They do not speak of what they have done or seen.
These are a few illustrations, a few rays of light, such as one still gets sometimes. I do not know if they will become more frequent with the new evolution of the War. They have been rare, and never followed by long expansiveness. Our wounded soldier of the fourth year of the War did not like to speak of what he had done nor of what he had seen. What may be the reasons for his silence? In seeking to interpret them we penetrate a little into the psychology of this taciturn man.
The soldier plays an impersonal part.
First, his impressions of the War are no longer fresh and now he would have some difficulty in analyzing them. It is as with ourselves in a new country: at first we have a thousand things to describe in our letters; after that nothing strikes us any longer. This passage to a sort of unconsciousness is the easier for the soldier as he plays a more impersonal part in the War; a simple cell in a great organism, a simple wheel in an enormous machine, quite beyond his comprehension in its learned complication. Catastrophes happen to him but no adventures: he may be wounded, he may be killed, nothing else. This is no material for fine stories.
A deeper reason for the silence of the witness, or rather the actor, in the great drama of the War, is a very just realization of the impossibility of conveying any idea of it to those who have never been there. It is so very different from anything they know; so out of proportion to the normal life of human beings.
The wounded man does not like to think of war.
To these intellectual motives may be added one of feeling. The wounded soldier does not like to speak of the War because he does not like to think of it: there are too many horrors; he has had to bear too many privations, too much suffering. As soon as he finds himself out of it, he tries to turn his mind away from it as much as possible, and to shake off the impression of it, as the sick man in the morning shakes off his fevered nightmare. Later on, doubtless, when his memories have lost their keen edge, they may attract him again. All he asks for the moment is to forget. One thing especially afflicts his heart and tightens his lips: it is the thought of the comrades he has lost.
Such are the reasons why the later wounded, differing from those at the beginning of theWar, shut themselves up in a silence full of gravity.
The men in hospital are grateful.
Infirmities are less felt.
In spite of this, however, you would have a false idea of the military hospital if you thought of it as a place of mournful desolation. Doubtless our earlier patients regained their spirits more quickly, having no years of suffering behind them. But the quiet and serious resignation which reigns in the hospital of to-day does not exclude a certain sweetness; the wounded man appreciates the intelligent and devoted care lavished upon him, he congratulates himself and thanks God for having escaped from mortal peril, for not having fallen to the bottom of the abyss, for remounting now the slope at the summit of which he has a glimpse of the recovery of his strength and activity. If his wound leaves no serious traces, he rejoices to live again as he did before; if it has deprived him of the use of his limbs or of some necessary organ, he consoles himself by the thought that the War is over for him and that soon he will take his place at home. His infirmities, which perhaps will weigh more heavily upon him later, he feels less here, where they are the normal thing and where it is the exception to appear intact.
It is a rest for him not to hear the voice of the cannon. And he likes the moral peace with which the wise kindness of the doctors, the devotion of the nurses, the friendship of the chaplain, surround him; he especially enjoys the many letters he receives from his family, and those which he slowly writes himself, or dictates to an amiable neighbor. Often he has friends and relatives in the neighborhood who come to see him, but what he likes best of all is the visit from his family, his mother, father, wife, his young children.
A dying man is decorated.
A legacy of honor for his family.
Another joy in the life of our wounded is the announcement and then the presentation of hisdecoration. Once, however, I saw the Cross of Honor received with no sign of satisfaction at all, but that was because it came too late, and its recipient, one of my friends, a brave officer, was about to receive another recompense in heaven. It was very affecting to see the decoration laid on that already gasping breast, without any consciousness on the part of the poor hero. His mother and wife, at least, before they buried him, could take the glorious emblem to hand down as heirloom and as instruction to his three little ones. It is a noble idea of the French Government, to give the decorations of soldiers killed by the enemy to their families—their widows, their orphans, or, if they are not married, to their old parents. During these years filled with emotion, few spectacles have impressed me so deeply as the ceremony of "taking arms" in the court of honor of the Invalides, when in this historic monument, built by Louis XIV. and now the tomb of Napoleon, a General of the Third Republic gave the emblem of the brave to women and children dressed in mourning, at the same time as to rough soldiers newly healed of their wounds and ready to return to the front.
The return to the front.
Often impatient to rejoin his comrades.
