Realising that the whole future of the campaign, if not of the war, hung upon the issue, the army of General von Hausen stood to the last. There was a hope that the German right might yet rally against the staggering attack thrown upon it. Mr. Massey wrote:—
The fighting on the line of the French centre has, from all accounts, been of a most terrific description. Neither side would give ground except under the heaviest pressure. Long-continued artillery duels paved the way for infantry attacks, and positions had to be carried at the point of the bayonet. Often when bayonet charges had cleared trenches the men driven out were rallied and reinforced, and retook the positions. Here was the most strenuous fighting of the campaign, and as the enemy's casualties are certain to have exceeded those of the French, the total of German killed, wounded, and prisoners must reach an enormous figure. The French losses were very heavy.
An infantryman wounded within sight of Vitry-le-François told me that the French bayonet fighting was performed with an irresistible dash. The men were always eager—sometimes too eager—to get to close quarters. The weary waiting in trenches too hastily dug to give more than poor shelter from artillery fire caused many a murmur, and there was no attempt to move forward stealthily when the word to advance was given. Often a rushing line was severely torn by mitrailleuse fire, but the heart's desire to settle matters with cold steel could not be checked merely because comrades to the right and left were put out of action. The bayonet work of French infantry gave the enemy a terrible time.
Of the struggle on the left of von Hausen's army against the troops of General Langle, a graphic picture is given in the diary of a Saxon officer of infantry found later among the German dead. The army of von Hausen had arrived by forced marches, the left from Rethel, the right from Rheims:—
Sept. 1.—We marched to Rethel. Our battalion stayed there as escort to headquarters.
Sept. 2.—The French burnt half the town, probably to cut our lines of communications. It can't hurt us for long, of course, but it's a nuisance, as our field artillery is short of ammunition.
However, our division advanced. The burning of Rethel was dreadful. All the little houses with wooden beams in their roofs, and their stacks of furniture, fed the flames to the full. The Aisne was only a feeble protection; the sparks were soon carried over to the other side. Next day the town was nothing but a heap of ashes.
Sept. 3.—Still at Rethel, on guard over prisoners. The houses are charming inside. The middle-class in France has magnificent furniture. We found stylish pieces everywhere, and beautiful silk, but in what a state!... Good God!... Every bit of furniture broken, mirrors smashed. The vandals themselves could not have done more damage.
This place is a disgrace to our army. The inhabitants who fled could not have expected, of course, that all their goods would have been left in full after so many troops had passed. But the column commanders are responsible for the greater part of the damage, as they could have prevented the looting and destruction. The damage amounts to millions of marks; even the safes have been attacked.
In a solicitor's house, in which, as luck would have it, everything was in excellent taste, including a collection of old lace, and Eastern works of art, everything was smashed to bits.
I couldn't resist taking a little memento myself here and there.... One house was particularly elegant, everything in the best taste. The hall was of light oak; near the staircase I found a splendid aquascutum and a camera by Felix.
The sappers have been ordered to march with the divisional bridging train. We shall start to-morrow. Yesterday at Chalons-sur-Marne a French aviator (officer) was taken prisoner. He imagined the village was held by French troops and so landed there. He was awfully disgusted at being taken prisoner.
Sept. 4.—To Tuniville, Pont-Fauerger, where we billeted.
Sept. 5.—Les Petites Loges, Tours-sur-Marne. I never want to make such marches again; simply tests of endurance. We crossed the Marne canal on Sept. 6. On our left the 19th corps marched straight on Chalons. On our right front the Guard corps was hotly engaged. When we reached Villeneuve we heard that the Guard corps had thrown the enemy back and that our division was to take up the pursuit. We were in a wood, which the enemy searched with shell fire.
Left and right it simply rained bullets, but the one I'm fated to stop was not among them. We could not advance any further, the enemy was too strong for us. On our left the 19th corps came up in time to give us a little breathing space. An infernal shell fire. We had a dreadful thirst, a glass of Pilsener would have been a godsend.... A shell suddenly fell in the wood and killed six of my section; a second fell right in the middle of us; we couldn't hang on any longer, so we retired.
We made several attempts to reach the village of Lenharree, but the enemy's artillery swept the whole wood, so that we could not make any headway. And we never got a sight of the enemy's guns. We soon had the answer to the riddle as to why the enemy's shooting was so wonderfully accurate. We were actually on the enemy's practice range. Lenharree was the chief point d'appui on the right wing.
The situation was as follows: The Guard corps was on a ground which the enemy knew like the back of his hand, and so was in an extremely critical position. It was just like St. Privat, except that we were all in woods under a terrible shell fire. Our artillery could do nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.
We found an order from General Joffre to the commander of the 2nd French corps, telling him to hold the position at all costs, and saying that it was the last card. It was probably the best one, too. As we knew later, the artillery opposed to us had an immense reserve of ammunition.... Absolutely exhausted, we waited for the night. In front of us all was still.
Sept. 8.—We went forward again to the attack against an enemy perfectly entrenched. In spite of his artillery fire, which nothing could silence, we passed through the wood again. As soon as we reached the northern edge, a perfectly insane fire opened on us, infantry and shell fire with redoubled intensity.
