café at the <i>apéritif</i> hour—an hour that survives -the war. We were stationed in a city of good size in Northern France, a -city famous for its cathedral and its cheese. Just now it was a haven -for refugees, and an evacuation center for wounded. The Germans had -been there, as the patronne of the café Lion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> d'Or narrated at length -to every one who would listen; but now the battle lines were some -distance away. If the wind came from the right direction when the noise -of the city was hushed by military order at nightfall, the haunting -boom-boo-o-m of heavy artillery could be faintly heard. No one who has -heard that sound ever forgets it. Dynamite blasting sounds just about -the same, but in the sound of artillery, when one knows that it is -artillery, there seems the knell of doom.</p> - -<p>The café was crowded at the <i>apéritif</i> hour. The fat face of the -patronne was wreathed in smiles. Any one is mistaken who imagines that -all Northern France is lost from human view in a dense rolling cloud -of battle smoke. At any rate, in the Café d'Or one looked upon life -unchanged. True, there were some new clients in the place of old ones. -There were a half dozen soldiers in khaki, and we of the American -ambulance column, dressed in the same cloth. In a corner sat a young -lieutenant in the gorgeous blue of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, drinking -vermouth with a grizzled captain of artillery. Other French uniforms -dotted the place. The "honest bourgeois" were all there—the chief -supports of the establishment in peace or war. They missed the evening -<i>apéritif</i> during the twelve days of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> German occupation, but now all -were in their accustomed places. For the places of oldtimers are sacred -at the Lion d'Or.</p> - -<p>Madame la patronne acted in place of her husband, who was now safely -serving in the cooking department of the army, some kilometers from the -firing line. Madame sat contentedly at the caisse superintending the -activities of two youthful, inexperienced garçons. The old waiters, -Jean and André, vanished into the "zone of military activity" on the -first day of the war. After several post cards, Jean had not been heard -from. André was killed at the battle of the Marne.</p> - -<p>We had heard the garrulous tale of the German occupation many times. It -was thrillingly revealed, both at the Restaurant de Commerce and the -Hotel de Soleil. At the Lion d'Or it was Madame's absorbing theme, when -she was not haranguing the new waiters or counting change. Madame had -remained throughout the trouble. "But yes, to be sure." She was not the -woman to flee and leave the Lion d'Or to the invaders. Her ample form -was firmly ensconced behind the caisse when the first of the Uhlans -entered. They were officers, and—wonder of wonders—they spoke French. -The new waiters were hiding in the cellar, so Madame clambered from -her chair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> with dignity, and placed glasses and drink before them. And -then—would wonders never cease?—these Germans had actually paid—even -overpaid, <i>ma foi</i>—for one of them flung a golden half louis on the -counter, and stalked from the place refusing change. Of course at the -Hotel de Ville, the invaders behaved differently. There the Mayor was -called upon for one million francs—war indemnity. But that was a -matter for the city and not for the individual. Madame still had that -golden half louis and would show it if we cared to see. Gold was scarce -and exceedingly precious. The sight of it was good.</p> - -<p>Now the Germans were gone—forced out, grace à Dieu, so the good -citizens no longer lived in the cellars. They were again in their -places at the Lion d'Or, sipping vermouth and offering gratitude to the -military régime that had the decency to allow cafés open until eight -o'clock. Outside the night was cold and a fine drizzle beat against -the windows. Several newcomers shivered and remarked that it must be -terrible in the trenches. But the electric lights, the clinking glasses -on the marble tables, the rattling coins, soon brought them into the -general line of speculation on how long it would take to drive the -Germans from France.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> - -<p>For a hundred years the cafés have been the Forum of France. The -Lion d'Or had for that entire period been the scene of fierce verbal -encounters between members of more political and religious faiths than -exist in any other nation of the world. Every Frenchman, no matter how -humble in position or purse has decided opinions about something. But -now the voices in the Lion d'Or arose only in appellations concerning -<i>les Boches</i>. There was unanimity of opinion on the absorbing subject -of the war.</p> - -<p>The members of the American ambulance column sat at a table near the -door. Our khaki always brought looks of friendly interest. Almost every -one took us to be English, and even those who learned the truth were -equally pleased. We finished the <i>apéritif</i> and consulted about dinner. -We were off duty—we might either return for the army mess or buy our -own meal at the restaurant. We paid the garçon and decided upon the -restaurant a few doors away. Several of the men were struggling into -their rubber coats. I told them that I would follow shortly. I had -just caught a sentence from across the room that thrilled me. It held -a note of mystery—or tragedy. It brought life out of the commonplace -normality of <i>apéritif</i> hour at the Lion d'Or.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> - -<p>The speakers were two Frenchmen of middle age—fat and bearded. -They were dressed in ordinary black, but wore it with a ceremonial -rather than conventional manner. The atmosphere of the city did not -seem upon them. They might rather be the butcher and the grocer of a -small town. One of the pair had sat alone for some time before the -second arrived. I had noticed him. He seemed to have no acquaintances -in the place—which was unusual. He drank two cognacs in rapid -succession—which was still more unusual. One drink always satisfies a -Frenchman at <i>apéritif</i> hour—and it is very seldom cognac.</p> - -<p>When the second man entered the other started from his seat and held -out both hands eagerly. "So you got out safe!" were the words I heard; -but our crowd was hurrying toward the door, and I lost the actual -greeting. I ordered another vermouth and waited.</p> - -<p>The two men were seated opposite each other. The first man nervously -motioned to the waiter and the newcomer gave his order. It was plain -that they were both excited, but the table adjoining was unoccupied, -so they attracted no attention. The noisy waiter, banging bottles on -the table, drowned out the next few sentences. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> I heard the second -man: "So I got out first, but you managed to get here yesterday—a day -in advance."</p> - -<p>The other replied: "I was lucky enough to get a horse. They were -shelling the market place when I left."</p> - -<p>The second man gulped his drink and plucked nervously at the other's -sleeve. "My wife is at the hotel," he almost mumbled the words, "I -must tell her—you said the market place. But how about the Rue Jeanne -d'Arc?—her sister lived there. She remained."</p> - -<p>"How about the Rue Jeanne d'Arc?" the other repeated. He clucked his -tongue sympathetically. "That was all destroyed in the morning."</p> - -<p>The second man drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat -from his forehead.</p> - - -<p class="center">(C) <span class="smcap">Those from Quesnoy-sur-Somme</span></p> - -<p>They were climbing out of the cattle cars into the mud of the freight -yards. They numbered about fifty,—the old, the halt, the blind and -the children. We were whizzing past on a motor ambulance with two -desperately wounded men inside, headed for a hospital a half mile away. -The Medical Major said that unless we hurried the men would probably -be dead when we arrived.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> So we could not lessen speed as those from -Quesnoy-sur-Somme descended painfully from the cattle cars. Instead, -we sounded the siren for them to get out of our way. The mud from our -wheels splattered them. But it was not mud—not regular mud. It was -black unhealthy ooze, generated after a month of rain in the aged -layers of train soot. It was full of fever germs. Typhoid was on the -rampage.</p> - -<p>As we passed the sentinels at the gates of the yards we were forced to -halt in a jam of ammunition and food wagons. To the army that survives -is given the first thought. The wounded in the ambulance could wait. We -took right of way only over civilians—including refugees.</p> - -<p>We asked a sentinel concerning those descending from the cattle cars, -"<i>là bas</i>." He said they came from a place called Quesnoy-sur-Somme. -It was not a city he told us, nor a town—not even a village. -Just a straggling hamlet along the river bank—a place called -Quesnoy-sur-Somme.</p> - -<p>The past tense was the correct usage of the verb. The place <i>was</i> that; -but now—now it is just a black path of desolation beside a lifeless -river. The artillery had thundered across the banks for a month. The -fish floated backs down on the water.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> - -<p>When the ammunition and food wagons gave us room enough, we again raced -through the streets and delivered our wounded at the hospital—alive. -Then we returned to the freight yards for more. Several ambulance -columns had worked through the night from the field hospitals to the -freight yards. There the men were sorted and the less desperate cases -entrained.</p> - -<p>We plowed our way carefully through the ooze of the yards, for ahead -of us walked those from Quesnoy-sur-Somme on their way to the <i>gare</i>. -They walked slowly—painfully, except the children, who danced beside -our running board and laughed at the funny red crosses painted on the -canvas sides of the ambulance. It was raining—as usual. The sky was -the coldest gray in the universe, and the earth and dingy buildings, -darker in tone, were still more dismal. But one tiny child had a fat -slab of bread covered thickly with red jam. She raised her sticky pink -face to ours and laughed gloriously. She waved her pudgy fist holding -the bread and jam, and shouted, "Vive la France!"</p> - -<p>We were now just crawling through the mire. The refugees surrounded -us on all sides. The mother seized the waving little arm, and dragged -the child away. The woman did not look at us.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> She just plodded along, -eyes fixed on the mud that closed over her shoes at every step. She -was bareheaded and the rain glistened in great drops upon her hair. -The child hung back. The mother merely tightened her grip, doggedly -patient. She was past either curiosity or reproof.</p> - -<p>Our car ran so slowly that accidentally we killed the engine. I got out -to crank her up and meantime the forlorn mass surged by. Two soldiers -herded them over the slippery tracks to a shed beside the gare where -straggled some rough benches. We lined our car up behind the other -ambulances. Then we went to look at the refugees.</p> - -<p>They had dropped onto the benches, except the children. The littlest -ones tugged fretfully at their mothers' skirts. The others ran -gleefully about, fascinated by the novelty of things. It was a holiday. -Several Red Cross women were feeding the crowd, passing about with big -hampers of bread and pots of coffee. Each person received also a tin of -dried meat; and a cheese was served to every four. We helped carry the -hampers.</p> - -<p>Most of the refugees did not even look at us; they did not raise their -eyes from the mud. They reached out their hands and took what we gave -them. Then they held the food in their laps,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> listless; or staring out -across the yards into the wet dusk.</p> - -<p>One or two of them talked. They had been hustled out at sunrise. -The French army thought they had occupied that dangerous place long -enough. There was no longer hope for any living thing remaining. So -they came away—bringing nothing with them, herded along the line by -soldiers. Where they were going they did not know. It did not matter -where. "<i>C'est la guerre!</i> It is terrible—yes." They shrugged their -shoulders. It is war!</p> - -<p>One old man, nearly blind and very lame, sat forlornly at one end of -the line. He pulled at an empty pipe. We gave him some tobacco—some -fresh English tobacco. He knew that it was not French when he rolled -it in his hand. So we explained the brand. We explained patiently, for -he was very deaf. He was delighted. He had heard of English tobacco, -but had never had any. He stuffed the pipe eagerly and lit it. He -leaned back against the cold stone wall and puffed in ecstasy. Ah! this -English tobacco <i>was</i> good. He was fortunate.</p> - -<p>We glanced back along the line. As we looked several of the women -shrank against the wall. One covered her eyes. Two French ambulances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -passed, carrying a wounded Zouave on a stretcher. A yard engine went -shrieking across their path and the ambulanciers halted. The huddled -figure under the blankets groaned horribly. Then the procession -proceeded to our first ambulance. The men were on the seat, ready for -the race against time to the hospital.</p> - -<p>After a few minutes the soldiers who had herded the refugees into the -shed came again to herd them out—back to the cattle cars. I asked one -of the soldiers where they were going. He waved his hand vaguely toward -the south. "<i>Là bas</i>," he muttered. He didn't know exactly. They were -going somewhere—that was all. There was no place for them here. This -station was for wounded. And would they ever return? He shrugged his -shoulders.</p> - -<p>I looked at the forlorn procession sloshing across the yards. The rain -beat harder. It was almost dark; the yard lamps threw dismal, sickish -gleams across the tracks. The old man with the tobacco brought up the -rear, helped along by an old woman hobbling on a stick.</p> - -<p>We heard the voice of the Medical Major bawling for "les ambulances -Américaines." We looked behind into the gloom of the gare; a procession -emerged—stretchers with huddled forms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> under blankets. As far down -the yards as we could see—just on the edge of the night, those from -Quesnoy-sur-Somme were climbing slowly into the cattle cars.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="PART_FOUR" id="PART_FOUR">PART FOUR</a></p> - -<p class="center">WAR-CORRESPONDING DE LUXE</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></p> - -<p class="center">OUT WITH CAPTAIN BLANK</p> - - -<p>"<span class="smcap">Grand</span> Quartier Général!" The sentry barring the road jerked his -rifle instantly to rigid salute. The speaker sat beside the chauffeur -of a big limousine. He wore a wonderful new horizon-blue captain's -uniform, but on his left arm was the colored silken brassard of the -Great General headquarters staff. It meant that the wearer was the -direct agent of Père Joffre, and though sentries dotted our route the -chauffeur never once brought the car to a full halt.</p> - -<p>Two other neutral correspondents were in the car with me. The tonneau -was comfortably heated and electrically lighted. Our baggage was -carried in other cars behind us, in charge of orderlies. Still other -cars carried an armed escort, in case of sudden attack on the lines.</p> - -<p>For at last we were going forth officially to the front. No sentry -could stop us. No officer could "detain" us—there was no fear of -prison at our journey's end. It had been decided by Père Joffre -himself; and "Himself" had appointed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> Captain, whose orders were -to remain with us even after our return to Paris, where he would wait -to place the magic visé of the État Major upon our despatches, thus -preventing any delays at the regular Bureau de Censure.</p> - -<p>Comfortable rooms had been reserved in hotels of little villages behind -the trenches. Far in advance meals had been commanded to be ready at -the hours of our arrival. Every detail of each day's program had been -carefully arranged. And in case we did become accidentally separated -from our Captain, each of us carried a pass issued by the Ministry of -War bearing our photographs and in dramatic language fully accrediting -us as correspondents to the armies of the Republic.</p> - -<p>So we lighted our cigars and lolled at our ease, feeling our own -importance just a bit as each sentry saluted respectfully the Captain's -silken brassard.</p> - -<p>In the company of Captain Blank I have secured the greatest part of -the cable copy that the war has furnished me, but on that first ride -through the snow fields of Northern France, I little realized that on -my return to Paris I would send America the most important cable that I -had ever filed in my life: for it was the first detailed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> description -of the French army permitted for publication after the battle of the -Marne. Many times during that trip we asked each other what "news" -there was in all that we saw that was worth cabling, when a five-cent -postage stamp would carry it by letter. It was all interesting, some of -it decidedly exciting; but not once did we witness a general engagement -of the army. There was no storming of forts, no charges of the cavalry, -no capitulation of troops. It was just the deadly winter waiting in the -trenches, with the sentries who never slept at the port-holes and the -artillery incessantly pounding away at the rear. I decided that there -was nothing worth cabling in the story.</p> - -<p>When I returned to Paris, and a steam-heated apartment, the reaction -on my physical forces was so great that I went to bed for several days -with the grippe. As I impatiently fumed to get to work on the story of -my trip, it suddenly dawned upon me that it was a cable story after -all. Why, it was one of the biggest cable stories possible—it was the -story of the French army. I had just been permitted a real view of it, -the first accorded any correspondent in so comprehensive a manner. I -had followed a great section of the fighting line, had been in the -trenches under fire, and had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> received scientific, detailed information -regarding this least known of European forces.</p> - -<p>True, we correspondents knew what a powerful machine it was. We knew -it was getting stronger every day. But America did not, and Germany -meanwhile was granting interviews, taking correspondents to the -trenches and up in balloons and aeroplanes in their campaign for -neutral sympathy. Now France, or rather General Joffre—for his was the -first and last word on the subject of war correspondents—had decided -to combat the German advertising. Captain Blank was still waiting in -Paris for my copy—cable copy marked "rush"—which I dictated in bed.</p> - -<p>"This army has nothing to hide," said one of the greatest generals to -me, during the trip. "You see what you like, go where you desire and if -you cannot get there, ask."</p> - -<p>While our party did all the spectacular stunts the Germans had offered -the correspondents in such profusion, such as visiting the trenches, -where once a German shell burst thirty feet from us, splattering us -with mud, where also snipers sent rifle balls hissing only a few feet -away, our greatest treats were the scientific daily discourses given -by Captain Blank, touching the entire his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>tory of the first campaign, -explaining each event leading up to the present position of the two -armies. He gave the exact location of every French and Allied army -corps on the entire front.</p> - -<p>On the opposite side of the line he demonstrated the efficiency of the -French secret service by giving full details of the position and name -of every German regiment, even to the date of its arrival.</p> - -<p>Our Captain explained the second great German blunder after their -failure to occupy Paris. This was their mistake in not at once swinging -a line across Northern France, cutting off Calais and Boulogne, where -they could have leveled a pistol at England's head. He explained that -the superior French cavalry dictated that the line should instead run -straight north through the edge of Belgium to the sea. And he refuted -by many military arguments the theory that cavalry became obsolete with -the advent of aeroplanes.