Return to the front!... This is the almost invariable ending of the history of our wounded soldier of the fourth year of the War. Return to the front! Never will the heroism required for the acceptance of such a duty be sufficiently admired! After three years of fatigue, privations, of unheard-of dangers, after one or several wounds which brought him within an inch of death, this man who has for long months felt the sweetness, the care, the calm of a comfortable hospital; has had a taste of the charms of family life once more; has little by little turned his thought away from the horrors of war, now he is sent back, to the depot, from which he knows that before longhe will be called again to the front! And he submits, resigns himself: what do I say? Often impatient of inaction, of the little rules which annoy his independent temper, he asks to go in advance of the call, to rejoin as a volunteer and without further delay his comrades of Champagne, Lorraine, Flanders or Picardy. He reenters his regiment as the traveler reenters his own country, and his only sadness is to find that during his absence so many old comrades have fallen, so many newcomers have filled the gaps. But the welcome of the survivors warms his heart.
He goes into the trenches at night.
Although it is night—for only at night do they go into the trenches—the sky is ploughed with illuminating fireworks, with projections and projectiles, of various kinds which bursting sow quick flashes of light, and a death often as prompt. In a maze of narrow and complicated paths our friend advances without knowing where and feeling his way: nearer and nearer he approaches to enemies whose sleepless hate growls menacingly below his feet in the ground, around him on the earth, above him in the sky filled with sinister gleams. He goes his way without enthusiasm, but without hesitation, without boasting, but without fear, knowing by long experience what peril he runs, but offering himself calmly to his formidable destiny, ready to answer: "Present!" if God and his country demand his life.
There are no heroes in past history so grand.
What hero in all the centuries of history attains to the grandeur of our hero? Who ever defended, in a war so terrible, a cause so important to the future of the world? Who has striven so hard, suffered so much, so often passed through death? To prove himself equal to his high mission, he has had to rid himself of all egoism, renounce lucre and vain honors, sacrifice family joys; many times he has known the worst extremes of weariness, thirst, hungerand cold; he equals and surpasses in austerity the severest of monks; he practices an obedience and humility that monasteries and Thebaîdes know nothing of, constantly ready to expose himself, as soon as he receives the order, to a terrible and invisible death. No one ever more completely obeyed the counsels of Christ: "If you will be perfect, leave your father and mother, your wife, forsake your possessions, renounce yourself, take up your cross and follow Me."
Humanity has never shown such moral grandeur.
Those among these brave men who have faith, are conscious of such supernatural life and their letters—admirable collections have been published—reflect a light of authentic saintliness. The others, too, without knowing it, walk in the footsteps of Christ; at the moment of supreme sacrifice He will enlighten them with the brightness of His grace and will admit them, like their believing brothers, into the heaven promised to those who suffer for righteousness. Humanity which has never known horrors like those it is enduring now, has also never shown such moral grandeur, and it is not astonishing that in face of such great crimes and such great virtues, our soul should pause, breathless, incapable of expressing the excess of its emotion.
The devoted war of the American public for the wounded.
I cannot speak to the great American public about our wounded, without saying how much we appreciate the fact that it has followed them, with admirable solicitude, all the length of their hard Calvary. Its stretcher-bearers have helped us rescue them at the front, its ambulances have carried them to our hospitals, where they have found its doctors, its nurses to tend their wounds, its offerings of all kinds to assure their material well-being and their moral comfort. And in after-care it has not been less solicitous: teaching the blind, reeducating the maimed and giving them the costlyapparatus which take the place of their lost limbs. When they could not survive, despite efforts of science and devotion, it contributed toward assuring the future of their widows and orphans.
America to-day gives us even her blood; she has from the first given us her gold, given her heart!
Copyright, Catholic World, October, 1918.
The great series of battles, known in general as the Battle of Picardy, formed a prelude to the final acts of the war. A stirring account of these battles is given in the narrative which follows.
Possibly the decisive battle of the war.
Germany will emerge victor or vanquished.
