THE TURN OF THE TIDE.
When the army of von Kluck was sweeping through Northern France like a roaring flood, most people thought that he was aiming at Paris, the heart and centre of the country. In Chapter X. of our first volume I told you that after the great surrender at Sedan the Germans swooped down upon the beautiful capital, and began to besiege it. I also told you how, after four months of hunger and misery, it yielded, and the hosts of Germany marched through its streets in triumph.
Was Paris again to be besieged?—that was the question. The Parisians were quite sure that they would soon be ringed round by the Germans. They knew that von Kluck was rapidly approaching, and on the afternoon of 30th August they saw the first of his war hawks come swooping over the city. It dropped five bombs; but only one person was killed, and the damage done to property was slight. Attached to a sandbag which was dropped from the aeroplane was the following message: "The German army is at the gates of Paris; there is nothing left to you but to surrender." This was not quite true, but a few days later German cavalry actually were within cannon shot of the northern forts; they were as near to the towers of Notre Dame[95] as the battlements of Windsor are to the dome of St. Paul's. Scouts in motor cars were reported only nine miles from Paris itself, and it is said that German officers who had American lady friends in the city sent them notes arranging to come to tea with them!
Trenches in the Streets of Paris. Photo, Sport and General.
Four days before the first German aeroplane was seen a new government came into power, and included in it were the leading members of all the parties in the country. The same day a new governor, General Gallieni,[96] was appointed to take over the defence of Paris. The French capital, as you know, is one of the most strongly fortified places in Europe. It is protected by an outer ring of forts, which are built at distances varying from six to ten miles from the centre of the city. This ring is eighty miles round, and within it are three entrenched camps—one on the north, another on the east, and a third on the south-east. A railway, more than sixty miles in length, connects all the works and supplies them with ammunition and stores. All this sounds very formidable; but we know that the strongest forts cannot stand against modern siege guns and high explosives. Further, the guns of the Paris forts were by no means up to date, and the trenches between them were not properly protected. General Gallieni worked night and day to remedy these defects; but the time at his disposal was all too short.
One of the leading citizens proposed that Paris should be given up to the Germans, in order that its monuments and treasures of art might be saved from destruction. General Gallieni would not listen for a moment to any such craven proposal. He said that Paris would defend itself, even though it should suffer the fate of Louvain. The Parisians were with him almost to a man.
Gallieni diligently prepared for a siege. He had trenches dug in the streets on the outskirts of the city, and he collected vast quantities of provisions within the fortified area. Thousands of cattle and sheep were coralled on almost every green space within the ring of fortifications, and the Bois de Boulogne[97] became one vast stockyard. Meanwhile long strings of people waited before the doors of the shops to buy stocks of provisions. Over a million Parisians deserted the city for the towns and villages of the south; and though large numbers of refugees flocked in from the north, Paris lost its busy appearance, and took on an "early morning" air.
In ordinary times Paris is the most brilliantly lighted city in Europe, and at night the glare illuminates the sky for scores of square miles. Had its myriads of electric lamps gleamed out while the Germans were so near at hand, the safety of the city would have been endangered by bombs from Zeppelins and aeroplanes. Consequently, Paris by night became a city of gloom. All the cafés and shops were closed by eight in the evening, and the lamps were veiled and only lighted on one side of the street. On the roofs of most of the chief public buildings search-lights were installed, and all through the night they flung their dazzling rays across the darkness. On 3rd September 1914 the Government was removed to Bordeaux. "It only leaves Paris," said a proclamation, "after having taken all precautions in its power for the defence of the town and of the entrenched camps. It knows that it need not recommend calm and resolution to the admirable Parisian population, which shows every day that it is equal to its greatest duties."
Hardly had the Government left the city when tidings arrived which showed clearly that there was to be no siege of Paris just yet. Some of the Parisians professed to be disappointed: they had filled their houses with tinned sardines, preserved fruits, bags of coffee, and bundles of vegetables, and had prepared themselves to stand the longest siege known to history—and now the Germans would not play the game! But, really, they were overjoyed when they knew that they and their city were free from attack for some time to come.
What was the news which had thus relieved the minds of the Parisians? On 3rd September von Kluck was at Chantilly,[98] the great racing centre of France, twenty-five miles from the gates of Paris. Two days later, aviators reported that he was twenty miles to the east of Paris. Instead of bearing down on the city he had marched south-east—that is, away from it. Why?
Parisians watching German Aeroplanes.
Photo, Central News.
