This is a story of German rage and vengeance, not a story of mere looting. Every army loots—even the British Army will condescend to steal chickens and an occasional sheep. In South Africa Lord Roberts had to threaten severe penalties for raids on private property, and I remember an Australian colonel warning his men in this fashion: “If I catch any one of you stealing and killing a sheep—except in self-defence————” The rest of the threat was never spoken.
At three o’clock on Saturday afternoon, September 5, several thousand of the enemy’s cavalry—Uhlans, Dragoons, and Chasseurs—with horse artillery and machine guns, rode into the village of Beton-Bazoches, south of the River Marne. At first they behaved well enough toward the inhabitants, most of them paying cash for what they took for themselves, and giving receipts for the stores they requisitioned for the army.
The General and senior members of the Staff took possession of the inn, while the junior members occupied the house of a grocer, until a rifle and some ammunition were found on the premises, whereupon they removed to other quarters. The officer who made this discovery acted like a sensible and humane man. He advised the villagers to give up their arms, and said to them: “Remember, I am not le bon Dieu, and cannot watch over you always. Those who come after us are hard men.”
He was a true prophet. Next day there was a sudden fall in the temperature of the invaders. Something unforeseen and dreadful seemed to have happened, and caused the Germans to abandon those conciliatory methods which they have usually adopted in places they have occupied.
I have always been slow to accept stories of atrocities—having heard them told about every army—and I have never reported one without giving my authority and having a written and signed statement. But what I am now about to describe I have seen with my own eyes.
On Sunday afternoon the German soldiery made the discovery that brigandage is one of the privileges of war. They broke into every house and shop, burst open all doors, ransacked every room from cellar to attic, searched every cupboard and drawer, tore up letters and account books, and carried off every portable article of any value. Beton-Bazoches—when they had gone through it—looked as if an earthquake had struck it and left only the empty shell. The hotel that sheltered and fed the General was not spared. A uniformed ruffian rode up to the door and called loudly for Madame, who promptly appeared, and had a revolver clapped to her cheek.
“The key to the wine cellar!” demanded the ruffian. In the twinkling of an eyelid the cellar was emptied, and several hundred bottles of champagne and other wine—if there is any other wine—were at the throats of the German soldiers. The same thing happened elsewhere. Stores and cafés were cleared of their stock of wines and liqueurs in bottle and barrel. What the soldiers could not drink or carry away they spilt.
“Pas une bouteille! Pas une bouteille!” cried the distracted mayor as he showed me over the devastated cellars of his son-in-law, who had gone to the war. “Pas une bouteille!” He emphasised his ejaculation by biting his thumb.
“I gave a dozen bottles of good old wine for the sick and wounded,” said the dame of the inn, “but the brigands drank it, laughed in my face, and said, ‘Krieg guerre nichts payer.’” The result of this orgie was that hundreds of German cavalrymen were dead drunk on Sunday, and that fourteen did not recover from their debauch until the French arrived at Beton-Bazoches.
A French dragoon, wandering through the town and hearing snores that sounded like a whole battery of artillery in action, stuck his lance into what looked like a huge parcel wrapped in a blanket. To his amazement the parcel stirred. Another prod of the lance, and there came out of the blanket the head of a bearded Uhlan. One more touch of cold steel, and the mouth opened with a roar of laughter.
“Ja! Ja!” cried the Uhlan, stepping in lively style out of the blanket to avoid another prod of the lance. He was immediately recognised as the ruffian who had taken the key of the inn cellar, and had pleaded war as an excuse for non-payment of his score. He was searched, and on him were found 2,000 francs, which had doubtless been stolen.
On Sunday the Germans set fire to the stables and granaries of the modest little château, whose owner was absent, and next day they tried to burn some of the houses and shops, but were in too great a hurry to set them alight.
On Monday morning they posted their artillery on a height commanding the road to the west along which the French cavalry was advancing. But the enemy did not wait to be attacked. After firing a few shots they removed the guns to another hill on the east, only to abandon it promptly. Then they rode away, leaving in the village seven killed, twenty-three wounded, and fourteen drunken brigands. As they retired the Germans thrust their lances into the bodies of two wounded French soldiers.