</p> - -<p>Cavalry formerly was used to screen the infantry advance and also for -shock purposes in the charges. Now that the lines are established, it -is mostly used with the infantry in the trenches; but in the great race -after the Marne to turn the western flanks it was the cavalry's ability -to outstrip the infantry that kept the Germans from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> possession of all -Northern France. In other words, the French chauseurs, more brilliant -than the Uhlans, kept that northern line straight until the infantry -corps had time to take up position.</p> - -<p>Once, on passing from the second line to a point less than a hundred -yards from the German rifles, I came face to face with a general of -division. He was sauntering along for his morning's stroll, which he -chose to take in the trenches with his men rather than on the safer -roads at the rear. He smoked a cigarette and seemed careless of danger. -He continually patted his soldiers on the back as he passed and called -them "his little braves."</p> - -<p>I could not help wondering then and since whether the German general -opposite was setting his men the same splendid example. I inquired -the French general's name; he was General Fayolle, conceded by all -the armies to be one of the greatest artillery experts in the world. -Comradeship between officers and men always is general in the French -army, but I never before realized fully the officers' willingness to -accept the same fate as their men.</p> - -<p>In Paris the popular appellation for a German is "boche." Not once at -the front did I hear this word used by officers or men. They deplore -it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> just as they deplore many things that happen in Paris. Every -officer I talked to declared the Germans were a brave, strong enemy; -they waste no time calling them names.</p> - -<p>"They are wonderful, but we will beat them," was the way one officer -summed up the general feeling.</p> - -<p>Another illustration of the French officer at the front: the city -of Vermelles, of 10,000 inhabitants, was captured from the Germans -after thirty-four days' fighting. It was taken literally from house -to house, the French engineers sapping and mining the Germans out of -every stronghold, destroying every single house, incidentally forever -upsetting my own one-time idea that the French are a frivolous people. -So determined were they to retake this town that they fought in the -streets with artillery at a distance of twenty-one feet, probably the -shortest range artillery duel in the history of the world.</p> - -<p>The Germans before the final evacuation buried hundreds of their own -dead. Every yard in the city was filled with little crosses—the ground -was so trampled that the mounds of graves were crushed down level with -the ground—and on the crosses are printed the names, with the number -of the German regiments. At the base of every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> cross rested either a -crucifix or a statue of the Virgin or a wreath of artificial flowers, -all looted from the French graveyard.</p> - -<p>With the German graves were French graves, made afterward. I walked -through this ruined city where, aside from the soldiers, the only sign -of life I saw was a gaunt, prowling cat. With me, past these hundreds -of graves, walked half a dozen French officers. They did not pause to -read inscriptions; they did not comment on the loot and pillage of the -graveyard; they scarcely looked even at the graves, but they constantly -raised their hands to their caps in salute, regardless of whether the -crosses marked a French or a German life destroyed.</p> - -<p>Another illustration of French humanity:</p> - -<p>We were driving along back of the advance lines. On the road before us -a company of territorial infantry, after eight days in the trenches, -were now marching back to two days of repose at the rear. Plodding -along the same road was a refugee mother and several little children -in a donkey cart; behind the cart, attached by a rope, trundled a baby -buggy with the youngest child inside. The buggy suddenly struck a rut -in the road and overturned, spilling the baby into the mud. Terrible -wails arose; the soldiers stiffened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> to attention. Then, seeing the -accident, the entire company broke ranks and rescued the infant. They -wiped the dirt from its face and helped the mother to bestow it again -in the cart.</p> - -<p>Our motor had halted; and our captain from the Great General -Headquarters, in his gorgeous blue uniform, climbed from the car, and -discussed with the mother the safety of a baby buggy riding behind -a donkey cart; at the same time congratulating the soldier who had -rescued the child.</p> - -<p>I took a brief ride at the front in an ante-bellum motorbus,—there -being nothing left in Paris but the trams and subway. Busses have since -been used to carry fresh meat, to transport troops and also ammunition. -We trundled merrily along a little country road, the snow-white fields -on either side in strange contrast to the scenery when last I rode -in that bus, in my daily trips from my home to the <i>Times</i> office in -Paris. The bus was now riddled with bullets, but the soldier conductor -still jingles the bell to the motorman, although he carries a revolver -where he formerly wore the register for fares.</p> - -<p>Trench life was one of the surprises of the trip. Every night since the -war began I had heard pitying remarks about "the boys in the trenches," -especially if the nights were cold. I was, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>fore, prepared to find -the men standing in water to the knees, shivering, wretched, sick and -unhappy. I found just the contrary—the trenches were clean, large and -sanitary, although, of course, mud is mud. The bottoms of the trenches -in every instance were corduroy-lined with modern drains, which keep -the feet perfectly dry. In the large dugouts the men, except those -doing sentry duty, sleep comfortably on dry straw. There are special -dugouts for officers and artillery observers.</p> - -<p>Although the maps show the lines of fighting to be rather wavy, one -must go to the front really to appreciate the zigzag, snake-like line -that it really is. The particular bit of trenches we visited covered a -front of twelve miles; but so irregular was the line, so intricate and -vast the system of intrenchments, that they measured 200 miles on that -particular twelve-mile fighting front.</p> - -<p>Leaving the trenches at the rear of the communication <i>boyaux</i>, it -is astonishing how little of the war can be seen. Ten feet after we -left our trenches we could not see even the entrance. We stood in a -beautiful open field having our pictures taken, and a few hundred yards -away our motor waited behind some trees. Suddenly we heard a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> "zip zip" -over our heads. German snipers were taking shots at us.</p> - -<p>With all considerations for the statement that the Germans have the -greatest fighting machine the world has ever seen, the French army to -me seemed invincible from the standpoints of power, intelligence and -humanity. This latter quality, judging from the generals in command to -the men in the trenches, especially impressed me. I did not and I do -not believe that an army with such ideals as the French army can be -beaten.</p> - -<p>So I wrote my cable and sent it to Captain Blank. He viséd it, at the -same time sending me a letter which I cherish among my possessions. He -thanked me for the sentiments I had expressed and told me that a copy -of the story would be sent to General Joffre.</p> - -<p>A few days later I met the <i>doyen</i> of war correspondents, Frederick -Villiers, in a boulevard café. He was out with me on that trip. But he -began war-corresponding with Archibald Forbes at the battle of Plevna. -This is his seventeenth war. I said to him:</p> - -<p>"Mr. Villiers, what did you do with the story of this trip to the -front; you who have been in so many battles; you who have had a camel -shot under you in the desert; you who escaped from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> Port Arthur; you -who have seen more war than any living man? What do you think of this -latest edition of war?"</p> - -<p>He answered: "It is different, very different, in many ways; but this -trip from which we have just returned is the biggest war spectacle that -I've ever had!"</p> - -<p>Villiers, too, had seen the French army.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></p> - -<p class="center">JOFFRE</p> - - -<p>"<span class="smcap">Give</span> the French a leader and they can do anything." Before the war and -since I have heard this thought more than any other expressed in cafés, -homes and political assemblies.</p> - -<p>Forty-four years before the present war, almost to a day, France -discovered that her last Napoleon had only the name of his great -ancestor, and none of his genius. During all that time she had prayed -for a new leader—not of the name, for Bonaparte princes may not even -fight for France—but for genius sufficient to restore her former -military prestige among the nations.</p> - -<p>General Joffre, at the beginning of the war, had been head of the -army for only three years. He had received his supreme command as -a compromise between political parties. No one knew anything about -him—he had a good military record and was considered "safe." But -at the last grand maneuvers he had given the nation a sudden jar -by unceremoniously and without comment dismissing five gold-laced -generals.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>On one of the first days of the war, at four in the morning, I was -walking home—all taxis were mobilized—after a night passed in writing -cable copy for my newspaper concerning the momentous tragedy that faced -the world.</p> - -<p>I was accompanied by a journalistic confrère; our route led along the -Quai d'Orsay, past the Foreign Office, where the Cabinet of France had -been sitting all night in war council. It was just daybreak. The sun -was beginning to glint on the waters of the Seine. We walked up the -Boulevard des Invalides and halted, without speaking, but in common -thought, before the tomb of Napoleon Bonaparte. The sun suddenly broke -in splendor over the golden dome.</p> - -<p>"It seems like a good omen," I said to my friend.</p> - -<p>"Yes—if France had a Napoleon to-day ..." was his reply.</p> - -<p>He was a newcomer to Paris.</p> - -<p>"Tell me about the Commander-in-Chief," he asked me. "Who is Joffre, -anyway?"</p> - -<p>I told him what everybody knew, which was almost nothing.</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> - -<img src="images/illus04.jpg" alt="pic"/> -</p> -<p class="caption"> GENERAL JOFFRE LUNCHING JUST BEHIND THE FIGHTING LINE IN -CHAMPAGNE</p> - -<p>Now let me shift the picture from the tomb of Napoleon on a sunny -morning in August. It is a bleak day on the undulating plains of -Cham<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>pagne—a few kilometers to the rear of the battle-lines, where -the French had been steadily gaining ground for several weeks. Only -the week before they brilliantly stormed the hills where the Germans -had entrenched after the battle of the Marne, and they captured every -position.</p> - -<p>A fine drizzle had been falling since early morning, making the -ground soggy and slippery. Along the roads the crowds of peasants and -inhabitants of near-by villages are sloshing toward the great open -plain. But all the roads are barred by sentries and they are turned -back. No civilian eyes except those of a half dozen newspapermen -may see what is to happen there. Yes, something <i>is</i> to happen -there—something impressive—something soul-stirring—but there are to -be no cheering spectators, no heraldry and no pomp.</p> - -<p>It is to be a military pageant, without the crowd. It is a change from -the ante-bellum military show at Longchamps on the fourteenth of July, -when the tricolor waved everywhere, when the President of the Republic -and the generals of the army in brilliant uniforms reviewed the troops -of France, and all the great world was there to see.</p> - -<p>This is to be a review of the troops who took the hills back there a -little way, sweeping on and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> up to victory while a murderous German -fire poured into them, dropping them by thousands. Through that clump -of trees sticking up in the mud, are little crosses marking the graves -of the dead.</p> - -<p>Fifteen thousand of the victorious troops will pass in review to-day -before the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied armies. Down across the -field you can hear the distant notes of a bugle. They are taken up -by other buglers at various points. Then across the field comes -a regimental band. The players have been in the charge too—with -rifles instead of musical instruments. This is their first chance to -play in months—and play they do. You hear the martial notes of the -Marseillaise floating across the field, played with a force that must -have been heard in the German lines.</p> - -<p>The regiments take up their positions at one side of the field. General -Langle de Carry, commander of the army that did the Champagne fighting, -with only a half dozen officers, take positions at the reviewing stand. -The reviewing stand is a hillock of mud. Both general and officers wear -the long overcoats of the light "horizon blue," the new color of the -French army.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<p>A man emerges from the line of trees behind the group and plows his way -across the mud. He is large and bulky. He plants his feet firmly at -each step—splashing the mud out in all directions. He wears a short -jacket of the "horizon blue" and no overcoat. He wears the old red -trousers of the beginning of the war. His hat, around which you can -see the golden band of oak leaves signifying that he is a general, is -pulled low over his eyes. Drops of rain are on his grizzled mustache. A -leather belt is about his powerful body, but he wears no sword.</p> - -<p>Langle de Carry and his officers whirl about quickly at his approach. -Every hand is raised in salute. The bulky man touches the visor of his -hat in response—then plants both his large ungloved fists upon his -hips. His feet are spread slightly apart. He speaks to de Carry in a -low voice. As you have already guessed, this big man is Joffre.</p> - -<p>You were told at the beginning of the war that Joffre was a little fat -man—like Napoleon. That is not true. Joffre is a big man. He is even a -tall man, but does not look so because of his bulk. Few men possess, at -his age, such a powerful or so healthy a body. That is why he can cover -so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> many miles of battle front in his racing auto every day. That is -why he shows not the slightest sign of the wear and tear of war.</p> - -<p>No time is lost in conversation. The bugles blew again and the -regiments of heroes began their march past the muddy reviewing stand. -Even in their battle-stained uniforms, every regiment looked "smart." -When they came abreast of Joffre, stolidly and solidly standing a step -in advance of the others, the long line of rifles raised in salute is -as straight as ever that of a German regiment on parade at Potsdam, -despite deep and slippery mud.</p> - -<p>After the infantry came the famous "seventy-fives" with the -same machine-like precision that before the war we always -associated with Germans. The review ends with a regiment of heavy -cavalry—cuirassiers—coming at full charge, rising high in their -stirrups, with swords aloft, and breaking into a battle yell when they -passed "Father Joffre," as he is called by his soldiers.</p> - -<p>Through it all he stands motionless, feet apart, one hand planted on -his hip, raising the other to the visor of his hat, peering beneath -it straight ahead with unblinking eyes. As the men pass this general -without a sword, with no medals, no gold braid, no overcoat—and in -old red trousers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>—the rain pelting upon him, the look on their faces -is one of adoration. It matters not to them that there are no cheering -crowds, no crashing bands, no gala atmosphere. The one eye in France -that they care about is upon them.</p> - -<p>The long line then forms facing him, and the men to receive decorations -advance. One of them—a private—is to receive the <i>médaille -militaire</i>, the greatest war decoration in the world, for it can only -be given to privates, or to generals commanding armies who have already -received the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor. Joffre himself only -won it after the battle of the Marne.</p> - -<p>The private now to receive the medal is brought before the -Commander-in-Chief, who pins it upon his breast. Joffre throws both his -great arms about the private's shoulders and kisses him on both cheeks. -The long line of soldiers remains perfectly quiet. But in the eyes of -many of them are tears.</p> - -<p>The program is ended. Father Joffre gets into his low, gray automobile -and disappears in a swirl of mud, to some other part of the "zone of -operations."</p> - -<p>The army now knows it has the real leader that it waited for so long. -To the general public of France Joffre is still a mystery. But they -are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> content with their mystery—they have faith in him. That is -the spirit of the new France—a quiet faith and determination that -certainly has deceived the rest of the world, especially Germany. It is -the spirit of a nation that has found itself, and Joffre typifies it.</p> - -<p>A few books have appeared giving some information about the -Commander-in-Chief. They deal chiefly with his march to Timbuctoo and -his career in Indo-China. For the rest, Parisians know that before the -war he lived quietly in a little villa in Auteuil, and that next to his -love for his family, the things he regarded as best in all the world -are peace and fishing. Recently it was learned that he commandeered a -barge on one of the rivers near the battle line—and there he sometimes -sits and quietly fishes while thinking out new army plans. His only -other recreation at the front is reading at night before going to bed -from his favorite authors, Balzac, Dumas and Charles Dickens. Joffre -understands English and reads it but will not speak it. "It is that he -has an accent which he likes not," explained one of his officers.</p> - -<p>What Parisians cannot understand is how it was that this quiet, -perfectly unemotional man came into being in the Midi—as Southern -France<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> is called. From the Midi, as from Corsica, come the hotheads -and the firebrands. The crowd certainly expected, when this war came, -that the Commander-in-Chief of the army would give Paris a real treat -before going forth to battle—that he would parade the boulevards in -dress uniform at the head of his troops. Alas! Paris has scarcely heard -a band play since the war began.</p> - -<p>All the time that Joffre lived in the little villa in Auteuil he was -planning and waiting for the day when he should go forth to battle. He -was a fatalist to the extent that he felt by reason of his appointment -to office three years before that he was the chosen man to administer -"the revenge"—that he would lead the armies of France against Germany. -He never forgot it for an instant. It was Joffre who did everything -that a human being could do before the war, to prepare for <i>the day</i>. -It was Joffre who perfected the scheme of mobilization, so that France -was not caught entirely unprepared.</p> - -<p>The word "prepare" was always on his lips. His command of language is -forcible, as his "orders of the day" have shown. In one of his early -addresses to the students of the École Polytechnique, his closing -words, uttered with a vigor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> that simply burned into the students, -were: "May God forgive France if she is not ready."</p> - -<p>And so when the war drums indeed began to roll—when a military régime -was declared throughout France, and the politicians entered either into -retirement or uniform—France suddenly learned that she had a regular -czar on the job. The dismissal of five generals at maneuvers was not -a patch on what was about to happen to the gold-laced brigade—after -the battle of Charleroi, for instance. Joffre has retired so many -generals that the public has lost track of the number. Usually he does -it with an utterly disconcerting lack of comment or explanation. Only -occasionally does he assign that General Blank has been dropped from -active service "for reasons of health."</p> - -<p>But he is just as quick with promotions. The brilliant de Maud'huy, for -instance, who was only a brigade commander in the battle of the Marne, -now commands an entire army.