In 1870, you will remember, the Germans did not attempt to besiege Paris until Bazaine's army had been shut up in Metz and MacMahon's army had surrendered at Sedan. Before Paris was besieged the armies of France had been hopelessly defeated. To encircle Paris needs half a million men, and no sane general would dare to detach such a large number of troops for this purpose while his enemy was capable of taking the field against him. It is true that the Allies had been forced to retreat from the Belgian border, and that von Kluck believed the British to be a broken, panic-stricken mob; nevertheless he could not think of investing Paris until he had destroyed them. As his enemy was then moving south-east of Paris, he had to move south-east too, in order to keep in contact with him. Paris could wait until the Allies were thoroughly beaten. So von Kluck turned away from Paris and marched south-east.
The position of the Allied Armies immediately before their advance.
On 5th September 1914 the Allied armies were in the position in which General Joffre wished them to be. Let us look at the line which they then held. The 3rd Army (A) stretched from the Upper Meuse, south of Verdun, westwards to Bar-le-Duc, and facing it was the army of the Crown Prince. The 4th Army (B) was on its left, astride of the Upper Marne, looking north across the plain towards Châlons. Westwards to Sézanne[99] was the 9th Army (C), and facing it was von Buelow's army. Still farther to the west were the 5th French Army (D) and the British (E); while north of the Marne, moving towards the Ourcq, was the 6th French Army (F), which, all unknown to the Germans, had been organized in Paris, where it was safe from the prying eyes of their airmen. Later on we shall study the position of the Allied armies on the left wing (D, E, F) more closely.
Before we do so, however, I will try to give you some idea of the kind of country in front of the French line. Let us imagine that you are travelling westwards from Verdun in early September. Leaving behind you the narrow vale of the Upper Meuse, you traverse an upland country of many ravines and much undergrowth, with here and there small woods and pastures. Then you cross a small stream, and, looking southwards, see the deep woods that stretch towards Bar-le-Duc. The road now rises, and to the northward is the plateau of the Argonne,[100] a long, low ridge of clay, which forms the natural bulwark of north-east France; west of it runs the Aisne and east of it the Aire, a tributary of the Aisne. A small river cuts its way through it in a deep furrow. A French writer says that if we leave out of account the lengthwise furrow through which the river runs, the plateau may be compared with a wave just when it curls and is about to break on the shore. The summits of the plateau range in height from about 450 feet to 1,000 feet.
An extensive forest is always a bar to an invader. In the days when the English were conquering Britain, a very dense and trackless forest, 130 miles long by 30 miles broad, covered that part of South England between the North Downs and the South Downs which we call the Weald. For many years this forest prevented the South Saxons, who had occupied the coast, from pushing their conquests northwards to the Thames. In the same way the Forest of the Argonne checked early invaders of France from the east. No other part of France is so thickly wooded, and in its deep recesses wolves are still found. Two roads and one railway cross it from west to east; but otherwise there are only a few forest paths, which lead nowhere. This difficult region was the scene of desperate fighting during many months of the war.
For a hundred miles to the west of the Argonne stretches a region of chalky moorlands, crossed by many ridges, and broken by heaths, coppices, and fir plantations. This is the Salisbury Plain of France, and men have long foretold that on its dreary levels the Armageddon of Europe would be fought. Still travelling west, we come to the Heights of Champagne, which I have already described. South of the deep-cut valley of the Marne, which, you will remember, marks the southern limit of this chalk plateau, is a region crossed by the Petit Morin and the Grand Morin, both tributaries of the Marne. These tributaries, though not rapid, are so deep that they cannot be forded, but they are well provided with stone bridges. Much of the district through which they flow is well wooded, and dotted with country houses. Round about Sézanne we find rolling downs, and to the north of it the extensive marsh of St. Gond.
The whole region between Paris and the Upper Meuse is very famous in French history. From Domremy, on the Meuse, came Joan of Arc to revive the broken spirits of her countrymen, and inspire them to drive the English out of France. It was in Rheims Cathedral, you will remember, that the Maid had her great hour of triumph, when she knelt at the feet of the Dauphin and greeted him as King of France. At Valmy, twenty miles north-east of Châlons, there is a pyramid which commemorates a great French victory over the Prussians in the fateful year 1792; and on the old Roman road north of Châlons is a huge oval mound, known as the Camp of Attila. It is said to mark the spot where his merciless hordes were overcome in the middle of the fifth century. On the wide flats in the neighbourhood of Châlons the Romans and Goths were hurled back in ancient times, and there, too, "furious Frank and fiery Hun" strove for the mastery. Once more the fate of France was to be decided on these historic fields.