The German wounded were cared for by the villagers. One of them, said a young Frenchwoman, “was a very pretty boy—a noble, I feel sure. He was shot through the chest, and offered thousands of marks for a motor-car to take him to hospital. But we don’t take money for services of that kind.”
The enemy took with them all the motor-cars and bicycles, many of the horses and carts, all the petrol, wine, tobacco, jam and provisions. They killed many sheep and cattle, and kept the village baker busy night and day, with a revolver at his head and a bayonet at his back to prevent him from falling asleep. They cleaned out the shop of the jeweller and watchmaker.
In all the best houses were remnants of interrupted feasts—stumps of cigars that had burned holes in the table-covers, half-empty champagne and liqueur bottles, broken bread, and the remains of chickens and omelettes. Silver was missing, though plated goods were left, for they appear to have a nice taste in such articles also.
The next village, Courtaçon, about eight miles to the south of La Ferté, fared even worse. When I entered between its smoking walls and smouldering hayricks, I was met by a weeping woman.
“They have killed my son—my only son!”
He was a mere boy, and the German soldiers shot him dead as he sat at table by his mother’s side.
All the farmsteads, the gendarmerie, all the best houses were heaps of burning ruins. The Germans set fire to them before they fled; they shot horses and cattle, they threatened the unarmed villagers with death, and they put the mayor at the head of their retreating column. Courtaçon looked as though it had been disembowelled and thrown to the flames.
The following remarkable disclosure was made by Mr. Granville Fortescue on a victory of the French over the army of the Crown Prince on September 6–7. As it will be seen, this event undoubtedly had the far-reaching result of saving Paris from siege:—
The first German army to be thoroughly whipped on French soil was that of the Crown Prince. This saved Paris. And this remarkable piece of news has remained a secret until now. At the time of their victory the French did not know the extent of the damage they had inflicted upon the enemy. In fact, they did not make claim to a decisive victory. In the official communication the most they claimed was a drawn battle. Actually they had smashed the flower of German military power.
Contrary to the general impression the great battles round Paris did not begin with the defeat of General von Kluck. That commander’s misfortunes were due directly to the retirement of the German left wing on the night of September 6–7. The mystery which has surrounded the movements of the German armies disappears now that we know that the main body of the Crown Prince’s army retired forty kilometres during that night. Such a retirement amounts to a rout.
In the plan of the German operations, the path that promised the greatest glory was reserved for the Crown Prince. This was in accordance with the policy of bolstering up the fast fading popularity of the House of Hohenzollern. Throughout Germany he was acclaimed as the hero of Longwy. His futile demonstration against Verdun was magnified into a series of glorious assaults. In official bulletins he was declared to have inflicted a severe defeat on the French. As a matter of fact, the French army opposed to him has been carrying out a splendid defensive retirement. Opposed by superior numbers they have contested with stubbornness every inch of the ground lost. And in the end they assumed the offensive in a most effective manner.
The Germans advanced on the line Verdun—Ste. Menehould—Chalons-sur-Marne. Their progress was exceedingly rapid. When the Uhlans of Kluck’s force were in Chantilly the main body of the Kaiser’s heir’s army was yet 200 kilometres away. Then this army was ordered to push on with all speed. The order of march of the German army up the Champs Elysées was being drawn up. And, as the Crown Prince was to head this historic march, undoubtedly dressed in the uniform of his pet regiment, the Death’s Head Hussars, the French troops opposing him must be brushed aside.
The left wing of the Germans gave battle on Sunday, September 6. The fighting began at daybreak, and continued with unprecedented fury until dark. The artillery fire went beyond anything the history of warfare has hitherto recorded. Shells were timed to be falling at the rate of thirty in thirty seconds. I have this from a trustworthy source. In this day’s fighting the French guns were served with undeniable superiority. The loss they inflicted upon the Germans can never be approximately estimated. The total loss of the Germans is placed at figures so high I hesitate to record them. One hundred thousand, of whom 20,000 were killed. This estimate is made by a trained observer, who was on the battlefield before the dead had been touched.
It must be remembered that the German army was advancing on a front nearly forty miles in extent, and the country north-east of Sezanne is the most treacherous in all France. Acres upon acres of marsh lands line the valleys. Here it was the enemy suffered most.