</p> - -<p>I asked a high officer concerning the war councils at the "Grand -Quartier General." His reply was brief. "The war council," he said, -"is Joffre. He just tells everybody what to do—and they do it." That -is Napoleonic enough, isn't it? Not even the President of France may -go to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> front without Joffre's permission—and if the Minister of -War entered the zone of operations without a <i>laisser-passer</i> from the -Grand Quartier General he would very likely be arrested. Only Joffre -would call it "detention"—not arrest.</p> - -<p>And as for journalists in that forbidden zone of operations—well—has -not enough been written already concerning journalists going to jail? -But even to journalists Joffre is entirely fair—only journalists must -play the game according to Joffre's rules.</p> - -<p>I happen to know that Joffre has a thoroughly organized press -clipping bureau at the Ministry of War and every week marked -papers—particularly those of neutral nations—are presented to him. -One of my proud possessions is a letter that I received from an officer -of this bureau stating that one of my cables to the <i>New York Times</i> -had been favorably commented on by the Commander-in-Chief.</p> - -<p>"Is this man a great military genius?" is still a question often -asked—despite the fact that he has a hold on the army such as no man -has had since Napoleon Bonaparte. The war is not over. The Germans are -still in France. Nevertheless all military observers and critics with -whom I have talked agree on one point. That is that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> two weeks' -retreat which culminated in the battle of the Marne showed Joffre to be -a strategist of the very highest order. And any man who could direct -the retreat of an army, especially a French army, for two weeks and -so preserve that army's morale that he could then turn it around to -victory, must have great qualities of genius.</p> - -<p>Ever since, Joffre has given ample evidence of his quality as a master -in the art of war, but he has forsaken the code of war known as the -Napoleonic strategy which was in brief: "Go where your enemy does not -expect you to go." Joffre knows perfectly well that in modern war, -over such a vast front, such tactics are impossible; he knows that -ninety-nine times out of one hundred your enemy, through his aeroplanes -and spies, will know where you are going.</p> - -<p>Joffre indicated his idea of modern strategy some months after the war -began when he said, "I am nibbling at them." The nibbles have gradually -become mouthfuls.</p> - -<p>Joffre thinks all war is too useless for unnecessary sacrifice of men. -He saves them all he can. That is why he would not send reenforcements -when the Germans attacked in front of Soissons, in the presence of the -Kaiser. The Germans were vastly superior in numbers at that point.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> The -weather was frightful. Joffre figured that the French losses would be -too heavy in a general battle there. He knew too that the swollen river -Aisne would quite as effectively prevent a German advance. And it did. -Joffre did not send reenforcements to Soissons in face of both appeals -and public opinion.</p> - -<p>Nothing moves him, when he is convinced that he is right. And a general -of a combination of armies who doggedly does what he wants to do, -whatever any one else thinks about it—who dismisses all opposition -with a very quiet wave of the hand, as Joffre does, undoubtedly -possesses an overpowering personality.</p> - -<p>Joffre is the last man on earth to hold his enemy lightly. No man -knows better than he how strong the Germans are. But he will keep up -that steady hammering, first at this point—then at that point—then -simultaneously all along the line, pressing them back one mile here and -two miles there, until the German army is beaten and out of France. -That is what has been going on now, although a large scale map is -necessary to note just how steadily and how gradually the Germans have -been pressed back everywhere by the advancing French wall of steel.</p> - -<p>Let us go back a moment to that sunny August<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> dawn of the beginning -of the war. I said to my friend as we stood looking at the tomb of -Napoleon Bonaparte: "I wonder what that man would do if he could come -out of that block of granite and command this army?"</p> - -<p>My friend replied:</p> - -<p>"I think he would shut himself up in a room and read all night the -history of all wars from his day to now. Then in the morning he would -call in a few generals and hear them talk. After that he would take -lunch with some manufacturers of arms and ammunition. He would take tea -with some boss mathematicians and scientists. He might then go for a -walk alone. By dinner, I believe he would be on to the job of modern -military strategy and ready for work."</p> - -<p>Whether General Joseph Joffre is the reincarnation of Napoleon -Bonaparte, I am unable to even discuss. He is the perfect antithesis of -the little Corsican in many ways, and he has tackled a bigger job than -Bonaparte ever dreamed of. But the heart of a nation never beat more -hopefully than that of the new and united France.</p> - -<p>"When the war is over—and if Joffre is the conqueror—what will he do -then?"—is another question asked nowadays. I have heard it remarked -that private life with comparative obliv<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>ion may not be easy for the -great military hero who now has both a Belgian king and a British field -marshal taking his orders.</p> - -<p>And I have already heard comment on what a great show Paris will -have when the war is over—how the Grand Army of France headed by -Father Joffre will march under the Arch of Triumph and down the -Champs-Elysées—while the applauding world looks on.</p> - -<p>Perhaps so. I do not know. I have already said that two things Joffre -loves best in all the world, next to his family, are peace and fishing. -I have a private suspicion that once peace is declared, Father Joffre -may turn his back upon Paris and go fishing.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE MAN OF THE MARNE AND THE YSER</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a drippy day—a day when winter overcoats were uncomfortable -but necessary to protect against a wind that swept over the plateau -of Artois. A party of newspapermen were beginning a war-corresponding -de luxe program arranged by the French war office. The Paris-Boulogne -express had been commanded to stop at Amiens, where limousines were -waiting in charge of an officer of the Great General Staff.</p> - -<p>I knew Amiens of old. As an ambulance driver at the beginning of the -war, when the unpopularity of correspondents reached the maximum, I had -brought wounded to the Amiens hospitals. So I knew the roads in all -directions.</p> - -<p>I pushed the raindrops from the automobile window. We were not going -in the direction of the battle lines but parallel with them, and then -bending into a road toward the rear. I communicated this intelligence -to my companions. One of them, an old-timer, yawned and said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, it is usually this way on the first day of a trip. We are probably -on the way to visit some general. It takes a lot of time but we must -act as though we liked it."</p> - -<p>"But if the general is a Somebody, it will be worth while, especially -if we can interview," suggested another.</p> - -<p>"We cannot," the old-timer said composedly, "and he probably will not -be a Somebody. This is a long battle line. They have a lot of generals. -We are probably calling on only a general of brigade. It is possible -that we will not remember his name. He will tell us that we are -welcome. It is a drawback of modern war corresponding, especially if he -invites us to dinner."</p> - -<p>"Why, what would be the matter with that?"</p> - -<p>"The dinner will be excellent," was the answer. "The dinner of a -general begins with <i>hors d'œuvres</i> and ends with cordials—two or -three different brands. There will be speeches and there will be no -visit to the trenches—there will be no time."</p> - -<p>There was no response and our car sloshed along in the rain.</p> - -<p>We stopped before a little red brick cottage set back from the road -in the midst of a grove of pines. A gravel walk led to the steps of a -small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> square veranda where a sentry stood at salute. We were in the -country. No other houses were near.</p> - -<p>A young lieutenant ran down the walk and greeted us.</p> - -<p>"I don't know how you will be received inside," was his strange -utterance. "He said he wanted to see you. That is why we sent word to -Amiens. But it doesn't matter whether you are journalists or generals. -He treats all comers the same—that is, just according to how he feels. -He will either talk to you or he will expect you to do all the talking. -I just wanted to tell you in advance to expect anything."</p> - -<p>I climbed out of the car, wondering. I followed the young lieutenant -into the building. I stood with the others in a little reception hall -where an orderly took our hats and coats. Facing us was a door. On it -was pinned a white page torn from an ordinary writing pad. Scrawled in -ink, were the words, "<i>Bureau du Général</i>."</p> - -<p>The party was curiously silent. I felt that this visit to a general -would be different from anything I had experienced before. We all -became a little restless and nervous. I turned toward a table near the -wall. On it was a French translation of Kipling's "Jungle Book." I -picked it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> up thinking how curious it was to find such a book at the -headquarters of a general. I gasped with surprise as I saw the name of -the general written on the first page.</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> - -<img src="images/illus05.jpg" alt="pic"/> -</p> -<p class="caption"> GENERAL FOCH<br /> - -"The Man of the Marne and the Yser"</p> - -<p>A buzzer sounded and an orderly bounded in from the veranda, threw open -the door marked with the white writing page, turned to us, saying, -"<i>Entrez, Messieurs</i>."</p> - -<p>We entered a large room with many windows, all hung with dainty white -lace. Despite the gloomy day the room seemed sunny, for there were at -least a dozen vases filled with yellow flowers. Between two dormer -windows opening upon a garden was stretched a great yellow map, dotted -with lines and stuck all over with tiny tricolored flags. Before this -map and studying it closely, with his back half turned toward us, stood -a little man. A thick stump of unlighted cigar was between his teeth. -His shoulders were thrown back, his hands clutched tightly behind him. -He wore the full uniform of a general, with long cavalry boots and -spurs. At the sound of our entrance, he swung about dramatically, on -one heel. We caught sight of the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor -blazing on his breast. He wore no other decorations, and I noted the -absence of a sword. The light fell full upon his handsome, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> ravaged -and aging face. The memory of all that I had heard about him raced -across my mind in the short time before I felt him seize my hand, saw -his blue eyes boring into mine, heard him asking questions and stating -facts directly to me. For this was the man who sent the famous message -to General Joffre at the critical moment of the battle of the Marne, -that inasmuch as his left was crushed and his right thrown back, he -proposed to attack with his center. This was the man who later stemmed -the German tide at the Yser, and saved Calais and the Channel ports. -This was the man who has ever since commanded the Group of Armies of -the North, Belgian, English and French, driving the enemy inch by inch -through the Labyrinth and out of Artois. This man, the dashing <i>beau -ideal</i> of the French army, the great strategist of the École de Guerre, -the nearest of all Frenchmen to approach the "man on horseback" picture -of the military hero, this man who was talking to me, and frankly -telling me of important things was General Foch.</p> - -<p>I found myself answering his questions mechanically. I told him the -name of the paper that I represented, also that this was my third visit -to the battle front in Artois.</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes. I know your paper," he said. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> read it. It has been one of -the great forums for the discussion of the war. You have printed both -sides of the question."</p> - -<p>"But we are in favor of the Allies!" I interrupted.</p> - -<p>"I know that also—that is why you have come a third time to Artois."</p> - -<p>The next correspondent in the line was a Spaniard. Foch eyed him for a -moment. "I know you," he said. "I met you in Madrid six years ago." The -correspondent bowed with amazement at the general's memory. He passed -along the line, shaking hands. He stopped before a tall Dutchman, the -representative of a paper in Amsterdam.</p> - -<p>"Ho! Ho!—the big representative of a little nation." The Dutchman -was poked in the ribs with the genial index finger of the General's -right hand. "Don't you know that if Germany wins, your country will -be swallowed up? You have developed a great commerce and valuable -industries. Germany will never be your friend. As of old, the big fish -will eat the little one." Then he swung back down the line, in my -direction.</p> - -<p>"You have already been twice on my battle front. You have seen a great -difference between the first and second trips. You will see another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -great change now. Perhaps you will come here still again—for the last -great offensive,—in Artois."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean, <i>mon general</i>?" I asked.</p> - -<p>The little man was silent for a moment, chewing the end of his cigar -and looking steadily, first at one and then at another of us. I shall -never forget his words. They revealed the cardinal necessity for waging -modern war.</p> - -<p>"We have shown," he said slowly, "that we can go through them any time -we like. The great need is shells. The consumption of shells during -the last offensive was fantastic. But still we did not shoot enough." -He stopped, then said still more slowly: "The next time we will shoot -enough."</p> - -<p>"And then, <i>mon general</i>?" asked the Spaniard. "And then?"</p> - -<p>"And then," Foch replied, "and then we shall keep on advancing, and the -Germans will have to go away."</p> - -<p>He again swung dramatically on his heel, until his back was turned to -us. "<i>Au revoir, Messieurs</i>," he said, and as we filed silently and -somewhat dazedly from the room, he was again standing before the huge -map, chewing the cigar, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> shoulders thrust back, and his hands -clasped tightly behind him.</p> - -<p>The young lieutenant climbed into our car. He explained that the -general had delegated him to the party. He went with us through the -trenches on succeeding days and said good-by only when we took the -train for Paris. He was a brilliant young officer and before the -war had been a foreign correspondent for <i>Le Temps</i>. For that great -newspaper he had "covered" campaigns in Asia and Africa. Now he -explained that he was to be official historian of the campaigns of -General Foch.</p> - -<p>"I am the latest comer on his staff," the lieutenant said, "so there -was not much room for me and he has given me a holiday with you. He has -not a large staff, but the house as you see is very little. So I have -the room that a baby occupied before the war." The young man smiled and -looked down at his stalwart frame. "There was only a little cot and a -rocking horse in the room. I sleep on the floor. I shall keep the cot -for the baby."</p> - -<p>This conversation took place on the last day of our trip, amidst the -ruins of Arras. The lieutenant talked continually of his general. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -explained how the general had told him in detail, and illustrated by -making a plan with matches, the great movement of troops during the -battle of the Marne that started the German retreat.</p> - -<p>"The general broke all his own rules of war," he explained; "all those -rules that he taught so long in the École de Guerre. He moved an entire -division—half of the famous Forty-second Corps, while it was under -fire—he stretched out the remainder of the corps in a thin line across -its place, and moved the division behind his entire army, then flung -them against the Prussian Guard as it was beginning the attack on the -center. The moving of troops already engaged with the enemy had never -been done in any war before."</p> - -<p>"But he staked his whole reputation—his military career on it?" I -asked.</p> - -<p>The Lieutenant smiled. "Oh, yes," he replied, "but after he gave the -order, he went for a long walk in the country with a member of his -staff, who told me afterwards that not once was the war mentioned, and -they were gone three hours. All that time they talked about Spanish -art and Spanish music. When they returned to headquarters, the general -merely asked if there was any news, knowing well that perhaps he might -hear news which would make his name hated for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>ever. He was told the -tide had turned and we were winning the battle. He merely grunted and -lighted a fresh cigar."</p> - -<p>We all remained silent and then a number of desultory questions were -asked about the position of the troops. The lieutenant again explained -with matches. "The general showed it to me with matches, as I have -already shown." He spoke reverently, his voice almost a whisper. "And I -have those matches that the general used."</p> - -<p>In Arras there was just one house left where we could take luncheon—a -fine old mansion belonging to a friend of our guide from the Great -General Staff. We brought our food and soldiers served it in a stately -room with a massive beamed ceiling and stags' antlers decorating the -walls. A tapestry concealed one wall. The officer pulled it aside to -show that we sat in only half a room; the other half had been entirely -destroyed by shells. From the cellar an orderly brought some of the -finest burgundy in France. There was a piano in one corner of the room. -When coffee was served, our Captain sat at the instrument and played -snatches of Schubert, Mozart and Beethoven.</p> - -<p>The discussion at the table turned to music.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> At the same moment a -shell burst a few hundred yards down the street.</p> - -<p>"Play Wagner," some one asked.</p> - -<p>A member of our party who had been in Russia said:</p> - -<p>"Do you permit German music? In Russia it is forbidden."</p> - -<p>The officer replied:</p> - -<p>"How stupid! Things which are beautiful remain beautiful," and he -played an air from "Tristan" as a shell went screaming overhead.</p> - -<p>The young lieutenant, handsome and debonair, turned to me:</p> - -<p>"This is fine," he said. "Here we are in the last house in Arras where -this scene is possible, and perhaps to-morrow this place will all be -gone—perhaps in ten minutes." He laughed and the piano was silenced by -the explosion of another shell.</p> - -<p>We climbed into our automobiles and hurried out of town along a road -in plain sight of the German guns. I thought of what General Foch -had said: "We can go through them any time we desire." I got out my -military map and looked at the German line, slipping gradually from -the plateau of Artois into the plain of Douai—the plain that contains -Lens, Douai and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> Lille and sweeps away across the frontier of Belgium. -That was the place to which General Foch referred when he said the -Germans "must keep on going away." I turned to an officer beside me in -the car. I said: "When the French guns are sweeping that plain it means -the end of the Germans in Northern France?" He smiled and nodded, while -I offered a silent prayer that on that day I might be permitted by the -military authorities to make my fourth visit to Artois, to see the -decisive victory of French arms that I believe will take place there -under the command of General Foch, and that will help largely to bring -this war to a close.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is a story about what, in the minds of the French military -authorities, ranks as the greatest battle in the western theater of -operations, following the battle of the Marne.</p> - -<p>So far as I know the battle has never received an official name. The -French <i>communiqués</i> have always vaguely referred to it as "operations -in the sector north of Arras."