The result of this long walk taught me many things. First in importance was that my confidence in the superiority of German trenches had been sadly misplaced. Since the trench fighting began after the battle of the Marne we have been regaled in Paris with stories of the marvelous German trenches. Humorists went so far as to have them installed with baths and electric lights, but we have all believed them to be dry, cement lined, with weather-proof tops and comfortable sleeping quarters, and as hygienically perfect as the German organization has ever made anything. This belief for me had been borne out in accounts of the German trench life reported for American newspapers and magazines.
What I can now say is that the correspondents who permitted this legend to go over the world must have been grandly entertained by the Germans in special sections of their trenches set aside as quarters for the officers. I believe that these trenches, which I saw on this trip, must compare favorably with any they hold, for they form part of what is called "the labyrinth." Some of the most desperate fighting of the war is still going on there, with the French literally blasting the Germans out yard by yard, trench by trench. In fact, this trench line was to have formed part of the new boundary line of Germany—they dug themselves in to stay.
I entered these trenches following a long passage leading from the rear of the original French lines. I thought I was still in the French trenches, when suddenly I found myself in a mud ditch, much narrower than any I had ever traversed. The bottom, instead of being corduroy lined, was rough and uneven, making very hard walking. I said to the Major with me, "You must have made these trenches in a hurry; they are not so good as your others." He replied, "We did not make them. The Germans are responsible."
Then we came to a wide place where a sign announced the headquarters of the German commandant. The sides of his underground cavern were all solid concrete, with cement inner walls separating four rooms. Paper and artistic burlaping covered the walls and ceilings, and rugs were on the floors. The furniture was all that could be desired. There was a good iron bed, an excellent mattress, a dresser with a pier glass, and solid tables and chairs. The rooms consisted of an office, dining room, bedroom, and a kitchen, with offshoots for wine, and sleeping quarters for the orderlies and cook. Kultur demanded that the Kaiser's office should have the best accommodation transportable to the firing line, but the fare of the common soldier, I should judge, averaged quite a third below that of the French—both privates and officers, all of whom share the common lot, with straw for bedding and either mud or stars for the roof.
Leaving this commandant's late magnificence, we soon found ourselves in another wide, corduroy-lined trench, with straw dugouts. My Major, without attempting any comparison, but merely to get my geography right, said quite simply: "We are now in the parallel French trench to that German one we just visited."
All this particular bit of trenches was where the Germans cleared out precipitately after French night attacks, and without waiting for the fearful "rideau de fer," or iron curtain, with which the French usually devastate everything before advancing. Littered through them were hundreds of unused cartridges, rifles, knapsacks, bayonets, and clothing of every description. The dead had been taken away just before our arrival. The prisoners—hundreds of them—we met going to the rear.
The second great lesson I learned on this trip I already had a good understanding of from my previous trip. It is that the "rideau de fer" is the most terrible thing ever devised by man to devastate not only men but every single object upon which it descends.
This time I saw the results of the "rideau de fer" on another long stretch of what had lately been German trenches. The "rideau de fer" is simply the French method of converging artillery fire upon a single point where they intend to attack or where they are being attacked. The fact that it is possible is due to the enormous number of guns and the unlimited supply of high explosive shells.
Behind the entire infantry lines there seems to be an endless row of batteries of "seventy-fives," close up to the trenches. These terrible little destroyers can whirl in any direction at will, so when the order comes for the "rideau de fer" at any point, literally hundreds of guns within a few seconds are converging their fire there, dropping a metal curtain through which no mortal enemy can advance.
In this section the French dropped nearly a quarter of a million shells in one day. Unlike the English shrapnel, which makes little impression against earthworks, the French use explosive shells almost entirely.