A magnificent spectacle lay before us; in the far background Lenharree was in flames, and we saw the enemy retreating, beaten at last. The enemy withdrew from one wood to another, but shelled us furiously and scattered us with his machine guns. We got to the village at last, but were driven out of it again with heavy loss. Our losses were enormous. The 178th Regiment alone had 1,700 men wounded, besides those killed. It was hell itself. There were practically no officers left.
One word more about this artillery range; there were telephone wires everywhere. It is thought that French officers hidden in trees were telephoning our exact situation in the woods.
Sept. 9.—We marched to Oeuvry. The enemy was apparently two kilometres in front of us. Where was our intelligence branch? Our artillery arrived half an hour too late, unfortunately. The French are indefatigable in digging trenches. We passed through a wood and lost touch altogether. We saw companies retiring, and we ourselves received the order to withdraw.
We passed through Lenharree once more, where we found piles of bodies, and we billeted at Germinon. There was a rumour that the 1st army had had some disastrous fighting. Our sappers prepared the bridges for demolition. We passed through Chalons-sur-Marne. I am terribly depressed. Everybody thinks the situation is critical. The uncertainty is worst of all.
I think we advanced too quickly and were worn out by marching too rapidly and fighting incessantly. So we must wait for the other armies. We went on to Mourmelon-le-Petit, where we dug ourselves in thoroughly. Four of our aviators are said to have been brought down by the enemy.
Finally, when forced back to the Marne, after three days of incessant fighting—pounded by the French guns, broken by the fury of the French infantry, ripped by slashing onslaughts of the French horse—the Germans still made effort after effort to recover and to re-form. Of the struggle on the Marne, Mr. William Maxwell says:—
I was fortunate enough to meet a non-commissioned officer who watched from an eminence the critical phase of the battle which routed the German centre. This is the substance of his story, which has since been corroborated by officers of my acquaintance. The enemy had been driven back fighting for three days, until they came to the river. There they made a desperate stand. Masses of them appeared on the flat and in the undulations of the ground—they seemed like the sands on the sea shore for numbers. They came on in masses and kept up a terrible fire from rifle and machine-gun. But our infantry were not to be denied; they advanced in short rushes and in open order, while shells rained down upon the enemy, and rifles opened great gaps in their ranks.
"I began," said the sergeant, "to count the dead, but I soon found that impossible. Suddenly I heard a great shout, and turning to my left I saw a sight that made my heart stand still. Our cavalry were charging down on the enemy's cavalry."
In the bright sunshine their lances and sabres looked like a shower of falling stars. There was an avalanche of men and horses and cold steel. Huge gaps were torn in the enemy's ranks—and the whole thing was over in a few minutes. The German horsemen seemed to vanish into the earth.
Stubborn courage, however, was of no avail. In a brief six days that mighty host had been reduced to a military ruin. They had advanced in the confidence that they were irresistible. Down the valley of the Oise, over the highlands of Champagne they had streamed, in endless columns of men and guns. The earth had shaken beneath the rumble of their artillery and trembled under the hoofs of their horsemen; every road had re-echoed the united tread of their battalions; every horizon had bristled with the flash of their bayonets and sabres; every town and village had felt their arrogance as they "requisitioned" its foodstuffs, consumed its wines, slept in its beds, laid hands on whatever they fancied, and summoned mayors and officials before them to learn their will, and collect their "fines." On the substance of this country of the Marne they had revelled, imagining that the world was theirs.
And now they were a battered mass of fugitives, hiding in woods and orchards; littering the roads with the wrecks of their equipment; fagged and footsore; driven by hunger to tear up the crops from the fields, and devour roots and vegetables raw; their discipline replaced by brutal savagery. Not even the liveliest imagination can adequately picture the state of an army in flight after a heavy defeat. The bigger the army the worse that state becomes. The organisation of food supply is thrown out of gear. No man knows where the supplies may be, or whether they may not be lost. Guns become separated from their ammunition columns. Wagons break down or are disabled and have to be left behind. The horses drop from famine and overwork. Men grow sullen and intractable. The boom of guns bespeaking the pursuit alone gives the stimulus to cover the lengthening miles of weary road.
Without time to bury their dead, yet anxious to hide their losses from the enemy, the Germans, where they could, formed large pyres of timber, which they soaked with oil. On to these they threw the bodies of the slain. Across the country the smoke from such pyramids by day and the glare of flames by night added to the strangeness and tragedy of a scene removed even from what had been thought civilised war.
The sufferings of the beaten host were severe. Starving and depressed, or at the last point of exhaustion, men fell out or hid themselves in the thick woods which clothe the long undulating slopes on the northern side of the Marne valley.[15] Here they were found by the pursuing French and British. Most, when discovered, had been without food for two days. Partly to satisfy the pangs of hunger, partly out of mere senseless revenge, general and indiscriminate pillage was resorted to. Chateaux, country houses, and villages were ransacked, and pictures or pieces of furniture which could not be carried off destroyed. Though their military spirit had been broken, the ruthlessness of the invaders remained. They traversed the country like a horde of bandits.