</p> - -<p>I cannot minutely describe the conflict; no one can do that now. I can, -however, tell what I saw there when the Ministry of War authorized -me to accompany a special mission there, to which I was the only -foreigner accredited. I purpose to call this struggle the Battle of the -Labyrinth, for "labyrinth" is the name applied to the vast system of -entrenchments all through that region, and from which the Germans have -been literally blasted almost foot by foot by an extravagant use of -French melinite. This battle was of vital importance because a French -defeat at the Labyrinth would allow the Germans to sweep clear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> across -Northern France, cutting off all communication with England.</p> - -<p>The battle of the Labyrinth really began in October, 1914, when General -de Maud'huy stopped the Prussian Guard before Arras with his motley -array of tired territorials, whom he had gathered together in a mighty -rush northward after the battle of the Marne. These crack Guards -regiments afterward took on the job at Ypres, while the Crown Prince -of Bavaria assumed the vain task of attempting to break de Maud'huy's -resistance and cut a more southward passage to the sea.</p> - -<p>All winter de Maud'huy worried him, not seeking to make a big advance, -but contenting himself with the record of never having lost a single -trench. With the return of warm weather, just after the big French -advance in Champagne, this sector was chosen by Joffre as the place in -which to take the heart out of his enemy by the delivery of a mighty -blow.</p> - -<p>The Germans probably thought that the French intended to concentrate -in the Vosges, as next door to Champagne; so they carted all their -poison gases there and to Ypres, where their ambition still maintains -ascendency over their good sense. But where the Germans think Joffre -is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> likely to strike is usually the place furthest from his thoughts. -Activities in the Arras sector were begun under the personal command -and direction of the Commander-in-Chief.</p> - -<p>I doubt whether until the war is over it will be possible adequately to -describe the battle, or rather, the series of battles extending along -this particular front of about fifty miles. "Labyrinth" certainly is -the fittest word to call it. I always had a fairly accurate sense of -direction; but, it was impossible for me, standing in many places in -this giant battlefield, to say where were the Germans and where the -French, so confusing was the constant zigzag of the trenches. Sometimes -when I was positive that a furious cannonade coming from a certain -position was German, it turned out to be French. At other times, when I -thought I was safely going in the direction of the French, I was hauled -back by officers who told me I was heading directly into the German -line of fire. I sometimes felt that the German lines were on three -sides, and often I was quite correct. On the other hand, the French -lines often almost completely surround the German positions.</p> - -<p>One could not tell from the nearness of the artillery fire whether it -was from friend or foe. Artillery makes three different noises; first, -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> sharp report followed by detonations like thunder, when the shell -first leaves the gun; second, the rushing sound of the shell passing -high overhead; third, the shrill whistle, followed by the crash when -it finally explodes. In the Labyrinth the detonations which usually -indicated the French fire might be from the German batteries stationed -close by but unable to get our range, and firing at a section of the -French lines some miles away. I finally determined that when a battery -fired fast it was French; for the German fire became more intermittent -every day.</p> - -<p>I shall try to give some idea of what this fighting looks like. Late -one afternoon, coming out of a trench into a green meadow, I suddenly -found myself backed against a mud-bank made of the dirt taken from the -trenches. We were just at the crest of a hill. In khaki clothes I was -of the same color as the mud-bank; so an officer told me I was in a -fairly safe position.</p> - -<p>Modern war becomes a somewhat flat affair after the first impressions -have been dulled.</p> - -<p>We blotted ourselves against our mud-bank, carefully adjusted our -glasses, turned them toward the valley before us, whence came the -sound of exploding shells, and watched a village dying in the sunset. -It was only about a thousand yards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> away—I didn't even ask whether -it was in French or German possession. A loud explosion, a roll of -dense black smoke, penetrated at once by the long, horizontal rays -of sun, revealing tumbling roofs and crumbling walls. A few seconds' -intermission; then another explosion; a public school in the main -street sagged suddenly in the center. With no pause came a succession -of explosions, and the building was prone upon the ground—a jagged -pile of broken stones.</p> - -<p>We turned our glasses on the other end of the village. A column of -black smoke was rising where the church had caught fire. We watched it -awhile in silence. Ruins were getting very common. I swept the glasses -away from the hamlet altogether and pointed out over the distant fields -to the left.</p> - -<p>"Where are the German trenches?" I asked the Major.</p> - -<p>"I'll show you—just a moment!" he answered, and at the same time -signaling to a soldier squatting in the entrance to a trench near by, -he ordered the man to convey a message to the telephone station, which -connected with a "seventy-five" battery at our rear. I was on the point -of telling the officer not to bother about it. The words were on my -lips; then I thought: "Oh, never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> mind! I might as well know where the -trenches are, now that I have asked."</p> - -<p>The soldier disappeared. "Watch!" said the officer. We peered intently -across the fields to the left. In less than a minute there were two -sharp explosions behind us, two puffs of smoke out on the horizon -before us, about a mile away.</p> - -<p>"That's where they are!" the officer said. "Both shells went right into -them!"</p> - -<p>Away to the right of the village, now reduced to ruins, was another -larger village; we squared around on our mud bank to look at that. -This town was more important; it was Neuville-Saint-Vaast, which was -occupied by both French and Germans, the former slowly retaking it, -house by house. We were about half a mile away. We could see little; -for strangely, in this business of house-to-house occupation, most of -the fighting is in the cellars. But I could well imagine what was going -on, for I had already walked through the ruins of Vermelles, another -town now entirely in French possession, but taken in the same fashion -after two months' dogged inch-by-inch advances.</p> - -<p>So, when, looking at Neuville-Saint-Vaast, I suddenly heard a -tremendous explosion and saw a great mass of masonry and débris of all -descriptions flying high in the air, I knew just what had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> happened. -The French—for it is always the French who do it—had burrowed, sapped -and dug themselves laboriously, patiently, slowly, by torturous, narrow -underground routes from one row of houses under the foundations of the -next row of houses. There they had planted mines. The explosion I had -just witnessed was of a mine. Much of the débris I saw flying through -space had been German soldiers a few seconds before.</p> - -<p>Before the smoke died away we heard a savage yell. That was the French -cry of victory; then we heard a rapid cracking of rifles. The French -had evidently advanced across the space between the houses to finish -the work of their mine. When one goes to view the work of these mines -afterward all that one sees is a great round, smooth hole in the -ground—sometimes 30 feet deep, often twice that in diameter. Above it -might have been either a château or a stable; unless one has an old -resident for guide it is impossible to know.</p> - -<p>It takes many days and nights to prepare these mines. It takes correct -mathematical calculation to place them. It takes morale, judgment, -courage, and intelligence—this fighting from house to house. And yet -the French are called a frivolous people!</p> - -<p>A cry from a soldier warned us of a German<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> aeroplane directly -overhead; so we stopped gazing at Neuville-Saint-Vaast. A French -aeroplane soon appeared, and the German one made off rapidly. They -usually do, as most German war planes are too light to carry anything -but rifles and bombs; French machines, while slower, all have -mitrailleuses. A fight between them is unequal, and the inequality is -not easily overcome.</p> - -<p>Four French machines were now circling above, and the German batteries -opened fire on them. It was a beautiful sight. There was not a cloud -in the sky, and the sun had not yet gone. We could not hear the shells -explode, but little feathery white clouds suddenly appeared as if some -giant invisible hand had just put them there—high up in the sky. -Another appeared; then another. Several dozen little white clouds were -vividly outlined against the blue before the French machines, all -untouched, turned back to their own lines.</p> - -<p>The soldier with us suddenly threw himself face down on the ground; a -second after a German shell tore a hole in the field before us, less -than a hundred yards away. I asked the officer if we had been seen, -and if they were firing at us. He said he did not think so, but we -had perhaps better move. As a matter of fact, they were hunt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>ing the -battery that had so accurately shown us their trenches a short time -before.</p> - -<p>Instead of returning to the point where we had left our motors by the -trench, we walked across an open field in a direction which I thought -was precisely the wrong one. High above us, continually, was a rushing -sound like giant wings. Occasionally, when a shell struck near us, we -heard the shrill whistling sound, and half a dozen times in the course -of the walk great holes were torn in our field. But artillery does not -cause fear easily; it is rifles that accomplish that. The sharp hissing -of the bullet resembles so much the sound of a spitting cat, seems so -personal—as if it was intended just for you.</p> - -<p>Artillery is entirely impersonal; you know that the gunners do not -see you; that they are firing by arithmetic at a certain range; that -their shell is not intended for any one in particular. So you walk on, -among daisies and buttercups. You calculate the distance between you -and the bursting shell. You somehow feel that nothing will harm you. -You are not afraid; and if you are lucky, as we were, you will find -the automobiles waiting for you just over there beyond the brow of the -hill.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></p> - -<p class="center">"WITH THE HONORS OF WAR"</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was just dawn when I got off a train at Gerbéviller, the little -"Martyr City" that hides its desolation as it hid its existence in the -foothills of the Vosges.</p> - -<p>There was a dense fog. At 6 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> fog usually covers the -valleys of the Meurthe and Moselle. From the station I could see only -a building across the road. A gendarme demanded my credentials. I -handed him the <i>laisser-passer</i> from the Quartier Général of the "First -French Army," which controls all coming and going, all activity in -that region. The gendarme demanded to know the hour when I proposed to -leave. I told him. He said it would be necessary to have the permit -"viséd for departure" at the headquarters of the gendarmerie. He -pointed to the hazy outlines of another building just distinguishable -through the fog.</p> - -<p>This was proof that the town contained buildings—not just a building. -The place was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> entirely destroyed, as I had supposed. I went down -the main street from the station, the fog enveloping me. I had letters -to the town officials, but it was too early in the morning to present -them. I would first get my own impressions of the wreck and ruin.</p> - -<p>But I could see nothing on either hand as I stumbled along in the mud. -So I commented to myself that this was not as bad as some places I had -seen. I thought of the substantial station and the buildings across the -road—untouched by war. I compared Gerbéviller with places where there -is not even a station—where not even one house remains as the result -of "the day when the Germans came."</p> - -<p>The road was winding and steep, dipping down to the swift little stream -that twists a turbulent passage through the town. The day was coming -fast but the fog remained white and impenetrable. After a few minutes -I began to see dark shapes on either side of the road. Tall, thin, -irregular shapes, some high, some low, but with outlines all softened, -toned down by the banks of white vapor.</p> - -<p>I started across the road to investigate and fell across a pile of -jagged masonry on the sidewalk. Through the fog I could see tumbled -piles of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> bricks. The shapes still remained—specters that seemed -to move in the light from the valley. An odor that was not of the -freshness of the morning assailed me. I climbed across the walk. No -wall of buildings barred my path, but I mounted higher on the piles -of brick and stones. A heavy black shape was now at my left hand. I -looked up and in the shadow there was no fog. I could see a crumbled -swaying side of a house that was. The odor I noticed was that caused -by fire. Sticking from the wall I could see the charred wood joists -that once supported the floor of the second story. Higher, the lifting -fog permitted me to see the waving boughs of a tree that hung over -the house that was. At my feet, sticking out of a pile of bricks and -stones, were the twisted iron fragments of a child's bed. I climbed out -into the sunshine.</p> - -<p>I was standing in the midst of a desolation and a silence that were -profound. There was nothing there that lived, except a few fire-blacked -trees that stuck up here and there in the shelter of broken walls. Now -I understood the meaning of the spectral shapes. They were nothing but -the broken walls of the other houses that were. They were all that -remained of nine-tenths of Gerbéviller.</p> - -<p>I wandered along to where the street turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> sharply. There the ground -pitched straight to the little river. Half of a house stood there, -unscathed by fire; it was one of those unexplainable freaks that often -occur in great catastrophes. Even the window glass was intact. Smoke -was coming from the chimney. I went to the opposite side and there -stood an old woman looking out toward the river, brooding over the ruin -stretching below her.</p> - -<p>"You are lucky," I said. "You still have your home."</p> - -<p>She turned a toothless countenance toward me and threw out her hands. I -judged her to be well over seventy. It wasn't her home, she explained. -Her home was "là-bas"—pointing vaguely in the distance. She had lived -there fifty years—now it was burned. Her son's house, he had saved -thirty years to be able to call it his own, was also gone; but then her -son was dead, so what did it matter? Yes, he was shot on the day the -Germans came. He was ill, but they killed him. Oh, yes, she saw him -killed. When the Germans went away she came to his house and built a -fire in the stove. It was very cold.</p> - -<p>And why were the houses burned? No; it was not the result of -bombardment. Gerbéviller was not bombarded until after the houses were -burned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> They were burned by the Germans systematically. They went -from house to house with their torches and oil and pitch. They did not -explain why they burned the houses, but it was because they were angry.</p> - -<p>The old woman paused a moment, and a faint flicker of a smile showed in -the wrinkles about her eyes. I asked her to continue her story.</p> - -<p>"You said because they were angry," I prompted. The smile broadened. -Oh, yes, they were angry, she explained. They did not even make the -excuse that the villagers fired upon them. They were just angry through -and through. And it was all because of those seventy-five French -chasseurs who held the bridge.</p> - -<p>Some one called to her from the house. She hobbled to the door. -"Any one can tell you about the seventy-five chasseurs," she said, -disappearing within.</p> - -<p>I went on down the road and stood upon the bridge over the swift little -river. It was a narrow, tiny bridge only wide enough for one wagon to -pass. Two roads from the town converged there, the one over which I -had passed and another which formed a letter "V" at the junction with -the bridge. Across the river only one road led away from the bridge -and it ran straight up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> a hill, when it turned suddenly into the broad -national highway to Lunéville, about five miles away.</p> - -<p>One house remained standing at the end of the bridge, nearest the town. -Its roof was gone, and its walls bore the marks of hundreds of bullets, -but it was inhabited by a little old man of fifty, who came out to -talk with me. He was the village carpenter. His house was burned, so -he had taken refuge in the little house at the bridge. During the time -the Germans were there he had been a prisoner, but they forgot him the -morning the French army arrived. Everybody was in such a hurry, he -explained.</p> - -<p>I asked him about the seventy-five chasseurs at the bridge.</p> - -<p>Ah, yes, we were then standing on the site of their barricade. He would -tell me about it, for he had seen it all from his house half way up the -hill.</p> - -<p>The chasseurs were first posted across the river on the road to -Lunéville, and when the Germans approached, early in the morning, they -fell back to the bridge, which they had barricaded the night before. -It was the only way into Gerbéviller, so the chasseurs determined to -fight. They had torn up the street and thrown great earthworks across<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> -one end of the bridge. Additional barricades were thrown up on the -two converging streets, part way up the hill, behind which they had -mitrailleuses which could sweep the road at the other end of the bridge.</p> - -<p>About a half mile to the south a narrow footbridge crossed the river, -only wide enough for one man. It was a little rustic affair that ran -through the grounds of the Château de Gerbéviller, which faced the -river only a few hundred yards below the main bridge. It was a very -ancient château, built in the twelfth century and restored in the -seventeenth century. It was a royal château of the Bourbons. In it once -lived the great François de Montmorency, Duc de Luxembourg and Marshal -of France. Now it belonged to the Marquise de Lamberty, a cousin of the -King of Spain.</p> - -<p>I interrupted, for I wanted to hear about the chasseurs. I gave the -little old man a cigarette. He seized it eagerly—so eagerly that I -also handed him a cigar. He fondled that cigar for a moment and then -placed it in an inside pocket. It was a very cheap and very bad French -cigar, for I was in a part of the country that has never heard of -Havanas, but to the little old man it was something precious. "I will -keep it for Sunday," he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<p>I then got him back to the seventy-five chasseurs. It was just eight -o'clock in the morning—a beautiful sunshiny morning—when the German -column appeared around the bend in the road which we could see across -the bridge, and which joined the highway from Lunéville. There were -twelve thousand in that first column. One hundred and fifty thousand -more came later. A band was playing "Deutschland über Alles," and the -men were singing. The closely-packed front ranks of infantry broke into -the goose step as they came in sight of the town. It was a wonderful -sight; the sun glistened on their helmets; they marched as though on -parade right down almost to the opposite end of the bridge.</p> - -<p>Then came the command to halt. For a moment there was a complete -silence. The Germans, only a couple of hundred yards from the -barricade, seemed slowly to consider the situation. The Captain of the -chasseurs, from a shelter behind the very little house that was still -standing—and where his men up the two roads could see him—softly -waved his hand.</p> - -<p>Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack! The bullets from -the mitrailleuses whistled across the bridge into the front ranks of -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> "Deutschland über Alles" singers, while the men behind the bridge -barricade began a deadly rifle fire.