On March 21st, 1918, Germany opened the great engagement which will probably prove to be the decisive battle of the war. This designation has already, but not altogether correctly, been given to the Battle of the Marne. The Marne did decide that the Germans were not to capture Paris in their first great rush through Belgium and France. It did not only halt the German advance, but threw it back behind the Aisne, thus preventing Germany from winning the war in 1914. But it did not defeat the German army decisively. Nor did it make an ultimate German victory impossible. It left the German army still in the field, its strength practically unimpaired, still capable of strong defense, still with great striking power in attack. It made possible for the future a decisive Allied victory, but it did not achieve it. The German defeat at Verdun, indeed, did more harm to the German army, lessened to a greater extent its power of defense and its strength to attack than did the Marne, because through the French defense and counter-efforts, the German army lost nearly half a million men. But the battle now raging, which for convenience of reference is called the Battle of Picardy (although it embraces Picardy, Artois, and Flanders), will do more than did either the Marne or Verdun. It will place irrevocably and unmistakably upon Germany the laurel of victory or the thorny crown of defeat. It is, therefore, the decisive battle of thewar. It is the final struggle of the civilized world against the domination of the beast. It is Germany's final effort, and, in order that this may be appreciated, it is necessary only to recount the conditions which impelled Germany to take the offensive at this time.
Germany's eastern ambitions attained.
A peace by compromise would be a German victory.
The developments in Russia, so entirely favorable to Germany, led many to believe that, having attained so completely their eastern ambitions, the German leaders would rest content with what they had, and, strengthening their lines in the west through reinforcements drawn from the Russian front, remain on the defensive on the western front until a peace could be arranged. With the German talons firmly fixed in the throat of Ukraine; with Poland, Courland, and Lithuania practically annexed, there was a certain element of reason in this contention. It was entirely conceivable that with such strength in the west, Germany could set in motion the machinery of a peace propaganda, and obtain a peace conference which would enable her to work out a programme of concessions in the west for concessions in the east—a peace by compromise which would answer present needs while furnishing all future requirements in case she decided to provoke another war. Thus Germany would end the war with a victory just as truly as if she had won it on the field of battle, and without the terrific loss in man power that an offensive on the western front would entail.
The Allies refuse a peace by compromise.
In constructing this theory, however, certain essentials were ignored. German voraciousness can never be satisfied. It is a bottomless pit which can be filled only by pouring into it the world. When there is nothing more to be had, Germany would perforce rest content. The possession of Russia only whetted her appetite for France and Belgium and the life of England. Moreover, the Allies, havingnow learned Germany, and having acquired a sense of their own safety and of the future peace of the world, had no thought of permitting Germany to remain in possession of western Russia, of Serbia, and of Rumania, and thereby not only perpetuating but actually aggravating the condition out of which grew the present war. They had, therefore, notified Germany that they would lay down arms only when she was willing to disgorge what she and her allies had swallowed, and had rectified their frontiers in accordance with President Wilson's fourteen conditions and with Lloyd George's statement on the same subject.
In other words, Germany was to be permitted to emerge from the war with a profit only through military victory; she would have to defend her conquests. This negatived the idea of a peace through negotiation.
The German people equally to blame with their government.
The letter to Prince Sixtus.
Austria might make a separate peace.
There is suspicion among thieves.
Having absorbed the fundamental fact that the Allies proposed to continue the fight to the end, what then was Germany's position? I am not one of those who cherish the fatuous delusion that this is a war in which the German people are not equally involved with their government. At the same time, it is undeniable that there existed in both the German and the Austrian empires a considerable internal pressure, induced by hunger and by privations (but not by any moral or ethical considerations), to bring the war to a close. The cupboards of Russia were neither so full nor so readily available as had been anticipated. Suffering was general, and, with the scarcity not only of food but of wool and of cotton, made the prospect of going through another winter of war a gloomy contemplation. In Austria the situation was worse than in Germany. The letter of the Austrian Emperor to his brother-in-law, Prince Sixtus of Bourbon-Parma, which the French Government published in April, gives sufficient indication of the Austrian need for peace. It shows also that Germany must have had doubt of the loyalty of her ally, and German knowledge that conditions had come to such a pass in Austria that a separate peace would be more welcome to Austria than no peace at all, regardless of the sacrifices which had to be made to obtain it. How long Austria could be held Germany did not know, but it was evident that she was not to be trusted too far. Austria is as unscrupulous, as hypocritical as is Germany, and Germany knows it. And while there may be honor among thieves, there is also suspicion.
Germany must resume the offensive.
