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 Frenchforce 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.
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 armyoccupied 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."
Early on Monday morning, 7th September 1914, the guns of friend and foe began to thunder in the river valleys of the Ourcq, Marne, and Petit and Grand Morin. As the sun rose higher and higher in the sky the cannonade grew fiercer and fiercer. Over the peaceful hills, the shining water, the stubbles, the pastures and wheat fields, delicate white balloons of bursting shrapnel were constantly seen. At a hundred different places along the far-flung battle line Allied infantry were worming their way towards the enemy, anon rising from their cover at the sound of a shrill whistle, rushing ahead, and dropping again into concealment amidst the rattle of rifles and machine guns. A desperate conflict was in progress from the Ourcq to Verdun, a distance of wellnigh one hundred and fifty miles.
Let us confine our attention for the present to the Allied left, where alone an advance was made on that day. The 6th French Army was working its way towards the Ourcq, driving in the enemy outposts on the western bank. The Germans had occupied most of the villages on the plateau, and the French were thrusting them out with the bayonet, amid the smoke of burning haystacks and farm buildings. It was a day of hand-to-hand combats. When night fell, the whole plateau was strewn with dead and dying, and the ghastly scene was illuminated by the glare of flaming villages.
Long before daylight on this day the British were astir, and by five in the morning the little town of Coulommiers,[102]on the Grand Morin,had been captured. Our infantry drove back the four German divisions opposed to them, and pushed them across the river beneath an accurate and galling artillery fire. All the bridges were down, and the Germans strove feverishly to fling pontoons across the stream. Time after time floating bridges were erected, only to be blown to splinters by our guns. It is said that one British battery came into action within easy range of a bridge fast approaching completion. As the gun-layer was sighting his piece, he asked his officer, "Which pontoon, sir?" "Number one," replied the officer, and in a few moments it was smashed to pieces. "Number two," said the officer, and that pontoon shared the same fate. Then, in turn, numbers three and four were blown to smithereens. Another bridge was built; but at the moment when it was thronged with crossing infantry British shells burst upon it, and the stream was choked with dead and drowning men and heaps of wreckage.
The British crossed the river, and their cavalry was let loose on the retreating Germans. By this time the northward road was a mass of moving men, wagons, and guns. General De Lisle's brigade, consisting of the 9th Lancers and the 18th Hussars, spurred in amongst the dense throngs, and in the lanes, the clearings, and the villages made havoc of the foe. While this cavalry pursuit was in progress, thirty Hussars came upon a strong force of Uhlans. The British had no time to take cover; they seized their rifles, flung themselves off their horses, and, lying prone on the ground, opened a brisk fire. Before long the Uhlans were in full flight, with British bullets whistling about their rear. This same section also carried a farm strongly held by Germans with artillery. Despite a hailstorm of lead, the Hussars dashed forward, killed or drove off the Germans, and seized their guns.
In another part of the field the Royal Irish Lancers captured a supply train, which was escorted by cavalry outnumbering them by five to one. The Irishmen managed to get into ambush along the road by which the convoy must pass. As it came up they opened fire. The Germans believed themselves to be attacked by an army, and fell into hopeless confusion. Then the lancers mounted, and crashed into the disordered throng of men, horses, and wagons. The supply column was captured, and the remnants of its escort surrendered.
Meanwhile the British right was rapidly moving towards the river some ten miles to the east, and the 5th French Army was fighting a fierce frontal battle higher up the stream. Taken in flank and in front, von Kluck could no longer hold the line of the river. On the 7th the Allied advance was continued, and on the 8th the Germans strove hard to make a stand against the British on the high ground to the north of the Grand Morin. Heavy guns had been posted on this high ground, and during the morning an artillery duel raged between the German rearguard and the advancing British. A stubborn resistance was made, but the Germans were dislodged, though not without considerable loss.
About midday the last of our infantry were across the Grand Morin, and were pushing on rapidly through a beautiful country of orchards and cornfields towards the Petit Morin. Late in the afternoon the enemy made another and even more desperate stand. Savage attacks were made on Haig's 1st Corps, which suffered severely. Again and again the Germans bore down on the British in close-packed ranks; but though they flung away life like water, they could make no headway. British rifle fire and British bayonets were too much for them. Before sunset the British had a firm hold of the north bank of the river.