</p> - -<p>Have you ever heard a mitrailleuse? It is just like a telegraph -instrument, with its insistent clickety click-click-click, only it is a -hundred times as loud. Indeed I have been told by French officers that -it has sometimes been used as a telegraph instrument, so accurately can -its operator reel out its hundred and sixty shots a minute.</p> - -<p>On that morning at the Gerbéviller barricade, however, it went faster -than the telegraph. These men on the converging roads just shifted -their range slightly and poured bullets into the next ranks of infantry -and so on back along the line, until Germans were dropping by the dozen -at the sides of the straight little road. Then the column broke ranks -wildly and fled back into the shelter of the road from Lunéville.</p> - -<p>A half hour later a detachment of cavalry suddenly rounded the corner -and charged straight for the barricade. The seventy-five were ready for -them. Some of them got half way across the bridge and then tumbled into -the river. Not one got back around the corner of the road to Lunéville.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was another half hour of quiet, and then from the Lunéville road -a battery of artillery got into action. Their range was bad, so far as -any achievement against the seventy-five was concerned, so they turned -their attention to the château, which they could easily see from their -position across the river. The first shell struck the majestic tower of -the building and shattered it. The next smashed the roof, the third hit -the chapel—and so continued the bombardment until flames broke out to -complete the destruction.</p> - -<p>Of course the Germans could not know that the château was empty, that -its owner was in Paris and both her sons fighting in the French army. -But they had secured the military advantage of demolishing one of the -finest country houses in France, with its priceless tapestries, ancient -marbles and heirlooms of the Bourbons. A howl of German glee was heard -by the seventy-five chasseurs crouching behind their barricades. So -pleased were the invaders with their achievement that next they bravely -swung out a battery into the road leading to the bridge, intending to -shell the barricades. The Captain of chasseurs again waved his hand. -Every man of the battery was killed before the guns were in position. -It took an entire company of infantry—half of them being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> killed in -the action—to haul those guns back into the Lunéville road, thus to -clear the way for another advance.</p> - -<p>From then on until 1 o'clock in the afternoon there were more infantry -attacks, all failing as lamentably as the first. The seventy-five -were holding off the 12,000. At the last attack they let the Germans -advance to the entrance of the bridge. They invited them with taunts -to advance. Then they poured in their deadly fire, and as the Germans -broke and fled they permitted themselves a cheer. Up to this time not -one chasseur was killed. Only four were wounded.</p> - -<p>Shortly after 1 o'clock the German artillery wasted a few more shells -on the ruined château and the chasseurs could see a detachment crawling -along the river bank in the direction of the narrow footbridge that -crossed through the château park a half mile below. The Captain of -the chasseurs sent one man with a mitrailleuse to hold the bridge. He -posted himself in the shelter of a large tree at one end. In a few -minutes about fifty Germans appeared. They advanced cautiously on the -bridge. The chasseur let them get half way over before he raked them -with his fire. The water below ran red with blood.</p> - -<p>The Germans retreated for help and made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> another attack an hour later -with the same result. By 4 o'clock, when the lone chasseur's ammunition -was exhausted, it is estimated that he had killed 175 Germans, who made -five desperate rushes to take the position, which would have enabled -them to make a flank attack on the seventy-four still holding the main -bridge. When his ammunition was gone—which occurred at the same time -as the ammunition at the main bridge was exhausted—this chasseur with -the others succeeded in effecting a retreat to a main body of cavalry. -If he still lives—this modern Horatius at the bridge—he remains an -unnamed hero in the ranks of the French army, unhonored except in the -hearts of those few of his countrymen who know.</p> - -<p>During the late hours of the afternoon aeroplanes flew over the -chasseurs' position, thus discovering to the Germans how really weak -were the defenses of the town, how few its defenders. Besides the -ammunition was gone. But for eight hours—from eight in the morning -until four in the afternoon—the seventy-five had held the 12,000.</p> - -<p>Had that body of 12,000 succeeded earlier the 150,000 Germans that -advanced the next day might have been able to fall on the French right -flank during a critical battle of the war. The total<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> casualties of the -chasseurs were three killed, three captured, and six wounded.</p> - -<p>The little old man and I had walked to the entrance of the château park -before he finished his story. It was still too early for breakfast. I -thanked him and told him to return to his work in the little house by -the bridge. I wanted to explore the château at leisure.</p> - -<p>I entered the place—what was left of it. Most of the walls were -standing. Walls built in the twelfth century do not break easily, even -with modern artillery. But the modern roof and seventeenth century -inner walls were all demolished. Not a single article of furniture -or decoration remained. But the destruction showed some of the same -freaks—similar to that little house left untouched by fire on the -summit of the hill.</p> - -<p>For instance, the Bourbon coat of arms above the grand staircase was -untouched, while the staircase itself was just splintered bits of -marble. On another fragment of the wall there still hung a magnificent -stag's antlers. Strewed about in the corners I saw fragments of vases -that had been priceless. Even the remnants were valuable. In the ruined -music room I found a piece of fresh, clean music (an Alsatian waltz), -lying on the mantelpiece. I went out to the front of the build<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>ing, -where the great park sweeps down to the edge of the river. An old -gardener in one of the side paths saw me. We immediately established -cordial relations with a cigarette.</p> - -<p>He told me how, after the chasseurs retreated beyond the town, the -Germans—reduced over a thousand of their original number by the -activities of the day—swept over the barricades of the bridge and into -the town. Yes, the old woman I had talked with was right about it. They -were very angry. They were ferociously angry at being held eight hours -at that bridge by a force so ridiculously small.</p> - -<p>The first civilians they met they killed, and then they began to fire -the houses. One young man, half-witted, came out of one of the houses -near the bridge. They hanged him in the garden behind the house. Then -they called his mother to see. A mob came piling into the château -headed by four officers. All the furniture and valuables that were not -destroyed they piled into a wagon and sent back to Lunéville. Of the -gardener who was telling me the story they demanded the keys of the -wine cellars. No; they did not injure him. They just held him by the -arms while several dozen of the soldiers spat in his face.</p> - -<p>While the drunken crew were reeling about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> place, one of them -accidentally stumbled upon the secret underground passage leading to -the famous grottoes. These grottoes and the underground connection -of the château were built in the fifteenth century. They are a half -mile away, situated only half above ground, the entrance looking out -on a smooth lawn that extends to the edge of the river. Several giant -trees, the trunks of which are covered with vines, half shelter the -entrance, which is also obscured by climbing ivy. The interior was one -of the treasures of France. The vaulted ceilings were done in wonderful -mosaic; the walls decorated with marbles and rare sea shells. In every -nook were marble pedestals and antique statuary, while the fountain in -the center, supplied from an underground stream, was of porphyry inlaid -with mosaic.</p> - -<p>The Germans looked upon it with appreciative eyes. But they were still -very angry. Its destruction was a necessity of war. It could not be -destroyed by artillery because it was half under ground and screened -by the giant trees. But it could be destroyed by picks and axes. A -squad of soldiers was detailed to the job. They did it thoroughly. The -gardener took me there to see. Not a scrap of the mosaic remained. -The fountain was smashed to bits. A headless Venus and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> a smashed and -battered Adonis were lying prone upon the ground.</p> - -<p>The visitors of the château and environs afterward joined their -comrades in firing the town. Night had come. Also across the bridge -waited the 150,000 reenforcements, come from Lunéville. The five -hundred of the two thousand inhabitants who remained were herded to -the upper end of the town near the station. That portion was not to be -destroyed because the German General would make his headquarters there.</p> - -<p>The inhabitants were to be given a treat. They were to witness the -entrance of the hundred and fifty thousand—the power and might of -Germany was to be exhibited to them. So while the flames leaped high -from the burning city, reddening the sky for miles, while old men -prayed, while women wept, while little children whimpered, the sound of -martial music was heard down the street near the bridge. The infantry, -packed in close formation, the red light from the fire shining on -their helmets, were doing the goose step up the main street to the -station—the great German army had entered the city of Gerbéviller with -the honors of war.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></p> - -<p class="center">SISTER JULIE, CHEVALIER OF THE LEGION OF HONOR</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">A little</span> round apple dumpling sort of woman in nun's costume was -bobbing a curtsy to me from the doorway. In excited French she begged -me to be seated. For I was "Monsieur l'Américain" who had come to visit -Gerbéviller, the little community nestling in the foothills of the -Vosges, that has suffered quite as much from Germans as any city, even -those in Belgium. It was her "grand pleasure" that I should come to -visit her.</p> - -<p>I stared for a moment in amazement. I could scarcely realize that this -plump, bobbing little person was the famous Sister Julie. I had pulled -every wire I could discover among my acquaintances at the Foreign -Office and the Ministry of War to be granted the privilege of making -the trip into that portion of the forbidden "zone of military activity" -where Sister Julie had made her name immortal. I carried a letter -from one of the great officials of the Quai d'Orsay, addressed to the -little nun in terms of reverence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> that one might use toward his mother. -He signed himself "Yours, with great affection," after craving that -she would grant me audience. And there she was, with the letter still -unopened in her hand, telling me how glad she was to see me.</p> - -<p>I confess I expected a different type of woman. I thought a different -type necessary to handle the German invaders in the fashion Sister -Julie handled them at Gerbéviller. I imagined a tall, commanding -woman—like Madame Macherez, Mayor of Soissons—would enter the little -sitting room where I had been waiting that sunny morning.</p> - -<p>In that little sitting room the very atmosphere of war is not -permitted. There is too much close at hand, where nine-tenths of the -city lies in ashes as a result of the German visit. So in that room -there is nothing but comfort, peace and good cheer. Potted geraniums -fill the window boxes, pretty chintz curtains cover the glass. Where -bullets had torn furrows in the plaster and drilled holes in the -woodwork the wounds were concealed as far as possible. It was hard -to realize that the deep, rumbling roars that shook the house while -we talked were caused by a Franco-German artillery duel only a few -kilometers away.</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> - -<img src="images/illus06.jpg" alt="pic"/> -</p> -<p class="caption"> SISTER JULIE IN THE DOOR OF HER HOSPITAL</p> - -<p>The little woman drew out chairs from the cen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>ter table and we seated -ourselves, she talking continuously of how glad she was that one from -"that great America" should want to see her and know about her work. -Ah! her work, there was still so much to do!</p> - -<p>She got up and toddled to the window, drawing aside the chintz -curtains. "Poor Gerbéviller!" she sighed as we looked out over the -desolate waste of burned houses. "My poor, poor Gerbéviller!"</p> - -<p>Tears stood in her brown eyes and fell upon the wide white collar of -the religious order that she wore. She brushed them aside quickly -and turned to the table, again all smiles and dimples. Yes! dimples, -for although Sister Julie is small, she is undeniably plump. She has -dimples in her cheeks and in her chin—chins I might say. She even has -dimples on the knuckles of her hands, after the fashion of babies. -Her face is round and rosy. Her voice low and mellow. She looks only -about forty of her sixty years—a woman who seems to have taken life -as something that is always good. Evil and Germans seem never to have -entered her door.</p> - -<p>Then I remembered what this woman had done; how all France is talking -about her and is proud of her. How the President of the Republic went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> -to the little, ruined city, accompanied by the Presidents of the Senate -and the Chamber of Deputies, and a great military entourage, just -to hang the jeweled cross of the Legion of Honor about her neck. I -wondered what they thought when she bobbed her curtsy in the doorway.</p> - -<p>For it took a war to distinguish this little woman from the crowd. -Outside her order she was unknown before the Germans came to France. -But it did not matter to her. She just went placidly and smilingly on -her way—"doing the Lord's work," as she told me. Then the day arrived -when the Germans came, and this little round apple dumpling woman blew -up. That is just the way it was. I could tell it from the way her -brown eyes flashed when she told the tale to me. She was angry through -and through just from the telling. She just exploded when the Germans -entered her front door. And then her name was written indelibly on the -scroll of fame as one of the great heroines of the war.</p> - -<p>The Germans wanted bread, did they?—such was the way the story -began—well, what did they mean by coming to her for it? They burned -the baker's shop, didn't they, on the way through the town? Well, -how did they expect her to furnish them bread? Her bread was for her -people.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> Yes, she had a good supply of it. But the Germans could find -their own bread.</p> - -<p>The German officer pointed a revolver at her head. She reached out her -hand and struck it from his grasp. Then she waved a plump finger under -his nose. Her voice was no longer low and mellow. It was commanding and -austere. How dared he point a revolver at her—a "religieuse," a nun? -He could get right out of her house, too,—and get out quick.</p> - -<p>The officer's heavy jaw dropped in astonishment. He backed his way -along the narrow hall, not stopping to pick up his weapon, and kicking -backward the file of soldiers that crowded behind him. At the door -Sister Julie put a detaining hand on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"You are an officer," she said—the man understood French perfectly. -"Well, while your soldiers are setting fire to the town, you just tell -them to keep out of this end of the street. This is my house; it is for -me and the five Sisters with me. Now we have made it a hospital. You -barbarians just keep out of here with your burning."</p> - -<p>Barbarians! The officer raised his fist to strike. Something that was -not of heaven made Sister Julie's eyes deadly black. The man lowered -his fist, quailing. "The devil!" he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> Yes, barbarians! She almost -shouted the word at him—and it was quite understood that his men were -not to burn the hospital or the houses adjoining.</p> - -<p>The crowd cleared out of the house rapidly and the breadth of Sister -Julie's form filled the doorway. It was night and the burning was -progressing rapidly, the Germans methodically firing every house. -Some soldiers came to the house next to the hospital, and broke open -the door. Sister Julie left her position in the hospital doorway and -advanced upon them.</p> - -<p>"Go away from here," she ordered. "Don't you dare set that house afire. -It is next to the hospital. If it burns the hospital will burn, too. So -go away—your officers have said that you are not to burn this end of -the street."</p> - -<p>The soldiers gazed at her stupidly. She advanced upon them, waving her -arms. Several, after staring a moment, suddenly made the sign of the -cross, and the entire party disappeared down the street to continue -their destruction elsewhere.</p> - -<p>The little nun then left her post at the door. She went to see that -her food supplies were safe. She had a conference with the other -Sisters, and visited the beds of the thirteen wounded that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> -house already contained. Six of the wounded were of the band of -seventy-five chasseurs who had held the Gerbéviller bridge against -the Germans—twelve thousand Germans for eight hours—until their -ammunition gave out. The others were civilians who were shot when the -Germans finally entered the town.</p> - -<p>After visiting her wounded, Sister Julie went out the back door of -the house accompanied by two of the Sisters. The three carried large -clothes baskets, kitchen knives, and a hatchet. Through the gardens and -behind the burning houses they passed down the hill to the part of the -city near the river, which was already smoldering in ashes. They went -into the ruined barns, where the cows and horses were all burned alive. -I was shown a bleached white bone, a souvenir of one of the cows.</p> - -<p>With the hatchet and knives they secured enough bones and flesh from -the dead animals to fill the two great baskets. Then they climbed -painfully up the hill, behind the burning buildings, to the back door -of their home. Water was drawn from their well, and a great fire built -in the old-fashioned chimney in the kitchen. The enormous kettle was -filled with the water, the meat and the bones, and soon the odor from -gal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>lons of soup penetrated the outer door to the street. Again a -German officer headed a delegation into the hall.</p> - -<p>"You have food here," he announced to Sister Julie.</p> - -<p>"We have," she snapped back. She was very busy. She waved the butcher -knife under his nose. She then told him that the soup was for the -people of Gerbéviller and for her wounded. She expressed no regret that -there would be none left for Germans.</p> - -<p>The officer said that the twelve thousand who entered Gerbéviller that -afternoon was the advance column. The main body, with the commissariat, -was coming shortly. Meanwhile, they were hungry. They would take Sister -Julie's supply. They would take it—eh? Take it? They would only do -that over her dead body. Meanwhile, they would leave her kitchen -instantly. They did—the butcher knife making ferocious passes behind -them on their way to the door. Sister Julie was still doing her "work -for the Lord."</p> - -<p>She then ordered all the wash tubs filled with water and brought -inside the hall. The fire was coming into the street. Dense smoke -was everywhere. Even the Germans now seemed willing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> to save that -particular part of Gerbéviller. It was the portion near the railway -station and the telegraph. A substantial building near the <i>gare</i> would -make an excellent headquarters for their General, who was due to arrive -shortly. The civilians (only a few of the 2,000 inhabitants remained) -were all herded into a field just on the outskirts of the town. Sister -Julie, with Sister Hildegarde, sallied forth with their soup, and fed -them. The next day she would see that the Germans allowed them to come -to the hospital for more.