But the French also made the most severe sacrifices. A certain corps was practically wiped out of existence. Spurred by the knowledge that they were fighting for the very existence of Paris, each French soldier was as three. Against the desperate resistance they made the Germans could do nothing.
When the night of September 6 closed down neither army could claim much advantage in position gained.
The French had made certain gains, but then they had also fallen back at points. An enormous quantity of ammunition had been used up. The total artillery expenditure is put at 4,000 shells. Hundreds of caissons were empty.
Then, on the night of September 6–7, came the German retreat. The long line was giving way, not only on the right towards Paris, but also on the left, where there seems to have been heavy fighting about Verdun.
It has been suggested that there was a breakdown on the transport service in this direction. If this were the case, after the enormous expenditure of ammunition during the first day of action, the Crown Prince’s army would have been obliged to fall back or be captured.
The circumstances of their precipitate flight incline me to the last explanation. Of course, the fighting on this wing continued for several days, but the Germans were only trying to save what was left of a badly crippled army from complete destruction.
With the Crown Prince retreating, there was nothing left for von Kluck’s and von Bülow’s armies but to execute the same manœuvre. This brought about the battle of the Aisne and all the subsequent fighting. In the fighting the French have been uniformly successful. It goes without saying that the English troops contributed largely to this success. Their bravery has passed into proverb throughout France.
While I have been studying this extraordinary battlefield I have everywhere met the rumour that in the engagement the Kaiser’s heir was wounded. Stranger things have happened. Following an army in the field one soon learns to put little credence in the hundred and one stories that spring into life daily. But the story of the wounding of the Crown Prince has been clothed in so much detail as to make it sound plausible. At any rate, although he himself may be unhurt, his army is hopelessly crippled.
At the moment when the German army was suffering this defeat, the Allies were taking a step which showed that they were united in the issue as well as the purposes of the war. On September 6 the Foreign Office made public the subjoined important declaration concerning the attitude of the Governments of the Triple Entente regarding the terms of peace when the time comes for discussing them:—
Declaration.
The Undersigned, duly authorised thereto by their respective Governments, hereby declare as follows:
The British, French, and Russian Governments mutually engage not to conclude peace separately during the present war.
The three Governments agree that when terms of peace come to be discussed, no one of the Allies will demand conditions of peace without the previous agreement of each of the other Allies.
In faith whereof the Undersigned have signed this Declaration and have affixed thereto their seals.
Done at London in triplicate, this 5th day of September, 1914.
(L.S.) E. Grey,
His Britannic Majesty’s Secretary
of State for Foreign Affairs.
(L.S.) Paul Cambon,
Ambassador Extraordinary Plenipotentiary
of the French Republic.
(L.S.) Benckendorff,
Ambassador Extraordinary and
Plenipotentiary of his Majesty
the Emperor of Russia.
* * * * *
An attempt has been made in the foregoing pages to tell the story of how the Allied forces retreated towards Paris, after the great battle of August 22–24 at Mons on the Belgian frontier, and continued to withdraw until the battle at Senlis on September 1. This account is chiefly concerned with the actions of the British troops who undoubtedly on the left, by their dogged fighting, had saved the situation during the first critical days. But their natural position having been lost, it was the policy of the Allies to retire, and with entrenched fortifications protecting their left, prepare for a counter-attack from the advancing Germans.
For the British the enemy’s assault was especially furious, but it failed both in breaking their lines and their spirit. Travel-stained, bearded and unwashed, their courage remained undaunted. The Allies fought as they fell back and fought again, until they met and defeated the army of the Crown Prince on September 6–7. Here the march of the invader was arrested, and the next episode of the war was the victorious fight against the Germans on the Marne.
The despatches of Sir John French and the official communiqués issued by the French War Office supply us with the barest events of the war, but for a picture of the actual fighting and the heroic deeds of our brave men we must turn to the many stories told by the soldiers themselves and other witnesses, some of which we have quoted.
Ever since the South African Campaign the art of war has changed and the combatants in the present campaign are fighting under circumstances that have never before prevailed, in many cases with weapons that have not before been used on the battlefield. Air-craft for reconnaissances, and armed motor-cars and motor-bicycles and motor vehicles for transport and other purposes, have gone far towards revolutionising warfare; although introduced in the Balkan war they are being utilised to a much greater extent in the present conflict.