But, aside from internal and political considerations, the military situation itself was one which demanded immediate action or none at all. It is an elemental military fact that a war cannot be won by defensive action alone. Defeat may be averted by such means; but victory cannot be achieved. Germany, with the exception of a single incident south of Cambrai, had been on the defensive since the close of the battle of Verdun early in the summer of 1916. The necessity for offensive action at some time was therefore absolute if Germany was to win. But there were many considerations which made that time the present. Germany could not afford to wait.
Divisions are brought from Russia.
The middle of March found Germany at the height of her man power. Never before since the outbreak of war had the opportunity been presented for the concentration on the western front of practically her entire effective strength in both men and guns. For this, of course, Russia was responsible. The divisions which were holding the Russian lines had been carefully picked over, and from men thus selected new divisions were formed and old ones filled up. All were sent to France as rapidly aspossible, the movement occupying the time from September, 1917, to March of this year. Similarly, all available artillery was concentrated in the west, the eastern front being practically denuded. Germany then was in immediate danger of being diverted by activities of the Allies in other fields.
America could not furnish numbers in 1917.
The Allies on the other hand were by no means at their full strength. America, who stepped into the war just in time to take Russia's place, still remained impotent, unable to place in Europe numbers in any way commensurate with the situation. But America was gathering impetus as she went. And while she was a negligible force in 1917—except in the matters of food and money—and would probably be a negligible force in 1918 subject to the same exception, in 1919 she was almost certain to turn the tide strongly against the Central Powers. Even in 1918 there could be expected a steady though small stream of men across the ocean, who being fresh, eager, and unwearied, might cause trouble. Germany then had the one chance to win, and that chance demanded that she strike with all her power before America reached the field. To delay meant not a drawn game but certain defeat. For if Germany is ever confronted in Europe with the full strength of America in men and in the machinery of war, she will be crushed.
Germany must strike before America reaches the field.
The Russian situation is disquieting.
Finally, the situation in Russia boded ill for Germany. Great rejoicing has taken place in Berlin and in Vienna over peace with Russia. But it is a peace which has not altered Germany's inability to keep faith with any Power. Her persistent worship of materialism and force has created a situation in Russia not at all to Germany's liking. Once the Russian border was absolutely undefended and the way to Petrograd and Moscow wide open, Germany could not resist the temptation to march onin continued aggression, regardless of treaty or promises or peace or morality. And Russia has furnished strong evidence that she is not at all complacent under such aggression.
A new Russian national army is formed.
Danger of guerilla warfare.
The Russians are in a stage of transition, and are, therefore, unstable, mentally unsettled. They are completely dissatisfied at Germany's interpretation of the peace terms. They see themselves being starved that Germany may fatten on their granaries. They are reaching the point where organized resistance is the only answer of which the situation is capable. Steps have already been taken to form a new national army, to offer organized resistance to further encroachments. There are also large elements which have never accepted the unconditional surrender and which never will. At any moment in this land of instability, the fires which have been kindled by German bad faith and duplicity may break into a conflagration. There is no danger at the present time—there is danger that before the year is out public dissatisfaction and unrest may crystallize and Germany be faced with the most colossal guerilla war the world has seen; and while warfare of this kind cannot defeat Germany, it can neutralize many divisions of German troops and pin them down to the eastern front while the Allies make the finishing stroke in the west. This situation, out of which anything can grow, made it strongly advisable that Germany should act before the crystallization should take place.
Ready for a great blow in the West.
Realizing that she could not wait without serious danger to herself, Germany mustered all her resources in the west for the great blow she was to deliver. The problem which confronted the German General Staff was to destroy one of the two great armies, that of France or that of England. Both could not be handled together. Germany did not havethe strength. The attack had to be delivered against one or the other. Which should it be?
The French losses much greater than the British.
An attack against the French had certain advantages. The French army was unmistakably the weaker of the two. In the early days of the war, while the British army was being formed, it was the French who had to stand the brunt of the fighting. At Verdun it was the French who from February to July beat back the German assaults along the Meuse time after time in the most tremendous duel of the war. In the Battle of the Somme it was the French who fought their way forward south of the river to the outskirts of Péronne and Chaulnes. The French losses had, therefore, been very much greater than the British. As the populations of France and of the United Kingdom are about the same, the French people had, therefore, suffered much more than had the British, and were correspondingly less able to stand such a blow as Germany was able to deliver.
Much of French front is invulnerable.