</p> - -<p>When she returned, a number of soldiers who had discovered a wine -cellar were reeling up the street. They stopped in front of the -hospital, but turned their attention to the house opposite. They would -burn it. It had evidently been forgotten. They broke into the place, -and in a moment flames could be seen through the lower windows.</p> - -<p>Sister Julie called to the soldiers. They stared at her from the middle -of the road. She motioned for them to come to her. They came. She told -them to follow her into the hall. There she showed them the wash tubs -full of water. They were to carry those tubs across the street and put -out the fire they had started, and which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> would endanger the hospital. -This was according to orders given by the officers. After putting out -the fire they were to bring the tubs back and refill them from the well -in the back yard. The work was too heavy for the Sisters.</p> - -<p>When these orders were obeyed, Sister Julie carried a little camp -chair to the front steps and began a vigil that lasted all night long -and half the next day. She saw the great German army of a hundred and -fifty thousand march by, the band playing "Deutschland über Alles," the -infantry doing the goose step as they passed the burning houses. Four -times during the night the tubs of water in the hall were emptied and -refilled when the flames crept close to her house.</p> - -<p>At dawn next morning four officers approached her where she sat upon -the doorstep. One of them informed her that, inasmuch as she was -concealing French soldiers with arms inside the house, they intended to -make a search.</p> - -<p>"You are telling a lie," she informed them calmly, and did not -budge. Two of the officers drew revolvers. Sister Julie sniffed -contemptuously. The first officer again spoke. But his tone altered. It -was less bumptious. He said that, inasmuch as the house had been spared -the flames, at least an investigation was necessary.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> - -<p>Sister Julie arose and started inside. The officers stopped her. Two -of them would lead the way. The other two would follow. The pair, with -drawn revolvers, entered first and tiptoed cautiously down the hall. -Then came the little nun. The second pair drew poniards and brought -up the rear. She directed them to the rooms on the first floor, the -sitting room, dining room and the kitchen, where Sister Hildegarde was -busy over the fire. Then they went upstairs to the beds of the wounded. -The first officer insisted that the covers be drawn back from each -bed to make sure that the occupants were really wounded. Sister Julie -remained silent at the door. As they turned to leave, she said with -sarcasm, but with dignity: "You have seen. You know that I have spoken -the truth. We are six Sisters of Mercy. Our work is to care for the -sick. We will care for your German wounded, as well as our French. You -may bring them here."</p> - -<p>That morning the invaders began battle with the French, who had -finished their entrenchments some kilometers on the other side of -the town. At night the Germans accepted Sister Julie's invitation, -and brought two hundred and fifty-eight wounded to her house. They -completely filled the place. They were placed in rows in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> sitting -room, the dining room, and the hall. They were even in the kitchen and -in the attic. The weather was fine and they were stretched in rows -in the garden. The few other houses undestroyed by fire were also -turned into hospitals, and for fourteen days Sister Julie and her five -assistants scarcely slept. They just passed the time giving medicine -and food and nursing wounds. By the fourteenth day, the French had made -a considerable advance and were dropping shells into the town, so the -Germans decided to take away their own wounded.</p> - -<p>During all this time daily rations were served to the civilian -survivors, on orders secured by Sister Julie at the German -headquarters. The civilians were ill-treated, but they were fed. Sister -Julie gave me concrete instances of outrage. Many were killed for no -reason whatever; some were sent as hostages to Germany. During fourteen -days they were herded in the field. Afterward ten were found dead, -with their hands manacled. Sister Julie told me one instance of an -old woman, a paralytic, seventy-eight years old, who was taken out in -an automobile to show the various wine cellars among the neighboring -farms. The old woman had not been out of her house for years and did -not know the wine cellars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> So the Germans killed her. Sister Julie -went out at night and found her body. She and Sister Hildegarde buried -it.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the fifteenth day, the battle was fiercer than ever. -The French had taken a hill near the outskirts, and mitrailleuse -bullets frequently whistled through the streets. Several times they -entered the windows of Sister Julie's house and buried themselves in -the walls. But none of the Sisters was hurt.</p> - -<p>There was a lull in the fighting for the next few days. The French -were very busy at something—the Germans knew not what. They became -more insolent than ever, and drank of the wine they had stored at the -<i>gare</i>. In the ruins of the church they found the grilled iron strong -box, where the priest, who had been sent to Germany as a hostage, had -locked up the golden communion vessels, afterward giving the key to -Sister Julie. The lock was of steel, and very old and strong. They -tried to break it, but failed. They came to Sister Julie for the key, -and she sent them packing. "I lied to them," she said softly. "I told -them I didn't have the key."</p> - -<p>Through the grilled iron of the box the soldiers could see the vessels. -They were of fine gold, and very ancient. They were given to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> -church in the fifteenth century by René, Duc de Lorraine and King of -Jerusalem. The strong box was riveted to the foundations of the church -with bands of steel and could not be carried away. They shot at the -lock, to break it. But it did not break. Instead the bullets penetrated -the box, a half dozen tearing ragged holes in the vessels. The wine -finally became of greater interest than the gold, and the soldiers went -away. That night Sister Julie went alone into the ruins of the church, -opened the box, and took the vessels out.</p> - -<p>She paused in her story, got up from her chair, and unlocked a cabinet -in the wall. From it she brought the vessels wrapped in a white cloth. -I took the great golden goblet in my hands and saw the holes of the -German bullets. Sister Julie sat silent, looking out through the chintz -curtains into the street. Then she smiled.</p> - -<p>She was thinking of the eighth morning after the wounded had been taken -away. That was the happiest morning of her life, she told me. At 5 -o'clock that morning, just after daybreak, Sister Hildegarde had come -to her bed to tell her that the Germans stationed near the <i>gare</i> in -that part of the town all seemed to be going to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> ruined part, near -the river, in the opposite direction from the French. A few minutes -later Sister Julie got up and looked from the window. Then she almost -fell down the stairs in her rush to get out of doors. About fifty yards -up the street was a watering trough. Seated on horseback before that -trough, watering their animals, laughing and smoking cigarettes, were -six French dragoons.</p> - -<p>"I cried at the blessed sight of them," she said. "They sat there, so -gay, so debonair, as only Frenchmen know how to sit on horses." Sister -Julie hurried to them. They smiled at her and saluted as she approached.</p> - -<p>"But do you know the Germans are here?" she anxiously inquired. "You -may be taken prisoners."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, we won't," they answered in chorus. "There are thirty thousand -more of us just behind—due here in about two minutes. The whole French -army is on the advance."</p> - -<p>Then came thirty thousand. After the thirty thousand came more -thousands. All that day the street echoed to the feet of marching -Frenchmen. Their faces were dark and terrible when they saw what the -Germans had done. Most of the day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> Sister Julie sat on her doorstep -and wept for joy. Since that morning not a German has been seen in -Gerbéviller.</p> - -<p>Sister Julie ceased her story and wiped the tears that had been running -in streams down her cheeks. We heard the rattle of a drum outside -the window. It was the signal of the town crier with news for the -population. Sister Julie opened the window and looked out. It was the -announcement of the meeting to be held that afternoon, a meeting that -she had arranged for discussion of plans for rebuilding the town. -Five hundred of the population had returned. There was so much work -to do. The streets must be cleared of the débris. The sagging walls -must be torn down and new buildings erected. It would be done quickly, -immediately almost; aid was forthcoming from many quarters. The new -houses would be better than the old. The streets were to be wide and -straight, not narrow and crooked. Gerbéviller was to arise from her -ashes modern and improved. And only a few miles away the cannon still -roared and thundered.</p> - -<p>I asked her about the Cross of the Legion of Honor given her by -President Poincaré. I asked why she did not wear it. A pleased flush -deepened the color in her rosy cheeks. I shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> always remember the -grace and dignity of her answer.</p> - -<p>"I do not wear it because it was not meant for me alone," she said. "It -was given to the women of France who have done their duty."</p> - -<p>"Not the little red ribbon of the order," I persisted. "You should pin -that on your dress."</p> - -<p>But Sister Julie shook her head. She is a "religieuse," she explained. -Nuns do not wear decorations. They are doing the work of the Lord.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></p> - -<p class="center">THE SILENT CANNON</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> a hill commanding a valley stretching away toward the Rhine is a -dense pine forest. From its edge I looked far across the frontier of -Germany.</p> - -<p>In a little clearing a French artillery Major came to meet me and my -guide. Then we walked for miles, it seemed, through dense shade over -paths thick with needles, until we came upon an artillery encampment. -From the conversation between my guide—a Captain of the General -Staff—and the artillery Major I learned that we were about to see -something new in cannon.</p> - -<p>I am always eager to see something new in cannon. Since my visit to -the great factories at Le Creusot, when I was permitted to cable -carefully censored descriptions of the new giant guns France was -preparing against Germany, I have always been looking for these guns -in operation. So, when I saw that here was no ordinary battery, I -began the molding of phrases to use in cabling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> my impressions. I did -not realize then that I was to have the most poignant illustration -since the war began of the mighty fundamental differences between the -Teutonic and Latin civilizations.</p> - -<p>On a gentle slope, where the tops of pine trees below came up level -with the brow of the hill, there was a great excavation, such as -might have been dug for the foundations of a château. The front part, -facing the valley, was all screened with barricades and covered with -evergreens.</p> - -<p>We entered the excavation from the rear, down winding steps lined on -either side with towering trees. These steps were all concrete, as was -also the entire bottom of the excavation. The air was very fresh and -cool as we descended. Up above the breeze gently swayed the trees, -which closed over us so densely, dimming the daylight. I was reminded -of a dairy I knew on an up-State farm in New York. I almost looked for -jars of butter in the dim recess of the cool concrete cellar. I could -almost catch the odor of fresh milk.</p> - -<p>But in the center of our cavern was a huge piece of mechanism that I -recognized as the "something new in cannon." Above the great steel -base the long, ugly barrel stretched many yards through an aperture in -front, and was covered over with evergreens. The Major described the -gun in de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>tail—its size, range and weight of its projectiles.</p> - -<p>I walked to the front of the aperture to look at the barrel lying -horizontally on the tops of the pine trees growing on the slope below. -The branches had been carefully cut from the higher trees to give a -view over the valley. I got out my field glasses and fixed them on the -horizon many miles away—just how many miles away I am also not allowed -to say. For a long time I studied that horizon just where it melted -into mist. Then the sun's rays brightened it, and I could see more -clearly.</p> - -<p>"Looks like a city out there," I said aloud.</p> - -<p>"It is," said the artillery Major behind me.</p> - -<p>I looked again and could dimly make out what appeared to be the spires -of churches.</p> - -<p>"Look a little to the right; you can see a much larger building over -there," the Major said.</p> - -<p>I looked, and a huge gray mass loomed out of the mist.</p> - -<p>"That's a cathedral," he said.</p> - -<p>I put the glasses down and walked around to the open breech of the -giant cannon, the mechanism of which another officer was explaining. He -gave a lever a twist, and the huge barrel slowly moved from right to -left over the tops of the pine trees.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - -<p>The officer was saying in answer to a question:</p> - -<p>"No, we are quiet now. We are just waiting."</p> - -<p>"Waiting for what?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh, just waiting until everything is ready."</p> - -<p>"Then what will you do?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, destroy the forts, I hope. This fellow ought to account for -several," and he patted the side of the barrel.</p> - -<p>"Will you destroy the city?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"What for?" he asked. "What good would that do? If we expect to -occupy a city we do not want it destroyed. Besides,"—he shrugged his -shoulders expressively—"we are not Germans."</p> - -<p>I walked up to the gun and stared into the breech. I adjusted my -glasses again and through them looked down the barrel. Out on the -horizon I could see the huge gray mass that the Major said was a -cathedral. The gun was trained directly upon it—this silent gun.</p> - -<p>"It could hit that cathedral now," I thought to myself. Then I thought -of the Cathedral of Rheims. Again I stared through the glasses into the -barrel of the gun. The light was better now, and the tops of the spires -were visible above the bulky gray mass.</p> - -<p>It was the Cathedral of Metz.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></p> - -<p class="center">D'ARTAGNAN AND THE SOUL OF FRANCE</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">I met</span> d'Artagnan in a forest of Lorraine. Perhaps Athos, Porthos -and Aramis were there too, somewhere in the shadows. I saw only -d'Artagnan and talked with him as long as it takes to tell the story. -I had forgotten how he looked to Dumas père, but I knew him at once -by his bearing and his spirit. His swashbuckling manners are just as -arrogantly gay now in the forest of Lorraine and in the trenches of -the Vosges as they were long ago in old Paris and on the highroad. He -swaggers just as buoyantly with the "poilus" of the Republic as with -the musketeers of the Cardinal.</p> - -<p>D'Artagnan is a captain now; when I met him he was attached to the -staff of a General of Brigade. He is always your beau ideal of a man. -He looks just what he is—a fine French soldier.</p> - -<p>My first glimpse of him was from the automobile in which I was riding -with an officer from the Great General Staff whose business it was to -con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>duct press correspondents to the front. D'Artagnan was walking -towards us on the lonely forest road, and signaled with a long -alpenstock for our driver to stop. He wore the regulation blue uniform, -with the three gold stripes of a captain on his sleeve. He had no -sword. I find that swords are no longer the fashion with the "working -officers" at the front. They are in the way.</p> - -<p>Our car slid to a stop. D'Artagnan's free hand came to salute. It was -an imposing salute—one that only d'Artagnan could have made. His heels -snapped together with a gallant click of spurs; his arm swept up in a -semi-circle from his body; his rigid fingers touched the visor of his -steel helmet—one of the new battle helmets, very light, strong and -painted horizon blue to match the uniform. The chin strap was of heavy -black leather instead of the brass chain of ante-bellum parade helmets.</p> - -<p>D'Artagnan, from the center of the road, roared out his name and -mission. His name, in his present reincarnation, is known throughout -the French army, in fact throughout France. It is known to the Germans -too, but correspondents are not permitted to give the names of their -officers until the war is over. Anyway I immediately recognized him as -d'Artagnan.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - -<p>His mission, announced with gusto, was to guide us along the lines -held by his brigade. He leaped to our running-board and ordered our -chauffeur to advance.</p> - -<p>He was an impressive figure, even clinging to the side of the jolting -car. His body lithe and powerful; his hands lean and strong; his face, -under the visor of the helmet, was d'Artagnan's own. A forehead high -and bronzed. Eyes blue and both merry and ferocious. Cheeks high but -rounded. His hair, only a little of it showing under the helmet, was -black, but just enough grizzled to proclaim him in middle age. His -mustache—it was a mustache of dreams and imagination—his mustache -stuck out inches beyond the cheeks, and was wondrously twisted and -curled.</p> - -<p>His medals proved him the survivor of many hard campaigns. Most -officers when at the front wear only the ribbons of their decorations, -if they have any, and leave the medals at home. But not d'Artagnan. He -wore all of his medals, in a blazing row across his chest. And he had -all that were possible for any man in his position to win. First came -the African Colonial medal, then the medal for service in Indo-China. -Next was the Médaille de Maroc. In the center was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> the Legion of Honor -and then the Croix de Guerre, with four stars affixed, indicating the -number of times during the present war, d'Artagnan has been mentioned -in despatches for courage under fire. Finally came the only foreign -medal—the Russian Cross of St. George—given by the Czar during the -present war to a very few Frenchmen, and only "for great bravery."</p> - -<p>As d'Artagnan again stopped the car and we climbed out into the road, -which had narrowed to a forest path, my companion pointed to the medals.</p> - -<p>"Our captain is a professional soldier, you see," he said. "He has -fought all his life—didn't just come back when his class was called -for this war."</p> - -<p>But I already knew that. How could d'Artagnan be anything but a -soldier—a professional, if you please—but fighting for the love of -it, and the glory?</p> - -<p>He tramped along in front of us, the spurs of his high boots jingling, -and twirling the ends of his fierce mustaches. I glimpsed soldiers -through the trees. Some came out to the path and saluted. To all -d'Artagnan returned a salute with the same wonderful joy in it, as -though it were the first salute of the day, or as if he were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> passing -a general. There was the same swing outward of the arm, the same -rigid formality of bringing his hand to the helmet. The pomposity of -the salute he may have learned from Porthos, but the dignity, the -impressiveness of it, belonged to d'Artagnan.</p> - -<p>His soldiers adored him; we could see that as we followed. Their eyes -smiled and approved. And the stamp of great admiration was in their -faces.</p> - -<p>"They would go through hell with him," said my companion. "A good many -of them have. He is the favorite of his brigade."</p> - -<p>"He ought to be," I replied. "He is d'Artagnan."</p> - -<p>"D'Artagnan!" my companion cried. "Why, so he is. I never thought of -it. But he <i>is</i> d'Artagnan—alive and fighting."