On the 9th they crossed the Marne below Meaux,[103]and took in flank the German forces which were defending the line of the Ourcq. You know that the 6th French Army had been for the last few days attacking these forces in front. On the 8th von Kluck had hastily reinforced his army on the Ourcq by two corps drawn from the south. These corps made attacks of such violence that the French had hard work to resist them. Nevertheless they held their ground well, and in one action took three of the enemy's standards. They were now reinforced, and on the 10th they advanced with great spirit, while the British, now across the Marne, attacked the German left flank. Fearful of being enveloped, the Germans retreated from the line of the Ourcq, and immediately the British army went in pursuit. For the first time the Germans were on the run.
The crossing of the Marne by the British had been no easy task. If you look at a map of the Marne,[104]you will see that between Meaux and La Ferté[105]the river winds about a great deal, and makes a big bendvery much like that of the Thames between Windsor and Henley. At La Ferté our 3rd Corps found the town held by the Germans, who had posted their guns on the hills behind, and were thus able to sweep the stream with shell fire, while a strong force of infantry on the south bank resisted the passage at closer quarters. All day long the British attacked; slowly, and with great loss, they forced back the Germans to the brink of the stream. The bridges had all been blown up, and the enemy had to cross on their frail pontoons. Some got across safely, but many were drowned or killed by the fire of British guns. "We harried them before the crossing," said one of our soldiers, "and drowned them during it."
The Rifle Brigade was one of the regiments thrust at the rear of the retiring Germans. It advanced from a belt of trees about half a mile from the river banks, and doubled towards the enemy. As it did so, it discovered a French infantry regiment bent on the same errand. French and British made a race of it, and the Rifle Brigade won by a head. Both parties now fell upon the Prussian infantry with the bayonet; but, as Private Duffy of the Rifle Brigade tells us, "they didn't seem to have the least heart for fighting. Some flung themselves into the stream, and tried to swim for safety; but they were heavily weighted by their equipment, and worn out, so they didn't go far. Of the three hundred men who tried to escape, not more than half a dozen succeeded in reaching the other bank, and the cries of the drowning were pitiful in the extreme." Elsewhere on the river similar fighting was taking place.
The enemy had now been cleared from the southern bank of the Marne, but the battle was far from over. The British had yet to cross the fire-swept stream. Our Engineers began to build bridges, but the German guns smashed them again and again. All through the afternoon the Engineers laboured on, only to see their work blown away. Nevertheless they persevered, and by evening a bridge spanned the stream. In the darkness the British began to cross. The passage of the Marne had been won.
Now that the British were across the Marne and on the flank of the Germans defending the Ourcq, von Kluck's forces were bound to retreat without a moment's loss of time. The Allies followed them up with the utmost speed, and drove them onwards towards the Aisne in confusion, though the retreat cannot be called a rout. Before they reached the river the British had captured thirteen guns, seven machine guns, and two thousand prisoners, besides much transport. The 6th French Army was by this time across the Ourcq, and was striving to get to the north of the Germans and cut them off. By night the Zouaves were hurried to Senlis in taxi-cabs, and almost before the brakes had been applied these swarthy, baggy-trousered warriors were falling furiously on the surprised Germans. They literally flung them out of the town, in which they had behaved in the most disgraceful fashion. When the Zouaves attacked them they were sleeping off the effects of eighteen thousand bottles of champagne which they had looted.
Still farther to the north there was fierce fighting in the woods of Compiègne, where it is said, though with what truth I do not know, that the Allies repeated the trick practised on Macbeth[106]in the battle which laid him low. You will remember that Macbeth in Shakespeare's play had been warned by a spirit that he would never be vanquished until Birnam[107]wood should come to Dunsinane Hill.[108]When Macbeth'senemies marched against him they made the saying of the spirit come true. They cut down branches from the trees of Birnam wood, and bore them aloft. Macbeth's soldiers were dismayed at the sight, and in the battle which followed the murderer king was slain. In the open country on the edge of Compiègne woods it is said that the Allies provided themselves with bushes and branches, and used them as screens behind which they advanced on the trenches of the foe. When they were fifty or sixty yards away, down went the branches, and forward dashed the soldiers who had been hidden behind them. The Germans were driven from their trenches and fled.
