The Battle of the Rivers

by Edmund Dane

CHAPTER IX THE STRUGGLE ROUND RHEIMS

It will have been gathered from the preceding pages that the tactics adopted by the Germans north of the Aisne were tactics designed to wear down the British force. No troops, it was supposed, could, even if they survived, withstand such an experience as that of the eight days from September 20 to September 28. Their lines pounded during all the hours of daylight by heavy shells, and assaulted during the hours of darkness by masses of infantry, the British force ought, upon every German hypothesis of modern warfare, to have been either driven back, or broken to pieces. The theory had proved unsound. To say nothing of the enormous monetary cost of the ammunition used, the attacks had turned out appallingly wasteful of life. The best troops of the Prussian army had been engulfed. In this savage struggle, between 13,000 and 14,000 British soldiers had been killed or wounded. What the losses were on the side of the Germans we do not know, for their casualties in any particular operations have not been disclosed.

If, however, their losses were on anything like the same scale as those at Mons and at Cambrai, the casualties must have been severe in the extreme. That they were severe is certain. The tactics adopted on the Aisne were not yet substantially different from the tactics followed in the earlier battles. At this stage of the campaign, the Germans still held to the principle that for victory hardly any price was too high.

Remembering at the same time that neither lives nor money are sacrificed by Germany without what is considered good cause, it becomes necessary when there are heavy sacrifices to search for the most adequate and assignable reason. In this instance, the search need not go far. After the first week of the battle, the enemy were not merely defending their stronghold, they were attempting to carry out an offensive, and that offensive had two objects. One was the scheme of operations against the left of the Allied line. The other was the recapture of Rheims.

Consider how a defeat of the British force must have affected the situation. On the one hand, it would have enabled the Germans to push back the 6th French army upon Paris; on the other, it would have compelled the French to evacuate Rheims.

Now Rheims was clearly at this time the key of the Allied position. The roads and railways converging upon the city made it an advanced base of the first importance. Driven out of Rheims, the Allies would have found their communications between Noyon and Verdun hopelessly confused. Neither reinforcements, nor munitions, nor supplies could have been brought up save by difficult and circuitous routes. A general retreat must have become imperative, and all the advantages arising from the recent victory on the Marne have been lost.

Why, then, it may be asked, did the Germans not keep Rheims when they had it? To that question there is but one answer. The Germans evacuated Rheims because they had no choice. Possession of Rheims means command of all the country between the Aisne and the Marne, because that possession also means command of the communications. From Roman times the military importance of the city has been recognised. Eight great roads converge into it from as many points of the compass. These are military roads, made originally by the Romans, and mostly straight as arrows. They are now supplemented, but in time of war not superseded, by the railways.

The occupation of Rheims by the Germans, and their forced evacuation of the place twelve days later, are two of the most notable episodes of the campaign. If there was one position where it might have been expected the French would make a stand between Belgium and Paris, it was assuredly here. The Germans looked for that opposition. The city was plainly too valuable a prize, and too important a military possession to be yielded without a struggle. Yet when the invaders came within sight of it, there were no signs of resistance. As they debouched from the highlands the splendid picture which spread before their eyes to the south-west was touched with a strange peace. Framed in its theatre of wooded hills, and dominated by the twin towers of its peerless cathedral, the lordly city, a seat of civilisation and the arts when ancient Germany was still a wilderness, seemed far removed from the scene of war. No cannon boomed from any of its surrounding forts; no trenches were anywhere visible; no troops could be seen along the distant roads. German officers swept the landscape with their field glasses. They found a military blank. Naturally, they suspected a ruse. Volunteers were called for, and a band of eighteen valiants enrolled themselves. The eighteen rode into the city. They were not molested. At the same time, another band crept cautiously up to the nearest of the outlying forts. They entered it without challenge. It was empty. Both bands came back to headquarters with the same surprising report. The French troops had fled to the last man. What better proof could there be of total demoralisation?

Now, there was a ruse, and if anything could illustrate the combined boldness and depth of the French strategy it was this. Let us see what the ruse was. To begin with, Rheims was supposed to be a fortress, but the forts, situated on the surrounding hills, and constructed after the war of 1870-71, were mere earthworks. They were not adapted to withstand modern artillery. It was part of the French plan that they should not be adapted. On the contrary, just before the German advance, the forts had been dismantled and abandoned. That measure had been postponed to the last moment, and though the invaders had their spies at Rheims, as elsewhere, they remained unaware of it.