</p> - -<p>He was a little distance ahead of us, among the trees. A sergeant -approached him to make a report. D'Artagnan leaned back grandly on -one leg, his chest forward, his chin tilted up, his hand, as usual, -twisting the mustachios.</p> - -<p>"He loves it," I said. "He loves everything about it—this war. When -peace comes his life will lose its savor."</p> - -<p>My officer of the Great General Staff nodded;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> d'Artagnan returned -jauntily, swinging his stick, and in ringing tones told us all that he -had arranged for us to see.</p> - -<p>We followed him through a program that has been described many times -by correspondents since the war began—the encampments, the batteries -and the trenches. But never before did a correspondent have such a -guide. It was not my first trip to the front; but d'Artagnan led me -into advanced trenches, closer to the Germans than I had ever been -before. We crawled on hands and knees and spoke in whispers. But I was -fascinated because d'Artagnan, just as Dumas might have shown him, -crawled ahead, waved his hand in quick, impatient gestures for us to -hurry, looked back to laugh and point through a loophole to great rents -in the wire entanglements showing where a recent German attack had -failed.</p> - -<p>Only once, at a point where a road separated two trench sections, and -always dangerous because of German snipers, did he order us to pass -around behind in the safety of a boyau or communication trench. <i>He</i> -leaped across the barrier with a derisive yell of triumph and a catlike -quickness too astonishing to draw the German fire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - -<p>Otherwise he let us take far bigger chances than usually permitted -visitors—and he made us like them. We squinted carelessly through -risky loopholes because d'Artagnan did it first. We talked aloud -because he did, and at times when ordinary guides would have made -us keep silent. He stood up on a trench ledge and looked through a -periscope, then jumped down laughing, holding out the periscope to show -where a bullet had drilled a hole on the side only a few inches above -his head. It was a game of follow the leader, and we followed because -the leader was d'Artagnan.</p> - -<p>"They will get him some day—he takes such chances," an officer -remarked.</p> - -<p>"They haven't got him yet and he has had more war than any of us," -another replied.</p> - -<p>On our way back, behind the line encampments, we met several soldiers -carrying tureens of soup. D'Artagnan halted them, solemnly lifted the -covers and tasted the contents. Then he passed the spoon to us.</p> - -<p>"It is good," he pronounced, and patted the soldiers on the back, as we -hurried on.</p> - -<p>He now took us to his own quarters, in a dense grove of pines. His -house was of pine boughs, half above and half underground, with a -bomb-proof cavern at the rear. Its furniture was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> deal table and a -bed of straw. We sat around on camp stools and an orderly brought in -tea.</p> - -<p>D'Artagnan then changed the subject for a few minutes from war. He had -visited nearly all the world, including America. He turned to me, and -to my surprise spoke in English. It was a very peculiar English, but it -was not funny coming from the lips of d'Artagnan. He told me about his -trip to America—how he did not have much money at the time, so he went -as a lecturer to the French Societies in the big cities of the United -States. It was hard to picture this big, weather-beaten soldier in such -a rôle, until he told me the subject of his lecture. It was "The Soul -of France"—always the Soul of France, a soul chivalrous, grand and -unconquerable, that would forever make the world remember and expect.</p> - -<p>In Boston he had tried to speak in English, at the Boston City Club. He -pronounced the letter "i" in city, as in the word "site." He told me -the lecture in English was very funny. Perhaps it was; but the Boston -City Club had not seen their lecturer in the forest of Lorraine. They -did not know that he was d'Artagnan.</p> - -<p>After tea he showed us the park made by his soldiers in front of his -"villa," as the semi-underground hut was called. A sign painted on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> a -tree announced the "Parc des Braves." Little well-groomed paths wound -among the pine needles; rustic seats were built about the trees. A -dozen little beds of mountain flowers made gay stars and crescents that -would not have disgraced the Tuileries. The "Parc des Braves" had even -an aviary, made of wire netting (left over from the barricades) built -about a tree. D'Artagnan proudly pointed out a great owl and a cowering -cuckoo in different compartments of this unique cage.</p> - -<p>But the chef d'œuvre of the Parc was the reconstructed tableau of -one of the brigade's heroic episodes. A tiny rustic bridge spanned a -miniature brook; beside the brook was built a mill and beyond was an -old farm-house and orchard. Seven tiny French chasseurs, of wood and -painted blue, were holding the bridge against a horde of wooden Germans -painted gray.</p> - -<p>On a great tree shading this story of a glorious hour in the history of -his "little braves," d'Artagnan had fixed a wooden slab, telling its -details in verse.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 35%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"Il y avait sept petits chasseurs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Qui ne connaissaient pas la peur."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">(There were seven little chasseurs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Who knew no fear.)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> - -<p>That is the way the story began; and each verse began and ended with -the same words. I wish I could have copied it all; but d'Artagnan, the -author, was impatient to move on.</p> - -<p>So we left the Parc and followed into the gloom of the forest and up -the steep slope of the mountain. It faced the enemy's trenches. From -the top one could look across the frontier of Germany.</p> - -<p>D'Artagnan was silent now, plunging along through the deepening -twilight. Suddenly we emerged on the edge of a clearing still bright -with sunshine: a clearing perhaps several hundred feet square, lying on -the steep hillside almost at an angle of about forty-five degrees.</p> - -<p>D'Artagnan stopped, took off his helmet, then walked slowly into the -open. We took off our hats and followed him.</p> - -<p>The clearing was a military cemetery—it held the graves of -d'Artagnan's dead. A tall white wooden cross at the top rose almost to -the tops of the pines growing above it. On the cross-piece was written:</p> - -<p>"To our comrades of the —th Brigade, killed by the enemy."</p> - -<p>At the foot of the great cross, stretched in military alignment over -the clearing were hundreds of graves headed by little crosses. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -abrupt was the slope the dead soldiers stood almost erect—facing -Germany. Narrow graveled walks separated them, and on each cross hung -festoons of flowers kept always fresh by the comrades who remained.</p> - -<p>We followed d'Artagnan across the silent place and stood behind him as -he faced, with bared head, the great cross. He made the sign of the -cross upon his breast. There was not a bowed head: we all lifted them -high to read the words written there.</p> - -<p>No one spoke; the wind rustled softly in the tops of the pines that -pressed so densely about us. It was dark among the trees, but the -clearing was still mellow with the fading sunlight.</p> - -<p>"The sun always comes here first in the morning," d'Artagnan said -softly, "and this is the last place from which it goes."</p> - -<p>He swung around with his back to the great cross and flung out his -alpenstock in a gesture that swept the valley before us. His voice rose -harshly:</p> - -<p>"Over there is the enemy," he thundered. "Those who rest here look at -them face to face!"</p> - -<p>His arm dropped; his voice sank.</p> - -<p>"They didn't get over there. But their souls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> remain here always to -urge us and to point the way which we must go."</p> - -<p>He stopped and seemed to listen. The wind had died; even the tree tops -were still. The sun had gone; the dark began to sweep up over the -graves. D'Artagnan leaned upon his alpenstock; his eyes were closed.</p> - -<p>We did not stir, nor hardly breathe. D'Artagnan was in communion with -the soul of his beloved France.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="PART_FIVE" id="PART_FIVE">PART FIVE</a></p> - -<p class="center">THREE CHAPTERS IN CONCLUSION</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></p> - -<p class="center">A REARPOST OF WAR</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">After</span> a year or more of war, even a latter-day war correspondent who -gets a personally restricted war office Cook's tour to the front -semi-occasionally, may yearn for peace. This is especially true in -the case of a regular correspondent with the French army, because to -France there come so many senators, statesmen and "molders of neutral -opinion," bearing letters from President, King or Prelate, that the -regular correspondent has hard work to edge in even his legitimate -number of tours.</p> - -<p>One morning I awoke early, far from the firing line, safe in my -Paris flat. Before breakfast I read the hotel arrivals listed in the -newspaper. The names of several molders were there. I knew that all -their letters stated definitely what whales they were. I knew that the -tour directors would not be able to resist them and that my seat in the -next front-going limousine would probably be held in another name. So -in the words of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> ancient British music-hall classic I decided that -"I didn't like war and all that sort of thing."</p> - -<p>Twelve hours later I was standing on an old stone jetty that runs out -to meet the forty-foot tides on the north coast of Brittany. It was -as far away as I could get and still retain an official connection -as correspondent with the French army. The tiny hamlet at the end of -the jetty has an official name. The name does not matter. There is no -railroad, no post office, no telegraph. But the place is known because -it was there that Pierre Loti wrote his great story of the Iceland -Fisherman. There was nothing to disturb the thoughts, nothing to jar -the nerves. All was quiet and peace; of war there was not the slightest -suspicion.</p> - -<p>The water at the end of the jetty was thirty feet deep, but so clean -that one could see through it as through air. I watched a crab waddle -along the bottom and disappear under a rock. Then I got out my army -glasses and swept the coast. For miles tremendous headlands stuck out -in the sea, rolling over treacherous rocks. Before me was the Ile de -Bréhat, the ancient home of the pirates, which thrusts an arm far out -into the Atlantic—an arm that holds a lighthouse to tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> mariners -returning from Iceland that they are almost home.</p> - -<p>Between the island and the mainland the outgoing tide swirled along at -a rate of twelve sea miles per hour. I turned the glasses to the coast -where the tiny Breton stone cottages were tucked behind rocks and hills -that shelter them from storms and the long and terrible winter. Now -they were bowers of color; clusters of roses and geraniums bloomed on -garden walls, tall hollyhocks stood sentinel before the doors.</p> - -<p>I dropped the glasses and sighed contentedly. Here I had found peace.</p> - -<p>Near the old stone jetty a man was swimming. Suddenly he sat bolt -upright on the water. His legs spread straight before him and his hands -flapped idly at little waves. Occasionally he tugged at a long drooping -walrus mustache, then rubbed the salt spray from his lips. He was a -long angular individual and from my position on the jetty he appeared -to be entirely unclad.</p> - -<p>"He is sitting on the top of a rock that is flooded at high tide," some -one near me remarked. As the words were spoken, the bather flopped from -his place and swam toward us. He was puffing heavily when he grasped -the stone side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> of the jetty and pulled himself up. I then saw that -I was mistaken as to his nudity, for he wore the strangest bathing -costume that I had ever beheld. It consisted of white cotton trunks -about eight inches wide. On one side, embroidered in yellow silk was a -vision of the rising sun; skin tight against the other side was a blue -pansy.</p> - -<p>I was fascinated, and watched the man trudge up the winding road -that led from the jetty. A ray of the lowering sun flashed on the -embroidered pansy rapidly drying against his flanks as he disappeared -in the doorway of a cottage. I turned to an old fisherman who was -puttering about a sail boat:</p> - -<p>"It looks Japanezy, that bathing suit," I said. The old man puffed at -his pipe: "No; his wife made it," he replied. "He wrote to her that he -had learned to swim so she made it and sent it up to him. He had never -seen the ocean before he came here. He is from the Midi."</p> - -<p>"Ah," I replied, "and what did he wear before she sent it?"</p> - -<p>The old man shrugged his shoulders. "About here, you know, it doesn't -much matter about bathing suits. There aren't many folks about."</p> - -<p>"Who is he?" I asked. "Is he a summer visitor?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Summer visitor!" the old man gasped. "Summer visitor—why he hates -this place and everything in it. He only learned to swim because he had -nothing else to do and because he hates it so."</p> - -<p>"Hates it!" I ejaculated. "Well, why on earth is he here then?"</p> - -<p>"He's here because he's got to be here," the old chap replied. "He's -mobilized here. He's a soldier!"</p> - -<p>A cigarette that I had just taken from its case, fell from my nerveless -fingers into the water and swirled out with the tide.</p> - -<p>A soldier—a soldier in my retreat. How unspeakably annoying. And in -that bathing suit I never would have suspected him at all.</p> - -<p>The old fisherman explained, while I lugubriously leaned over the jetty -and watched that crab puddling about his rock. There were eleven more -of them—soldiers, I mean—they all lived in the little cottage near -the jetty. They were there to guard the cable between the mainland and -the Ile de Bréhat, two miles away. They guarded it the twenty-four -hours of the day—those twelve. Every two hours one of them mounted -guard where the cable comes up from the sea and solemnly guarded it -from German attack.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> - -<p>The old fisherman pointed behind me. I turned and there, even as he had -explained, I saw a man in the blue coat and red pants of the French -territorial army. From the trenches the red pants have gone into the -historic past. Nowadays the red pants are only for the territorials.</p> - -<p>This particular cable sentry was also from the Midi, my fisherman -explained. He too disliked the sea. He sat there and stared moodily -into the sun that was just in the act of gloriously descending into the -water. A last ray caught the steel bayonet of the Lebel rifle lying -across his knees.</p> - -<p>I left the jetty and walked up the winding road to the village. I went -to the single store to buy tobacco and to hear the talk of the people. -There were no newspapers, I thought, so their talk could not be about -the war. Also there I would avoid the sight of the soldiers, because -the store had liquor on its list of commodities. It is forbidden to -soldiers to enter such places except at certain hours.</p> - -<p>A fresh-faced Breton girl served out the tobacco. Cigars at two cents -each were the most expensive tobacco purchase in the shop. I purchased -a dozen and immediately became a celebrity and a millionaire. We -talked. I asked her about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> the countryside, about the people and about -the wonderful lace coiffures of the peasant women. She told me how -the women of one hamlet wear an entirely different "coif" from those -even of the neighboring farms and that throughout Brittany there are -hundreds of different styles.</p> - -<p>Then I asked her about the men folks, the few who work in the fields -and the great majority who go off in the boats to Iceland in the spring -and come back ten months later—those who ever do come back at all. -Then quite naturally we talked about the war. For she explained that to -her people the war was not so terrible as the times of peace. Then it -was impossible to get letters from a fishing schooner off the Iceland -banks—now it was quite easy to get letters from the trenches every -few days. The men suffered far greater losses from the perils of the -northern ocean than since they were all mobilized to fight the Germans. -Some were killed—that was natural enough—but not half so many as the -number who just sailed out and disappeared.</p> - -<p>I was beginning to feel that perhaps the war was a benefit to this part -of the world.</p> - -<p>An old woman entered the store to buy tobacco. She was bent and -withered and her hand trembled as she drew the few coppers from her -purse. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> voice was high and quavery when she spoke to the girl. She -said that her son had just been wounded near Verdun. His condition was -desperate, but they were bringing him home—to her—to die on the old -Brittany farm, on the hillside overlooking the sea.</p> - -<p>"Ah, la guerre," she murmured, "c'est terrible."</p> - -<p>She explained that her other boys had been lost on a fishing schooner -five years ago. She had tried to keep this one—had wanted him so much -and tried so hard. But if she could see him again it would be better. -She sighed and tucked purse and tobacco under her apron and clattered -out on her heavy wooden sabots—her head bowed under her years and her -woe. "C'est pour la patrie," she murmured as she passed through the -door.</p> - -<p>The next day was a Sunday. On Sunday all Brittany goes to church, -and when one is in Brittany—well, one goes to church too. After the -service I walked through the churchyard, which is also the graveyard -of the village. It was so quiet, so restful and far removed from the -world and the war, that I was content to remain there, for the eleven -soldiers not guarding the cable were disporting themselves on the beach.</p> - -<p>I found a wonderful old wall at one end of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> graveyard. It was very -old and overgrown with moss and ivy. It was a dozen feet high and -crumbling in places. I did not know then that the wall was one of the -sights of that countryside, but I did know when I saw it that I was -looking upon the record of mighty tragedies. For it was covered over -with little slabs, sometimes almost lost to view under the climbing -vines. On the slabs were written the names of the men of the village -who had gone to sea and never been heard of again. The dates were -all there and the names of the ships. On several were the names of -two or more brothers—on another slab were listed the males of three -generations of one house. There were hundreds of names, the dates going -back nearly a hundred years. Over many slabs with more recent dates -were hung wreaths of flowers.</p> - -<p>It is called the wall of the disappeared.</p> - -<p>I read all the slabs with keenest interest; this record of toll taken -by an element more resistless even than war. Indeed the battles of the -nations seemed puny against the evidences of inexorable might written -on the wall of the disappeared.</p> - -<p>Near the end of the wall a woman was praying. She was all in black, -with the huge Breton widow's cowl drawn over her head, so that she -looked like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> a witch in Macbeth. Above her head I noticed a freshly -painted slab newly fixed in the wall. I read the inscription over -her shoulder. The date was September, 1915. Instead of the name of a -fishing boat that went to pieces in a gale off Iceland, was recorded -the man's regiment, followed by his name and the words, "disappeared in -the battle of the Marne."</p> - -<p>The morning following I awoke early, with the sun and the sea sparkling -at my window. I got into a regulation bathing suit and rushed down -the old stone jetty for a plunge before breakfast. The water was so -fresh—so full of life—the day was so wonderful—that I forgot all -about the twelve soldiers, the old woman whose wounded son was coming -home to die, the soldier of the battle of the Marne whose name was on -the wall of the disappeared.</p> - -<p>There was no such thing as war as I dived off the jetty's end, deep -into the cold, clean water. I opened my eyes under the water and could -see the rocks on the bottom, still many feet below.