So the great drive continued, and every hour of the day furious rearguard actions were fought. The Germans had taken to heart the lesson of the Allies' retreat, and on every possible occasion their rearguards stood and fought in order to delay the pursuit. They lost heavily in killed, wounded, guns, and prisoners; but they were prepared to pay this price rather than suffer their main bodies to be overwhelmed. The line of German retreat was strewn with the wreckage of men, horses, weapons, and equipment.
A British artillery officer gives us a good idea of what this rearguard fighting was like. He is describing the crossing of a little river.
"The Germans were holding the opposite bank, a very steep bluff, with a battalion of riflemen and eight machine guns. These guns were trained on the road where it was fully exposed for about one hundred yards, and nothing could cross. One section of my battery was trying to locate them and knock them out. So I took my section up a hill behind these, and waited for any targets to appear. Our advance guard had been working well. By taking cover in the woods they had managed to get down into the river-bed and round the flanks. From there they opened a hot fire on the German machine guns. From my position I could see a portion of the road on the opposite bank. I had just got the range for this when a German machine gun came galloping up. I fired two rounds at it. The first was over and just behind; the second short. However, I had never seen anything move quicker than that gun. By now our infantry had forced the German riflemen back, and we had orders for a general advance. As we crossed the bridge I heard that seven of their machine guns had been captured. We wound up and up, and on all sides saw evidence of our fire. In one place an ammunition wagon had been hit. Both horses were blown over into the ditch. A bit higher up was a young boy, hit in the back. All that we could do was to give him water. He told me that his orders had been to stay till shot or captured. These German infantry are a brave lot."
"The Germans were holding the opposite bank, a very steep bluff, with a battalion of riflemen and eight machine guns. These guns were trained on the road where it was fully exposed for about one hundred yards, and nothing could cross. One section of my battery was trying to locate them and knock them out. So I took my section up a hill behind these, and waited for any targets to appear. Our advance guard had been working well. By taking cover in the woods they had managed to get down into the river-bed and round the flanks. From there they opened a hot fire on the German machine guns. From my position I could see a portion of the road on the opposite bank. I had just got the range for this when a German machine gun came galloping up. I fired two rounds at it. The first was over and just behind; the second short. However, I had never seen anything move quicker than that gun. By now our infantry had forced the German riflemen back, and we had orders for a general advance. As we crossed the bridge I heard that seven of their machine guns had been captured. We wound up and up, and on all sides saw evidence of our fire. In one place an ammunition wagon had been hit. Both horses were blown over into the ditch. A bit higher up was a young boy, hit in the back. All that we could do was to give him water. He told me that his orders had been to stay till shot or captured. These German infantry are a brave lot."
Now we must hark back and see how the French armies to the right of the British were faring. The 5th French Army, which was next to the British on their right, had a threefold part to play. It had to support the British on its left and the 9th French Army on its right. Further, it had to throw back the Germans facing it. On the 7th it made a leap forward, and during the following days, after desperate fighting, reached and crossed the Marne. In its advance it captured many guns, howitzers, machine guns, and more than a million cartridges.
You know enough about strategy to be aware that when von Kluck retreated he left the right wing of von Buelow's army exposed. You may be certain that General Joffre ordered this wing to be attacked without delay. When the enemy perceived that his right was in danger he made a desperate effort, which lasted from 7th September to 10th September, to pierce the French centre, to the west and east of a place known as La Fère Champenoise,[109]on one of the upper streams of the Grand Morin. We must pay particular attention to the fighting in this region, for the result of it was to set the whole German line retreating.
Look at the little map on the next page and find the town of Sézanne. From this place the 9th French Army extended for about twenty miles to the east. It was a newly-created army, which had not yet been engaged;and it was under the command of General Foch,[110]a brilliant writer on the art of war. It was now to be seen whether he was as good in the field as he had proved himself to be in the study. On the 8th of September Foch's army was violently attacked by the famous German Guard, and his right was forced back a few miles. Early next morning he made a further retreat, and at the same time drew back his left, so as to maintain his line. Although he had retreated he was full of fight, and he ordered an attack to be made the same day.