Now we must return to von Kluck, and pay particular attention to his movements, for on them depended the fortunes of the whole German army. Study the diagram on the next page closely, and you will see how he thrust his head into the lion's jaws. When we left him at Chantilly, twenty-five miles from Paris, he was to all intents and purposes marching directly on the city. Suddenly, as you know, he swerved to the south-east. Why he did so nobody exactly knows, though many reasons have been suggested. I have already mentioned the most probable one—namely, that a siege of Paris before the enemy was thoroughly routed would have been the height of folly. Some say that as certain army corps had been sent to East Prussia, it was necessary for the Germans to close in on the left. Whatever the reason was, von Kluck suddenly began marching south-east. He crossed the river Marne, and continued in this direction, with the object, it is supposed, of cutting off the French centre from Paris.
A glance at this diagram shows you that when he was marching in this oblique direction his right was exposed to attack from the armies on the Allied left—the French 5th Army, the British Army, and the new 6th Army issuing from Paris. If the British attacked him during this march, his columns could offer no effective resistance until they deployed and faced the British line, and while doing so they would be sure to suffer greatly. If they did not deploy, the 5th French Army could attack them in front; and if they did deploy, they would then have that army on their left flank. Meanwhile the new 6th French Army, by crossing the Ourcq, could cut off the German line of retreat. It was a most dangerous move, as you can easily see, and even now we wonder why von Kluck made it. There is little doubt that he believed the British and the 5th French Army to be so weary and dispirited that they were of no account.
Von Kluck seems to have had some inkling that there was a new French force on his flank, for on 4th September he placed a flank guard along the Ourcq; but he does not seem to have known how strong this French force was. Next day (5th September), when he was across the Marne, he learnt the truth: the surprise army lay west of Meaux, and was marching on the Ourcq. On the 8th he realized his danger, and sent back two of his army corps to meet it. This, of course, weakened his advancing columns. Soon he found himself in an almost hopeless position: he was in hourly peril of being enveloped. This is what I meant when I said that he had thrust his head into the lion's jaws.
Von Kluck's Artillery passing through a French village on its march towards Paris.
Photo, Topical Press.
The fighting began at dawn on Sunday, 6th September, when the whole Allied line from Paris to Verdun was set in motion. We will first give our attention to the surprise army, which on that tropically hot day was slowly moving towards the western bank of the Ourcq, across the low plateau which rises to the north of the little town of Meaux. It was a smiling country through which the soldiers passed—the roads lined with tall poplars, the fields golden with ripe wheat, and the orchards heavy with fruit. The many villages on the tableland were in the hands of German outposts, and the main body lay on the eastern bank of the river, which here flows in a deep channel. The surprise army consisted of at least eight divisions. To meet it the Germans had five divisions. All day the French were engaged in hand-to-hand struggles with the German outposts in the villages, and were assailed by "Black Marias"[101] from the heavy German batteries beyond the river.
Meanwhile the British, to their great joy, were ordered to march north-eastwards towards the Grand Morin, along a gently-rolling country of orchards and cornfields and scattered woodlands, crossed here and there by small rivers and streams. For the first time our men were advancing, and they were in the highest spirits, thoroughly rested, and eager to get back "a bit of their own." By noon they were within touch of the enemy's advance guard, which was well supported by batteries. An engagement took place, and late in the afternoon the German trenches were carried at the point of the bayonet. By evening the British army occupied a line extending across and south of the Grand Morin. Thus you see that on the west the enveloping movement was making excellent headway.
Now let us see what the 5th French Army was doing. It was moving northwards towards the upper reaches of the Grand Morin, and was heavily engaged with the bulk of von Kluck's army. Again and again it made frontal attacks, but little ground was gained. Farther to the east the 9th French Army was struggling with that of von Buelow near Sézanne, its right being opposed to the right wing of the Saxon army. The 4th French Army, still farther to the east, was being violently attacked by the Duke of Würtemberg, who was trying hard but in vain to pierce the Allied centre. On the Allied right the Crown Prince was more successful: he was able to push back the 3rd French Army for a little distance.
On the whole the fortune of the day seemed to rest with the Germans. But von Kluck now knew that he was in deadly peril. The surprise army had turned his right wing; the British were attacking him on the right flank, and the 5th French Army was holding him in front. He knew that he was in the tightest possible place, and that he would need all his skill and resolution if he was to escape from the trap laid for him. The Crown Prince might be rejoicing, but von Kluck was in "doleful dumps."