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a roar struck my ears and I struck up to the surface. I knew -how sound travels under water; and I knew this sound. It was a dull, -terrifying boom. I rubbed the salt from my eyes and looked across the -straits to the Ile de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> Bréhat. Crouched under the towering rocks of the -island, and lying low in the water, was an ugly black torpedo destroyer -flying the tricolor. A cruiser flying the Union Jack, her masts just -visible across a far reach of the island, was picking her way slowly -through the channel. The sound was a signal gun.</p> - -<p>I floated on the water and looked up at the sky. Up there, perhaps, is -peace, I thought; and then I glanced hastily about for aeroplanes.</p> - -<p>As for this village, my thoughts continued, this insignificant village -of L'Arcouëst, par Ploubazlanec, Côtes du Nord, Brittany—that is the -sonorous official address of my tiny hamlet by the sea—why even if -it is not in the "zone of military activity," it has all the elements -that war brings, from the faded uniforms of blue and red to the black -mouths of cannon. It has all the anxiety, all the sorrow, all the hopes -and all the prayers. It has all the zeal and all the despair. All the -horror and all the pomp and empty glory. It may only be a rearpost—way -out where Europe kneels to the Atlantic—and where one can pray for -peace. But war is there, after all.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></p> - -<p class="center">MYTHS</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> European war zone at the beginning of hostilities was as busy a -fable factory as were San Juan and Santiago during the Spanish-American -conflict when "yellow journalism" was supposed to have reached its -zenith. It was a great pity, for the truth of the European war is -stupendous enough. Newspaper myths and yellow faking have never had -less excuse. In many cases it may take years to properly classify the -facts.</p> - -<p>Not all of the myths have been deliberate ones. At the outbreak of the -war rumor followed rumor so swiftly, and was so often attested by the -statements of "eye-witnesses," that inevitably it was transformed <i>en -route</i> from fancy into fact. Sometimes a tense public itself raised -definitely labeled rumors to the rank of official communications. In a -few instances war correspondents have deliberately faked.</p> - -<p>The censorship, generally unintelligent, sometimes incredibly stupid, -is responsible for a great many myths. "Beating the censor" was a -gleeful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> game for some correspondents until it became clear that the -censor always held the winning hand, and that he could even suppress -their activities altogether. The "half truths" of the official -communications have also been responsible for much flavoring of the -real news with fiction.</p> - -<p>The similarity in names of the river Sambre and Somme, the one being in -Belgium and the other in France, undoubtedly had much to do with the -wording of the French communiqués when France was first invaded. Day -after day the despatches laconically referred to "the fighting on the -Sambre." Then one Sunday morning, when it was considered impossible -to keep back the truth much longer, a casual communiqué mentioned the -fighting line "on the Somme." The press of the world, which had been -deliberately kept in the dark for days, can scarcely be blamed for -losing its head a trifle and printing scare headlines unprecedented -since news became a commodity.</p> - -<p>The greatest of all war fakes, and one that had not the slightest -foundation of truth, is the story of the Russian army rushed from -Archangel to Scotland, thence through England to France to aid at the -battle of the Marne. This story is entirely discredited to-day, but it -died hard, and no wonder, for there never was a story with so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> many -"eye witnesses," so much "absolute proof" of its authenticity. From -the highlands of Scotland to the hamlets of Brittany peasants were -awakened at night by the tramp of marching feet. Upon investigation the -Cossacks of the Czar were revealed hurrying on their way to the western -battle line. I have never heard where the story originated, but every -correspondent with the Allied forces believed it. A friend living near -a French seaport whose honesty I can not question, wrote to me telling -in detail of the landing of an entire Russian army corps. I talked with -officers of both the English and French armies who swore to a definite -knowledge that Russians were then in France and would soon be fighting -in the front line. To my recollection the story was never denied, and -only the fact that the Russians never did reach that front line where -they were so eagerly awaited, brought the story into the classification -where it belonged.</p> - -<p>Another great fake, but different from this one in that it had a slight -foundation of truth, is the story of the French taxicab army under -General Galliéni, that swept out of Paris forty to eighty thousand -strong (accounts differed) and which fell on the flank of the Germans -and saved the city. This story became the most popular of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> entire -war, and it is still implicitly believed by thousands of persons. I -saw that taxicab army and am therefore able to state that about ninety -per cent. of the story written about it is fiction. The ten per cent. -fact is that the army of General Manoury was in process of formation -for days before the battle of the Marne. The troops were sent around -and through Paris to occupy a position west of Compiégne. I watched -thousands of them, the Senegalese division, march through Paris on -foot during the latter days of August, 1914. It was the methodical, -though hasty, creation by the General Staff of a new army. At the same -time the General Staff was conducting, under General Joffre, the great -retreat from Charleroi.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of the battle of the Marne a few regiments were still -in Paris. The Military Governor, General Galliéni, was instructed to -rush them north by any means available. The northern railways were in -German hands, and the only way was to send them in taxicabs. So many -chauffeurs had been mobilized that Paris had then probably not more -than two thousand taxis. At the tightest squeeze not more than four -soldiers with heavy marching equipment, could have been carried in one -of the small Paris taxicabs. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> taxicab army, therefore, may have -numbered four regiments, or eight thousand men, while the real figures -may possibly be less. It was not the army of Paris gallantly rushing -out to save the city. The army of Paris had instructions to remain in -the city and to defend it. The taxicab army was a fine and dramatic -piece of news, expanded to fit the imagination of an excited world.</p> - -<p>The fable factory actually began operations before the declaration of -war, when with the sudden shortage of money, tales of starving and -otherwise suffering American tourists were cabled to New York by the -yellow press. But the Paris papers, and the general press, awaited -mobilization orders before becoming graphic without the support of -facts.</p> - -<p>On the first day of hostilities several papers printed thrilling -details of the airman Garros having brought down a Zeppelin. Garros was -then waiting for military orders at his Paris apartment and laughed -heartily at the story when I telephoned to him.</p> - -<p>Four times during the first month of the war I read of the death of the -airman Vedrines. Six months later I met him on one of my trips to the -front. The death of Max Linder, the comedian, was also dramatically -related by the Paris press,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> but a few nights later I found Linder on -the <i>terrasse</i> of a boulevard café relating his very live adventure in -getting there.</p> - -<p>Leaving out of consideration the feelings of the men's families -these were after all comparatively harmless and unimportant fakes. A -more sinister story, hinted at for weeks and finally openly printed, -was that a certain French general had been shot for treachery while -stationed near the Belgian frontier. So persistent was this report -that it was finally necessary for General Joffre himself to issue a -statement that the general in question was alive and well and had -merely been removed to another field of active service.</p> - -<p>Of all the fakes and all the fakirs, I believe the French authorities -will admit that the greatest offenders have been their own papers. The -English correspondents were always fairly reliable, while the accounts -furnished the American papers have received the least criticism of -all—and the greatest praise. The most outstanding example of incorrect -information appearing in the British press was a story early in the war -that the British expeditionary force had been entirely destroyed. It -is only just to state that the writer of the story was ignorant of his -facts and not a wilful fakir. Nevertheless he has since been <i>persona -non grata</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> in France and has confined his activities to the Russian -front.</p> - -<p>Not all of the American accounts have been free from faking. One -American correspondent printed an "exclusive interview" with President -Poincaré which he declared was arranged and took place on the -battlefield. This story was entirely false, the correspondent merely -seeing the President reviewing the troops, a dozen other correspondents -having the same privilege.</p> - -<p>The most glaring example of inaccuracy upon the part of an American -writer was an account of the battle of Ypres which appeared in both -English and American publications. This account, giving the entire -credit for the victory to the English, with faint praise for the -French, was resented by both the English and French officers, the -former as sportsmen not wishing undue praise, and the latter naturally -piqued that a story having such wide circulation should not have been -based more materially upon facts. This correspondent was later denied -the privilege of visiting the French front and has retired from the -zone of military activity.</p> - -<p>Most of the fakes, as I have shown, occurred at the beginning of -the war, or during the first six months, when all the world was in -a state of great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> excitement, and when correspondents, the majority -of whom had never seen a war before, should have been forgiven for -sometimes letting their imaginations run riot. During the past twelve -months, since organization has taken the place of chaos in so many -activities related to the war, and when correspondents have acquired -experience and perspective, I know of scarcely any cases of wilful -misrepresentation of the truth. During the battle of Champagne in -September, 1915, one correspondent did attempt to project his astral -body to the battlefield for the purpose of writing an "eye witness" -account of the fighting; but he paid dearly for the indiscretion. -He was at once crossed off the official list of correspondents at -the French war office and all his credentials were withdrawn for the -duration of the war.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></p> - -<p class="center">WHEN CHENAL SINGS THE "MARSEILLAISE"</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">I went</span> to the Opéra Comique one day to hear Marthe Chenal sing the -"Marseillaise." For several weeks previous I had heard a story going -the rounds of what is left of Paris life to the effect that if one -wanted a regular old-fashioned thrill he really should go to the Opéra -Comique on a day when Mlle. Chenal closed the performance by singing -the French national hymn. I was told there would be difficulty in -securing a seat.</p> - -<p>I was rather skeptical. I also considered that I had had sufficient -thrills since the beginning of the war, both old-fashioned and new. I -believed also that I had already heard the "Marseillaise" sung under -the best possible circumstances to produce thrills. One of the first -nights after mobilization 10,000 Frenchmen filled the street beneath -the windows of the <i>New York Times</i> office where I was at work. They -sang the "Marseillaise" for two hours, with a solemn hatred of their -national enemy sounding in every note. The so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>lemnity changed to a wild -passion as the night wore on. Finally, cuirassiers of the guard rode -through the street to disperse the mob. It was a terrific scene.</p> - -<p>So I was willing to admit that the "Marseillaise" is probably the most -thrilling and most martial national song ever written, but I was just -not keen on the subject of thrills.</p> - -<p>Then one day a sedate friend went to the Opéra Comique and it was a -week before his ardor subsided. He declared that this rendition of a -song was something that will be referred to in future years. "Why," -he said, "when the war is over the French will talk about it in the -way Americans still talk about Jenny Lind at Castle Garden, or De Wolf -Hopper reciting 'Casey at the Bat.'"</p> - -<p>This induced me to go. I was convinced that whether I got a thrill or -not the singing of the "Marseillaise" by Chenal had become a distinct -feature of Paris life during the war.</p> - -<p>I never want to go again. To go again might deepen my impression—might -better register the thrill. But then it might not be just the same. I -would be keyed to such expectancy that I might be disappointed. Persons -in the seats behind me might whisper. And just as Chenal got to the -"Amour sacré de la patrie" some one might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> cough. I am confident that -something of the sort would surely happen. I want always to remember -that ten minutes while Chenal was on the stage just as I remember it -now. So I will not go again.</p> - -<p>The first part of the performance was Donizetti's "Daughter of the -Regiment," beautifully sung by members of the regular company. But -somehow the spectacle of a fat soprano nearing forty in the rôle of -the twelve-year-old vivandière, although impressive, was not sublime. -A third of the audience were soldiers. In the front row of the top -balcony were a number of wounded. Their bandaged heads rested against -the rail. Several of them yawned.</p> - -<p>After the operetta came a "Ballet of the Nations." The "nations," of -course, represented the Allies. We had the delectable vision of the -Russian ballerina dancing with arms entwined about several maids of -Japan. The Scotch lassies wore violent blue jackets. The Belgian girls -carried large pitchers and rather wept and watered their way about the -stage. There were no thrills.</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> - -<img src="images/illus07.jpg" alt="pic"/> -</p> -<p class="caption"> MDLLE. CHENAL SINGING THE MARSEILLAISE</p> - -<p>After the intermission there was not even available space. The majority -of the women were in black—the prevailing color in these days. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> -only touches of brightness and light were in the uniforms of the -officers liberally sprinkled through the orchestra and boxes.</p> - -<p>Then came "Le Chant du Depart," the famous song of the Revolution. The -scene was a little country village. The principals were the officer, -the soldier, the wife, the mother, the daughter and the drummer boy. -There was a magnificent soldier chorus and the fanfare of drums and -trumpets. The audience then became honestly enthusiastic. I concluded -that the best Chenal could do with the "Marseillaise," which was next -on the program, would be an anti-climax.</p> - -<p>The orchestra played the opening bars of the martial music. With the -first notes the vast audience rose. I looked up at the row of wounded -leaning heavily against the rail, their eyes fixed and staring on the -curtain. I noticed the officers in the boxes, their eyes glistening. I -heard a convulsive catch in the throats of persons about me. Then the -curtain lifted.</p> - -<p>I do not remember what was the stage setting. I do not believe I saw -it. All I remember was Chenal standing at the top of a short flight of -steps, in the center near the back drop. I indistinctly remember that -the rest of the stage was filled with the soldier chorus and that near -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> footlights on either side were clusters of little children.</p> - -<p>"Up, sons of France, the call of glory—"</p> - -<p>Chenal swept down to the footlights. The words of the song swept over -the audience like a bugle call. The singer wore a white silk gown -draped in perfect Grecian folds. She wore the large black Alsatian -head dress, in one corner of which was pinned a small tricolored -cockade. She has often been called the most beautiful woman in Paris. -The description was too limited. With the next lines she threw her -arms apart, drawing out the folds of the gown into the tricolor of -France—heavy folds of red silk draped over one arm and blue over -the other. Her head was thrown back. Her tall, slender figure simply -vibrated with the feeling of the words that poured forth from her lips. -She was noble. She was glorious. She was sublime. With the "March -on, march on," of the chorus, her voice arose high and fine over the -full orchestra, and even above her voice could be sensed the surging -emotions of the audience that seemed to sweep over the house in waves.</p> - -<p>I looked up at the row of wounded. One man held his bandaged head -between his hands and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> was crying. An officer in a box, wearing the -gorgeous uniform of the headquarters staff, held a handkerchief over -his eyes.</p> - -<p>Through the second verse the audience alternately cheered and stamped -their feet and wept. Then came the wonderful "Amour sacré de la -patrie"—sacred love of home and country—verse. The crashing of the -orchestra ceased, dying away almost to a whisper. Chenal drew the folds -of the tricolor cloak about her. Then she bent her head and, drawing -the flag to her lips, kissed it reverently. The first words came -like a sob from her soul. From then until the end of the verse, when -her voice again rang out over the renewed efforts of the orchestra, -one seemed to live through all the glorious history of France. At the -very end, when Chenal drew a short jeweled sword from the folds of her -gown and stood, silent and superb, with the folds of the flag draped -around her, while the curtain rang slowly down, she seemed to typify -both Empire and Republic throughout all time. All the best of the past -seemed concentrated there as that glorious woman, with head raised -high, looked into the future.</p> - -<p>And as I came out of the theater with the silent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> audience I said -to myself that a nation with a song and a patriotism such as I had -witnessed could not vanish from the earth—nor again be vanquished.</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:5em;"> -<img src="images/illus08.jpg" alt="pic"/> -</p> -<p class="caption"> FRONT D'ARTOIS</p> - - - - -<h2>NOTE</h2> - - -<p>The attached map of the "Front d'Artois" is the first of the kind ever -presented to the public. The author of this book has been specially -authorized to reproduce it by the French Ministry of War, under whose -direction it was first executed from photographs by French airmen taken -on their trips over the German lines.</p> - -<p>It bears the date September 25, 1915, that being the day when the -great offensive was launched against the Germans both in Artois and -Champagne. On that occasion the map was given only to French officers.</p> - -<p>The heavy blue zigzag line shows the front line of the German trenches. -The thin blue lines running to the rear show the communication trenches -extending back to the second and even the third lines of defense. -The French trenches are naturally not shown, but were to the west of -the Germans, in some places not over fifteen yards of barbed wire -entanglements separating them. At the time of the September attack all -these trenches were captured by the French.</p> - -<p>The Artois front, which is often called "the sector north of Arras," -is one of the most important on the entire line, inasmuch as the army -holding the plateau holds also the key to the channel ports. The -bloodiest and most desperate battles of the war have occurred there.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PASSED BY THE CENSOR ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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