To the north of Sézanne you will see a region known as the Marshes of St. Gond. This stretch of swampy ground was the scene of a great fight which forced the retreat of the German centre; we must, therefore, look at it more closely. In the plateau to the north of Sézanne is a basin of clay, ten miles long from east to west, and varying in breadth from one to two miles. The streamlets which give rise to the Petit Morin run across it, and the whole ground was formerly a bog. It has long been reclaimed; the streamlets run in deep ditches, and some of them have been turned into canals. In ordinary dry weather most of the district is open country, with a good deal of pasture for cattle, though here and there traces of its marsh character are still to be seen in therush-covered levels. After a few hours of heavy rain the streams overflow, and flood the roads and tracks; the ground becomes a swamp, and the highways are deep in mire.
The early part of the night between the 8th and 9th of September was clear and starry, but later the weather broke; the rain came down in torrents, and soon the marshes of the Gond were wellnigh impassable for wagons and guns. Nothing could have been more fortunate for General Foch. He knew that, as the German right was in retreat, he might safely strike at the right of the army which was facing him, and thus drive in a wedge between von Kluck and von Buelow. He advanced towards the Petit Morin with the Morocco Division, and, deploying in the direction of the Marshes, met a furious assault of the Germans, who now perceived the perilous position in which they were placed. The Moroccans fought like heroes, and drove the Germans into the Marshes, where they found that they could not move their guns or wagons, which were up to the axle-trees in mire. Foch captured many prisoners and at least forty guns—the largest number which had so far been taken at one time by the Allies.
History had repeated itself. In the campaign of 1814 German troops had been driven into the self-same swamp; a hundred years later a similar disaster had overtaken them. This success greatly elated Foch's army, and it was eager for the next move.
A wedge had been driven between von Kluck and von Buelow; it now remained to drive a similar wedge between von Buelow and von Hausen, whose forces continued the German line to their left. Foch's airmen had told him that there was a considerable gap between the left of von Buelow and the right of von Hausen. He now moved the division which had driven von Buelow's right into the Marshes to the right of his line, and having thus reinforced it, made a flanking movement on the left of von Buelow and on the right of von Hausen. It was one of the boldest moves ever made, and it took the enemy completely by surprise. The German Guard made but little resistance. Von Buelow knew that he was outflanked on both sides, and that there was no safety except in retreat. Foch followed him up, and on the 11th drove him across the Marne in disorder. The losses of the Germans in this part of the retreat were enormous; it was said that the 9th Army buried ten thousand German dead.
To the right of Foch was the 4th French Army, facing the Duke of Würtemberg's forces. This French army had a hard struggle; and it was not till the 10th, when it was reinforced by an army corps from the west, that it gained ground. Next day it forced the Würtemberg army to give way; but the rearguard kept up a tremendous artillery fire, and moved back very slowly. On the 12th, however, the Germans retired more hurriedly.
To the right of the 4th French Army were the 3rd and 2nd French Armies, opposing those of the Crown Prince and the Bavarians. The left of the Crown Prince's army was in touch with the outer forts of Verdun, and was attacking Fort Troyon, the first of the forts along the heights of the Meuse between Verdun and Toul. The little garrison was in dire straits, and was about to surrender when the French movement which I am about to describe began.
General Joffre sent orders that the French 3rd and 2nd Armies were to move to the west against the Germans operating between the Upper Meuse and the Upper Aisne. The orders were carried out, and the French artillery won a great success. No less than eleven batteries of the Germans were destroyed. There was fiercer fighting on the 10th; but the French made progress, and on the 11th advanced still farther. A wedge had been thrust in between the Crown Prince and the Bavarians, and the Crown Prince was bound to retreat. This meant the salvation of Fort Troyon. It had been bombarded for five days. Most of its guns were out of action, and the forty-four survivors of the garrison were huddled in the bomb-proof shelters of the central works, when suddenly the German guns ceased firing and French cheering was heard. The fort was saved at the very moment when all hope seemed to have vanished.