But there was one great disadvantage in attacking France. The blow could not be delivered against the front from St. Mihiel to the Swiss frontiers. This front is vulnerable only where the Vosges Mountains are broken by the great gaps at Belfort, Epinal, and Nancy; and these gaps are easy to defend and well backed up in rear by great bases of supply excellently served by many radiating railroad lines. It could not be delivered at Verdun, because France had not only retaken all the ground of military value which had been lost; but Verdun had become to France a religion, a fanaticism. To France it was a symbol of French love of country, of French patriotism. Verdun meant France. Germany, therefore, had no desire to test this fortified area again. This left only the Champagne line between the Argonne Forest and Rheims.
Reasons for not striking on the Champagne line.
The Allied armies would be left intact.
If Germany had attacked this front, the British army, the stronger of her enemies, would soon have struck, and whether Germany so elected or not, she would nevertheless be running two major operations at the same time—one offensive in Champagne, the other defensive in Picardy or in Flanders. Again, suppose her army did bend the French line back, as it undoubtedly would, how far back would it have to go in order for Germany to reach a complete military decision? There would indeed be no such decision in sight, almost regardless of the depth of penetration. The lines might have to be rectified; Verdun might have to be abandoned; the Vosges frontier line might have to be drawn in. But even so the French and British armies would both be intact; both biding their time when, with full force of their own and a million or more American troops, Germany could be beaten. In short, an attack against the French at any point, while promising new gains in territory, promised nothing in the way of a decision, and, be it remembered, this is Germany's last effort; it must reach either victory or defeat. The Battle of Picardy must and will produce a definite, positive result. It cannot end in indecision.
British army trained only for trench warfare.
The French positions.
The British railway connections might be taken.
An attack against the British offered none of the disadvantages which attended an attack against the French. The British were stronger it is true. But this army, unlike that of the French, was trained for but one thing—trench warfare. If Germany could restore war in the open—a war of movement—this strength might be offset by a wider experience. In attacking the British, the French could be held in check by defensive tactics with not a great deal of difficulty; as in such operations the terrain was greatly in Germany's favor. To take a hurried glimpse of the French positions,we find them in the valley of the Ailette north of the Chemin des Dames facing the high slopes of the plateau on which is found Laon. In the Champagne they are facing a high rolling country, studded with good artillery positions and points of observation. In the Vosges, their problem is identical with that of the Germans—forcing the gaps in a barrier otherwise impassable. There would be then a minimum of danger from the French while Germany was engaged on the British front. Moreover, behind the British line was, first, Amiens, through which passed the great railroad systems from Calais, Boulogne, and Abbeville, binding together the British north of the Somme to the French in the south. With Amiens in German hands this connection would be badly ruptured. And farther on still was the sea, which, if Germany could reach it, would physically separate the great Allied army into two armies, without connection, each of which could be dealt with separately. And unlike an advance through Champagne, the farther the Germans pushed through, the closer the Allies came to total disaster and defeat. Germany, therefore, selected the British front for attack and took up the task of destroying the British army.
The main blow is to fall along the Oise.
Plan to drive through Amiens.
High ground near Lens and Ypres to be retaken.
The German plan of campaign was simple in its essence, although involving great numbers of men and an inconceivable mass of material. It was to strike the main blow along the Oise on the front between St. Quentin and La Fère, while a subsidiary attack was to be simultaneously delivered on the northern side of the Cambrai salient between Cambrai and Arras. This subsidiary attack was designed to break the salient and destroy the danger of a flank attack against the movement to the south. In the main attack, delivered with 15,000 men to the mile of front, it wasintended to break the connection between the British and the French along the Oise, push a great wedge through at the point of rupture, and then roll the British line back to the north, leaving the French to be taken care of later. Failing in this (and Germany had taken into account the possibility of failure), the British were to be forced back through Amiens to the sea, and the split in the armies accomplished by interposing between the parts a section of the seacoast. This operation would automatically flank the positions held by the British at Arras, force the British to fall back from Vimy Ridge, and from Lens toward St. Pol, and, as they retreated, to uncover the Ypres salient and the positions held in the high ground to the east and south of Ypres—that is, the Messines and the Passchendaele ridges.
The Germans use eighty divisions the first day.
The Allies retreat.
