MORE STORIES OF THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE.
Here is the story of a plucky boy who did his country good service in Lorraine. Look at the map on page [130], and find Metz. At this town the river Seille,[115] which forms part of the boundary between France and Germany, joins the Moselle. In August 1914 French troops arrived at a village on the French side of the Seille, and the captain asked the people if they had seen any Germans. "Yes," was the reply; "they have been here, but our soldiers from Nancy have driven them back across the river." "Are the Germans there now?" inquired the captain; but no one knew. All that he could learn was that no German had been seen for several days. "I must be quite sure as to their whereabouts," said the captain, "before I cross the river. How can I manage it?" A boy of twelve who stood amongst the villagers came forward, and, saluting the captain, said, "I can find out for you, sir, if you will let me." "You!" said the captain, greatly astonished. "Yes, sir," replied the boy. "I know all the country round here very well. My grandmother lives on the other side of the river, and I know a roundabout way to get to her house." "If the 'Boches'[116] catch you, they will kill you," said the captain. "I know that," returned the boy, "but I am not afraid."
The lad seemed very anxious to undertake the mission, so the captain asked the villagers what they knew of him. One and all assured him that the boy was very plucky, and could be depended upon. "Off with you, then," said the captain, and away went the boy on his perilous errand. He crawled on all fours across a wooden bridge that spanned the stream, and was soon lost to sight. Hours went by, and the villagers began to think that he would never return. At last, however, they saw him crossing the bridge once more.
French Detachment retaking a Village. Photo, Illustrated London News.
He went up to the captain, saluted him, and made his report. While passing through a wood on the other side of the river he had been captured by a couple of Uhlans, who shut him up in a hayloft, and said they would shoot him if any French appeared. The coming of the French would be a proof that he had been scouting for them. After lying quietly in the hayloft for some time, he managed to get out of a little window, and crawl through the enemy lines without being seen. Once clear of the Germans, he took to his heels and ran towards home. He was able to give the captain a rough idea of how many Germans there were on the other side of the river, and how they were placed. The captain thanked him warmly, and said, "You are an honour to France." "Perhaps," said the youngster, shaking his head; "but all the same I didn't manage to call on granny!"
As the Germans retreated northward after the Battle of the Marne, they looted the villages through which they passed, and shot down many unarmed peasants. In a cottage lay a bedridden woman, who was tended by her ten-year-old daughter, Henriette. Most of the neighbours had fled, but it was impossible to move Henriette's mother. "When they see how ill she is," said the little girl, "they will pity her, and do us no harm." The child little knew the temper of the Huns. A Bavarian sergeant broke open the door and demanded money. He threw the poor woman off the bed, and searched her mattress in vain. "Well," said he, "if you have no money, there is wine in your cellar, and we will have that." Forthwith he and seven of his men descended to the cellar, where they drank from a cask of wine till they were hopelessly drunk. When Henriette saw this, she quietly closed the trap-door leading into the cellar, and piled all the heavy things in the room on top of it. Before long French soldiers appeared in the village. Henriette beckoned to them, and, pointing to the trap-door, said, "The cellar is full of Germans, all drunk." The furniture was removed, and the drunken Bavarians were hauled out.
Now I must explain that Henriette's father had been seized by the Germans a few days before, and had been carried off to a neighbouring town as a hostage. As the French officer was marching off with the prisoners whom he had captured in the cellar, Henriette said to him, "Tell the Germans that if they will bring my father back I will ask you not to shoot them." The officer told the Germans what Henriette had said, and the least drunken of them offered to go to the neighbouring town and bring the father back safely. In a few hours he returned, bringing Henriette's father with him. Great was the child's joy at seeing her father free once more, and great was his pride in his clever little daughter.
I have already told you the story of the gallant defence which Fort Troyon made. When the Crown Prince's army was marching towards the fort, an advance party seized a village close to the outer works, and forbade the villagers to leave their houses under pain of death. The advance guard hoped to be able to reach the fort without being seen, and to capture it by surprise. A little girl of twelve years of age, named Louise Haumont, overheard her parents say that if the commander of the fort could be warned that the Germans were coming, he might be able to save it from capture. Watching her opportunity, she slipped out of the house, crept through the cornfields, and, after a weary journey, reached the fort unnoticed by the enemy. A sentry saw her, and challenged her, and was much surprised when he learnt that she had a message for the commander. She was taken to him, and you may be sure that he was very grateful for her timely warning. Without delay he mustered his men, attacked the village, and drove off the advance guard. Louise was greeted by soldiers and friends alike as a heroine, and I am sure you will agree that she deserved the highest praise that could be given to her.