Before I conclude the story of the battle of the Marne I must say something about the 2nd French Army, which was facing the Bavarian army in Lorraine. The French army was drawn up across a gap in the Vosges Mountains known as the Gap of Nancy,[111]and its object was to hold back the Bavarians, so that they could not attack the right flank of the Allies. A second French force was now moved into Lorraine, and it took up a position to the south-east of the army holding the Gap. The commander of the 2nd Army erected very strong field works on theheights in front of Nancy, and from the 23rd of August onwards gallantly held his own. On the 6th September the fiercest of fighting began. The Kaiser himself came into the field, and by his presence and his speeches urged on the Bavarians to a desperate assault. For three days the battle raged without ceasing. The Bavarian troops were thought to be second to none in the German army, and their White Cuirassiers were amongst the flower of German cavalry. On the 7th the Kaiser took up a position on a neighbouring hill, and watched the attack which was to overwhelm the French. He had made ready to enter Nancy in triumph that evening.
Picture him on the hill, in his long gray cloak and silver helmet, peering through his field-glasses into the valley, and confidently expecting to see his Bavarians drive the French before them. He sees the White Cuirassiers charge, and, as the brave men cheer and gallant horses thunder towards the enemy, he feels that nothing can resist them. To his dismay, they are hurled back with great slaughter, and a miserable remnant alone remains. Then the pitiless French guns begin to speak, and he sees his infantry mowed down like wheat before the reaper's sickle. He looks for victory; he sees defeat. Now the French begin to attack, and his Bavarians give way before their fierce onset. The time has come for him to seek safety in flight. A strange fatality seems to accompany him. Wherever he appears and commands in person, there you may look for disaster—whether in France or in Poland. He is a melancholy figure, flitting from East to West, feverishly inciting his armies to die for the Fatherland; dreaming great dreams of world conquest which can never be realized.
"Such," says the French official account, "was the seven days' battle in which more than two millions of men were engaged. Each army gained ground step by step—opening the road to its neighbour, supported at once by it, taking in flank the adversary which the day before it had attacked in front—the efforts of the one fitting in closely with those of the other.
"To give this victory all its meaning, it is necessary to add that it was gained by troops who for two weeks had been retreating, and who, when the order to attack was given, were found to be as ardent as on the first day. These troops had to meet the whole German army, and from thetime they marched forward they never fell back again. In spite of the fatigue of our men, in spite of the power of the German heavy artillery, we took colours, guns, Maxims, shells, more than a million of cartridges, and thousands of prisoners. A German corps lost almost the whole of its artillery, which, from information brought by our airmen, was destroyed by our guns."
The battles of the Marne marked the turning-point in the campaign; the torrent of German advance had not only been stayed, but driven back. "The day of Sedan," 1st September, saw the German armies flushed with success, and confident of victory as rapid and complete as that of 1870. Nine days later their hopes were shattered: they were retreating northwards at full speed. Von Kluck's error of judgment, the fiery zeal of the British and French, General Foch's brilliant victory in the centre, and the wonderful working together of the Allied armies had wrought the miracle.
The retreat of the Germans was very skilfully conducted, and though they lost many men, guns, and wagons, they were neither broken nor defeated, and their losses, when all was said and done, were small. Von Kluck fell back thirty-five miles during the last two days of the battle, and the German centre cannot have retired less than fifty miles. In its way the retreat was as famous as that of the British from Mons.
The successes of the Allies filled them with a newborn confidence. They had taken the measure of the enemy; they knew their own strength, and were now sure that they were more than a match for the enemy. Given anything like equal numbers, they had no fear of the future.
Undoubtedly the Germans had by this time come to respect the British army. Ever since the days of Bismarck it had been the custom in Germany to regard our brave little army with scorn and contempt. When some one suggested to Bismarck that it might be landed in Germany, he remarked, "If it does, I shall ring for the police and have it locked up." Von Kluck believed that he had pierced the feeble British lion to the heart, and then vaingloriously thrust his head between its jaws. To his dismay, they met with a deadly snap, and only a quick withdrawal saved him from destruction.