After a brief but very intense bombardment the German infantry went forward on March 21, 1918. They were favored by a heavy mist which concealed their movements until they were within fifty yards of the British trenches, between La Fère and St. Quentin. By sheer weight of numbers these trenches were overrun and the German infantry poured through the gap. The line to the north was at once affected by the break in the southern line, and taken in flank, was also forced to fall back. But a few hours after the attack was launched, the entire fifty miles of line north of La Fère was ablaze and the British were in retreat. In this attack the Germans threw in on the first day 80 divisions—about one million men—nearly 20,000 men to the mile—a heavier concentration of men than had ever been used in an attack since the war began. Against this number the British, in the opening attack could oppose only 5,000 men to the mile. It is not surprising in view of this disparity in numbers that the British were completely overwhelmed. In spite of the rapidity of the initial German advance and the strength of the German attack, the hoped-for rupture of the Allied line at the Oise did not occur. The British and French, though retreating steadily, kept in close touch and preserved intact the continuity of their line.
The French extend their left to keep in touch with the British.
As the British section of the line withdrew, the French, in order to preserve this continuity, were necessarily affected. The French extreme left withdrew behind the Oise to throw this defensive screen before the German attack, gradually extending their left as the British retreat continued, passed Noyons and Pont l'Eveque. As the Allies in their retreat approached the Somme River, the German progress became slower, the efforts were labored. From this point indeed, the huge battle took on something of the nature of the battle of Verdun. It became a fight for limited objectives. Each village offered resistance and became the object of an independent battle. The German advance, however, though slow was not the less persistent and steady.
The Somme divides the field into two areas.
Montdidier falls.
French check the Germans at Villers-Bretonneux.
With the crossing of the Somme and the Somme-Aisne Canal on the front between Peronne and Noyons, the battle was automatically divided into two well defined areas by the east and west course of the Somme between Peronne and Amiens. In the southern area, the Allied line was held by both British and French in about equal proportions. But the French were not yet in great force. The Germans, having passed both the Somme and the Canal, fought their way westward step by step, in total disregard of losses, until the line of the Avre River was reached. Here the French, who held the line from the Luce River south and then east, made a position stand, and a series of pitched battles occurred for the river crossing. The first of these to fall was Montdidier at the head waters of the Avre. This enabled the German army to reach westward of the river and spread out after crossing to flank the defenses to the north. Gradually the left bank of the river was cleared as far north as Moreuil. Here the high ground on the left bank between Moreuil and the mouth of the Luce enabled the French to beat off all German attacks for several days. Finally, however, both Moreuil and Morisel were taken and later the village of Cassel, the Avre being thus cleared of the Allied troops as far north as the mouth of the Luce. From Cassel to the Somme, however, the German forces found themselves in serious difficulties. About Hangard, particularly, the fighting was exceptionally heavy; but after changing hands several times, the Germans were finally thrown across to the southern bank of the Luce and there held in place. From Hangard north to the Somme the result was the same. After struggling for days against the troops on the high plateau of which Villers-Bretonneux is the centre, the Germans were brought to a standstill in their attempts to approach Amiens by way of the Avre-Somme angle.
The British retire behind the Ancre.
Albert is taken; but Germans are soon held.
In the battlefield north of the Somme, the British retired slowly until they were safely behind the Ancre River, which figured so prominently in the battle of the Somme in 1916. Taking Albert, an important British base, the Germans tried desperately to push beyond and reach the railroad which runs along the lower Ancre from Amiens to Albert. Failing in this, they struck heavily in the angle between the Somme and the Ancre in order to flank the line north of Albert from the high ground north-east of Corbie. Here also they met with defeat, so that from Beaumont-Hamel southward the Allied line became stationary.
The situation of the Germans.
To win peace the Germans must destroy an army.
At this point in the battle the Germans found themselves in this situation: from Montdidier westward the French lines were firmly established first along a series of small but well defined heights as far as Noyons and thence along the southern bank of the Oise as far as the lower forest of Coucy. This side of the wedge was firmly fixed and capable of great resistance. Moreover, to expend time and men in an attack on this front would mean a serious departure from the German plan, as success here would mean an advance toward Paris instead of toward the sea. And at this stage of the war, peace cannot be obtained by the capture of any city, even the French capital. The price of peace is the destruction of an army, either that of the British or that of the French. This can be accomplished only through reaching the sea at some central point such as Abbeville at the mouth of the Somme.