Let me tell you a story of a French boy's splendid courage during the time when the 6th Army was fighting its way through the villages to the west of the Ourcq, in order to attack von Kluck's rearguard. As a French regiment was passing through one of these villages, a boy named André went up to the colonel, and begged hard to be allowed to join the soldiers. He was refused; but being a lad of very determined character, he waited until the soldiers were some distance on their way, and then stealthily followed them. When he reached them they told him to go back; but he took no notice, and remained with them, making himself useful in all sorts of ways. Two or three days later the colonel saw him, and said to a sergeant, "Who is this boy marching along with us?" "He is a fine, soldierly lad," replied the sergeant; "he does odd jobs for the men, and we find him very obliging and useful. We must keep him. We cannot send him back now; the distance is too great." So André, to his joy, was allowed to remain.
A few days later the regiment attacked the Germans. Shot and shell fell thickly, but the boy did not flinch. Suddenly he saw his friend the sergeant fall wounded. Off dashed André. He reached the wounded man, helped him to his feet, and supported him as he struggled to the rear. Soon an ambulance came by, and the sergeant was carried off to hospital. André was a happy boy that night; he had paid his debt of gratitude to the man who had befriended him.
When the Germans reached Soissons, on the Aisne, in the course of their retreat, they found that the mayor had left the place, and that there was no person of authority with whom they could make arrangements. A certain Madame Macherez,[117] the widow of a former senator of France,[118] presented herself, and declared herself ready to take over the government of the town. The German commander agreed, and Madame Macherez managed everything admirably for twelve days, though she had hard work to satisfy the invaders. They demanded 200,000 lbs. of food and flour and 40,000 lbs. of tobacco, and informed her that if she did not supply them with these goods at once they would burn the town to the ground. Madame told them quite plainly that they might just as well ask for the sun and the moon, but she promised to give them all the provisions that she could collect. The Germans accepted her offer, and, thanks to her courage and energy, Soissons was not then destroyed. A few days later she had the joy of seeing the arrogant Germans leave the town in haste, with the British hard on their heels. She continued to act as mayor, and during the bombardment of the place, which the Germans began almost immediately, devoted herself to Red Cross work. Three times her house was hit by German shells. One shell fell while she was at lunch, and destroyed a wing of her house. Madame laid down her napkin and went to see what had happened. "There is not much damage done," she said, and then she calmly sat down and finished her meal. Soissons, you may be sure, was very proud of its cool, courageous lady mayoress.
A French boy, Gustave by name, went through several battles with the French troops, and was wounded. He wrote an account of his adventures, from which the following extract is taken:—"I had been at the advanced posts for two days when it occurred to me to climb into the loft of a house in order to observe the enemy's positions. Inside the house I discovered the kits and rifles of German soldiers. I had to get out of the house, but I was unable to reopen the door. I therefore broke the window, and thus escaped. Then I loaded my rifle, fixed my bayonet, and got in again. Nobody downstairs. Went upstairs, and discovered—guess what? Seven 'Boches' sound asleep.
"I fired my rifle. The German soldiers woke up and looked at each other, wondering what had happened. Hidden behind some straw, I observed them. Then I rushed at them. They did not resist, but threw up their hands.
"'Get down,' says I to them; and they went downstairs, quite happy to surrender. I handed them over to my comrades."
When the boy's officers heard of the exploit they praised him warmly, and the general invited him to his table.
A young French cyclist named Berger took part in the Battle of the Marne. He saw his colonel lying wounded, and started to carry him to the rear. A British officer who lay near by called out that he was thirsty. Berger shouted encouraging words to him, and promised to return in a few minutes. He carried his colonel into safety, and then came back to the wounded Briton with food and a flask of wine. Bullets from rifles and machine guns were whistling about him, but he heeded them not. He was just raising the British officer's head when a bullet struck him in the hand. Though he was suffering great pain, he put the flask to the wounded man's lips; but at that moment he was struck by a second bullet, which entered his back. The two men lay on the sodden field until dawn, when the battle began again. Soon they saw the Germans advancing, and a body of Uhlans rode by. Berger hailed the officer, and begged him for something to drink. The officer dismounted, gave them drink from his own water-bottle, saluted them, and went on his way. For almost the whole day the two wounded men lay on the wet, miry ground, while the battle raged around them. The Briton by this time was almost unconscious. In spite of his own wounds, Berger partly dragged, partly pushed his fellow-sufferer along until they reached the Allied lines, where by good luck they fell in with stretcher-bearers, who conveyed them both to hospital. As the British officer was being placed on the stretcher he grasped the young Frenchman's hand, and said, "If I live through this I will do my best to get you the V.C. If ever a man deserved it, you do."
At Méry-sur-Marne a French Red Cross train was blown up by the Germans just as it was crossing the river with its load of wounded. This picture shows the scene after the explosion. Photo, Sport and General.
A French newspaper says that after the Battle of the Marne, when the Germans were in full retreat, one of the imperial princes was severely wounded. He was at once conveyed to Epernay,[119] which was still held by a few German troops. No German surgeon could be found, so a staff officer went to a French surgeon who resided in the town and offered him a large fee if he would attend the prince. "My fee," said the doctor, "is exactly the war levy which you have demanded from my native city—175,000 francs."[120] The case was urgent, and the Germans had to agree to pay the doctor's fee. The money was handed over the same evening.