While the British and French were retreating from Belgium to the Seine, they were passing through country which had been untrodden by the foot of the enemy. Now that they were pushing him back on his tracks they saw at every stage the awful destruction which he had wrought. They found country houses burned and looted, smiling gardens and orchards trampled into mud, farms and villages laid waste, humble cottages in ruin. They saw towns riddled with shot and shell, churches and public buildings with broken, tottering walls, and houses stripped of all their valuable contents. From townsfolk and villagers alike, the Allies heard tales of shame and horror, and as they heard them a fierce anger was kindled in their hearts against the cruel and ruthless foe who had done such wicked and senseless deeds.
An officer of the Salvation Army tells us how the pretty town of Senlis fared at the hands of the Huns. When the Germans had been driven out of the town the Salvation Army officers entered it. They found the railway station gone, and scarcely a house along the whole line of march fit for habitation. Yet, in the middle of wrecked and ruined homes, they sometimes came across a house which had been untouched. On such houses was written in chalk, "Spare these people; they are good."
Here is the story of Jean Bauer, keeper of the prison at Senlis. He was an Alsatian, and had been forced to serve in the hated German army. After his time was up he left Alsace for France, and chanced to visit Senlis. The town pleased him, and he remained in it. After a time he was placed in charge of the prison. It was a small lock-up, just a squarebrick building, with a large garden all round, in which he grew cabbages. He was a kindly man, and the few prisoners who came into his hands did not find their lot very hard.
Then suddenly came the war. One morning Senlis was filled with the blue-coated, red-trousered soldiers of France. An hour or two later they had gone, marching northwards. Some days passed, and they returned, hurrying southwards, weary and worn, with ragged, soiled uniforms, some bleeding and bruised, but none dismayed. Then there was a lull, and breathless townsmen came hurrying to the mayor with the terrible news that the Germans were coming! The mayor and the curé bade the people be calm, and do nothing to resist or hamper the enemy. They listened to his words, and gave up their hidden guns. Soon afterwards sixty thousand Germans marched in, seized the mayor as a hostage, and for two days remained in the town, mingling with the people, playing with the children, and behaving themselves well.
All this time there lay hidden in the attic of a house overlooking the main street six dusky sons of Algeria, soldiers of France, who had been trapped by the coming of the Germans. Their rifles were in their hands, and there was revenge in their hearts. There they lay, waiting for a chance to strike a blow against the enemy.
The chance soon came. The Germans paraded one morning, ready for their southward march. The mayor was released; the word was given, and the blue-gray legions tramped through the streets. As the rear of the long columns passed the Algerians in the garret aimed their rifles and fired. Six loud reports were heard, followed by two shrieks of pain and two heavy thuds on the cobbled road below.
"Halt!" The Germans turn and re-enter the town. The mayor is led out and shot; parties are told off to fire the place; petrol bombs are thrown into the houses; the railway station is destroyed; fierce flames spring up, and the smoke of burning homes rises to heaven. In a mile and a half of streets only three small cottages are spared.
Jean Bauer at the prison sees the flames approaching. He shuts himself in and waits. Nearer and nearer come the roar of the fire and the hoarse shouts of those who are destroying the place. Suddenly, as he begins to think that the prison will be spared, crash!—a bomb bursts through theroof. Bricks and beams fall about him, and a cloud of dust arises. He is pinned beneath the débris, and cannot move. He shouts; no one hears. For a day and a night he lies amidst the ruins. At last his feeble voice is heard, and kindly hands tear away the bricks and beams, and rescue him. A few days' care, and he is well again. But Senlis is a wilderness of desolation. It can never be the same again.
The town of Meaux, on the Marne, was also in German hands for a time. Meaux is a very interesting city, with a cathedral dating from the twelfth century. In 1681 a very celebrated man, named Bossuet,[112]became bishop of Meaux. He was one of the most eloquent men who ever lived, and fully deserved to be called "the golden-mouthed." Not only was he the first of French orators and one of the greatest masters of French prose, but he was brave and fearless as well, and strove earnestly to make men appreciate the littleness of earthly greatness and the greatness of heavenly joy.