Now I must tell you a few stories relating the adventures of our own countrymen during the advance to the Marne. Here is an account of fighting on the river, from the pen of Sapper Gilhooly of the Royal Engineers: "Last week on the Marne we spent two days on a long mine[121] out towards the German lines, and just as we were getting to the close of our job we heard pickaxes going as fast and hard as you like, and then the wall of clay before us gave way, showing a party of Germans at the same game! You never saw men more astonished in your life. 'Fancy meeting you!' was written all over their faces, and they hadn't recovered from their shock when we pounced upon them. One German was just caught in time with a fuse, which he was going to apply, with the mad idea of blowing us all up! One of his mates was the first to rush on him. They weren't having any 'death or glory,' and I don't blame them. There's a Highlander beside me who is rigged out in the boots of a Belgian infantryman killed at Mons, the red trousers of a Frenchman, the khaki tunic of a Guardsman, and the glengarry cap of his own corps. When he wants to look particularly smart he wears a German cavalryman's cloak. The other day we came on a party of the enemy washing their shirts in a river, and we were on them so fast that they had to fly, leaving shirts and everything else behind. One chap, however, managed to collar his braces!"
The splendid devotion to duty of our doctors on the battlefield is well illustrated in the following letter, which was written by a fellow officer to the brother of Dr. J. O'Connell, of the Highland Light Infantry:—"I am only too pleased to tell you anything I can about your brother, as he was one of us, and in all your life you can never have a prouder boast than that you were his brother. Our first show was near Mons, where he at once came into notice. He personally went into the trench, and helped to carry out the wounded, though the German guns had the range to a T, and were raining shells on it. Then they turned on to his cottage, which was fixed up as a dressing-station, and knocked it to bits. He carried every one out, not losing a single man. During the retreat your brother had the worst of it, because he had to do with the footsore and the sick, who could not keep up, so he was usually behind the rearguard; but he always kept cheery when cheerfulness was worth far more than pluck.
"Then on the advance up to the Marne, when it was pitch dark and pelting rain, and three thousand Germans lay dead or wounded on the field, your brother insisted on staying out there to do what he could for the enemy. It was almost certain death, but he remained there among them for six hours. Next day I lost forty-one men before noon. Your brother, without waiting for food or sleep, came up to look after them, and stayed there for two days while we hung on. When I myself was being tied up I mentioned to your brother that a young subaltern was dying on the field. He at once insisted on going to see if he could do anything for him, although it was within close range of a well-constructed German trench, and while doing this he was killed by a rifle bullet through the head."
What a glorious death to die! Dr. O'Connell had no thought for himself; he freely gave his life to bring succour and comfort to the wounded and dying. There is no higher and nobler heroism than this. "O selfless man and stainless gentleman!"
"Baby Rose" such is the nickname bestowed on the smallest of French soldiers, who appears above. He is a great favourite with the Zouaves, one of whom is seen accompanying him. Photo, Daily Mirror
A bold adventure during the advance to the Marne is thus described by a major of the Royal Field Artillery:—
"At last we came to the edge of the wood, and in front of us, about two hundred yards away, was a little cup-shaped copse, and the enemy's trenches with machine guns a little farther on. I felt sure this wood was full of Germans, as I had seen them go in earlier. I started to gallop for it, and the others followed. Suddenly about fifty Germans bolted out firing at us. I loosed off my revolver as fast as I could, and —— loosed off his rifle from the saddle. They must have thought we were a regiment of cavalry, for, except a few, they suddenly yelled and bolted. I stopped and dismounted my lot to fire at them to make sure they didn't change their minds. I held the horses. I then suddenly saw there were more men in the copse, so I mounted the party and galloped at it, yelling, with my revolver held out.
"As we came to it I saw it was full of Germans, so I yelled 'Hands up,' and pointed the revolver at them. They all chucked down their rifles and put their hands up. Three officers and over forty men to ten of us with six rifles and a revolver. I herded them away from their rifles and handed them over to the Welsh Regiment behind us. I tore on with the trumpeter and the sergeant-major to the machine guns. At that moment the enemy's shrapnel and our own howitzers, thinking we were hostile cavalry, opened fire on us. We couldn't move the beastly things, and it was too hot altogether, so we galloped back to the cup-shaped wood, and they hailed shrapnel on us there. I waited for a lull, and mounted all my lot behind the bushes and made them sprint to the woods where the Welsh company was. There I got two fellows to help. We ran up to the Maxims, and took out the breech mechanism of both and one of the belts, and carried away one whole Maxim. We couldn't manage the other. The Welsh asked what cavalry we were. I told them we were the staff of the ---- Battery and they cheered us, but said we were mad. The funniest thing was the little trumpeter, who swept a German's helmet off his head and waved it in the air, shouting, 'I've got it,' wild with excitement. He is an extraordinarily brave boy."