When the Germans entered Meaux they found that the bishop was a man after Bossuet's likeness. The mayor and the chief officials had left the city, but the bishop remained. He was entreated to fly, but he replied, "My duty is here. I do not think the enemy will hurt me; but if they do, God's will be done. I cannot leave my cathedral or those of my flock who remain." The brave bishop met the German general, and obtained a promise from him that the invaders would behave well. They did so. Meaux owes its preservation to the good bishop.
Another little town which the Germans held until they were driven northward towards the Aisne was Château-Thierry,[113]round which there was much fierce fighting during the Allied advance. Château-Thierry stands on the right bank of the Marne, and, prior to the war, was a bright, cheerful place. Near the bridge is a statue to La Fontaine,[114]the great writer of fables which must be familiar to many of you. Close by the ruined castle, which is reached by a flight of 102 steps, is thehouse in which he lived. It now contains a library and small museum.
In his book of Fables La Fontaine says:—
"These fables are much more than they appear—The simplest animals are teachers here.The bare dull moral weariness soon brings;The story serves to give it life and wings."
"These fables are much more than they appear—The simplest animals are teachers here.The bare dull moral weariness soon brings;The story serves to give it life and wings."
As La Fontaine made animals teachers of wisdom to men, it is very appropriate that the three chief hotels in his native town should be "The Elephant," "The Giraffe," and "The Swan." The latter hotel was battered to pieces by French shells when the Allies crossed the river; but the owner was so proud of his countrymen's prowess in gunnery that he quite forgot to bemoan his loss. When he was showing his house to a stranger after the battle, he said, "See how splendidly true our gunners' aim was!"
During the retreat a body of weary Germans halted for rest in a little town, and noticed that the church clock had stopped. Perhaps you know that signals can be made by moving the hands of a clock in various ways. When the Germans saw that the clock had stopped, they felt sure that somebody was signalling to the French that they were in the town. They therefore sent for the curé, and ordered him to set the clock going again. Along with two choir boys, he ascended the tower and wound up the clock, which immediately began to strike. The suspicious Germans believed that this was another trick, so they arrested the curé and the boys, and told them that they would be shot next morning. The old priest was overwhelmed with grief, for he felt that he would be the means of cutting short two young lives. He suffered agonies of remorse during the night. Early next morning the Allies rushed into the town, and the Germans fled. The curé and the boys waited long for the coming of their gaolers. At last the old priest opened the door of the prison, and stepped out into the sunshine for the purpose of making a last appeal to the Germans to spare the lives of the boys. Imagine his surprise and relief when he saw the familiar blue and red uniforms of French soldiers, and learnt that the Germans had departed for good and all.
Here is the story of a plucky boy who did his country good service in Lorraine. Look at the map on page130, and find Metz. At this town the river Seille,[115]which forms part of the boundary between France and Germany, joins the Moselle. In August 1914 French troops arrived at a village on the French side of the Seille, and the captain asked the people if they had seen any Germans. "Yes," was the reply; "they have been here, but our soldiers from Nancy have driven them back across the river." "Are the Germans there now?" inquired the captain; but no one knew. All that he could learn was that no German had been seen for several days. "I must be quite sure as to their whereabouts," said the captain, "before I cross the river. How can I manage it?" A boy of twelve who stood amongst the villagers came forward, and, saluting the captain, said, "I can find out for you, sir, if you will let me." "You!" said the captain, greatly astonished. "Yes, sir," replied the boy. "I know all the country round here very well. My grandmother lives on the other side of the river, and I know a roundabout way to get to her house." "If the 'Boches'[116]catch you, they will kill you," said the captain. "I know that," returned the boy, "but I am not afraid."
The lad seemed very anxious to undertake the mission, so the captain asked the villagers what they knew of him. One and all assured him that the boy was very plucky, and could be depended upon. "Off with you, then," said the captain, and away went the boy on his perilous errand.He crawled on all fours across a wooden bridge that spanned the stream, and was soon lost to sight. Hours went by, and the villagers began to think that he would never return. At last, however, they saw him crossing the bridge once more.