Therefore, the German problem had of necessity to find its solution north of Montdidier—between that town and Albert. There is not much doubt that by concentrating sufficient artillery and by the expenditure of sufficient men, the German leaders would be able to push their way farther westward, even beyond Amiens. But as the wedge deepened it would gradually draw down to a point so that the ultimate situation would be that the German lines would form an acute angle, the vortex of which would be on the Somme at or west of Amiens, one side passing through Albert, or possibly through the village of Bucquoy, the other through Montdidier. Such a formation would mean positive disaster. It would be worth a quarter of a million men to the Allies to strike both north and south across the base of this angle and snuff it out. It would mean to Germany the loss of a mass of artillery andtens of thousands of men. And the Allies would not be slow to see this opportunity and strike. The German High Command, therefore, did not dare to take the chance with matters as they then were.
Necessary to advance north of the Somme.
The defenses of the British northern wing.
The fight for Vimy and Notre Dame de Lorette.
In order that the German army might continue its march to the sea then, it was necessary that the line north of the Somme should advance, synchronizing its movement with the point of the wedge along the river. Thus only would the wedge be sufficiently wide to avoid disaster. But the entire northern wing of the British army was guarded by Vimy Ridge and the heights of Notre Dame de Lorette. It was impossible that the advance could be made, leaving these positions directly on the flank. The combination of these two heights forms a huge semicircle concave toward the south. The British batteries posted on these heights could continue to rake the German advancing troops in flank and rear with most destructive effect. Therefore, after the fighting in the south came to a halt, the Germans undertook to open the way by forcing these two positions. Using seven divisions—about 90,000 men—the Germans attacked on a front not exceeding ten miles from Arleux to Fampoux on the Scarpe. The attack continued for two days, but was an absolute failure. The German advance had to be made down the slopes of one hill, across a stretch of flat, open valley, and up the sides of another. Down in the valley were the British outpost positions which were overwhelmed and driven in. But in attempting to cross the valley floor the Germans literally withered under machine gun and rifle fire. At the end of two days' fighting, during which the greater part of these divisions were cut to pieces, the attack had to be abandoned. The fighting then from Lens southward to the Avre came to an end with the Germans completely halted. Thefirst definite stage of the decisive battle of the war was thus concluded.
The attack about Bucquoy.
Considerable initial successes.
A stand at the edge of the Forest of Nieppe.
The Germans take Messines Ridge.
But the Germans were by no means ready to acknowledge defeat. The Lens-Arras sector had to be cleared up. The attack from the south, crystallizing about Bucquoy, and from the east both having broken down, there remained but to attack from the north. Utilizing to the utmost the advantages of the great railroad system which parallels this front, connecting in a single chain all of their great advance bases, the Germans effected a heavy concentration at Lille, and, using about twenty divisions (which were afterward increased to thirty), struck the British line between Givenchy—just north of La Bassée—and Warneton on the Lys River. The initial successes were considerable. The Germans penetrated to a maximum depth of more than four miles in the centre, although on both right and left the line held fast. North of Armentières, however, the British line gave ground, which enabled the Germans to pocket this city and to capture it on the second day of the attack. On the succeeding days, the British centre continued to give way until the edge of the Forest of Nieppe was reached. The German position at this point in the attack became practically untenable. The northern side of this wedge was lined with heights from which the British artillery was pouring a devastating plunging fire. These heights, beginning farther east, began with the famous Messines-Wytschaete Ridge and extended due west through Kemmel to Cassel. Moreover, in falling back the British pivoted on Messines, which left this strong bastion from which to strike out against the very heart of the salient. Accordingly, to remove this danger the German leaders swung the attack north against the Messines Ridge. After days of fighting in which Bailleul was taken and thefoot of the Kemmel series of hills was reached, the Messines Ridge was taken in reverse and the British line was withdrawn until it passed over the ridge just north of Wytschaete. Still pressing on the north, the Germans attacked the Kemmel position, but the British, now reinforced by the French, threw the attacks back as rapidly as they formed. Failing here and at the centre in Nieppe Forest, still another attack was delivered, this time against the southern side of the wedge from Givenchy to St. Venant. The first two days of this fighting was also disastrous to the Germans who were entirely unable to dent the British positions. In brief, the Germans were then enclosed in a huge semicircle about fifteen miles in diameter. All parts of the area enclosed were subject to artillery fire from three sides and the Germans were striking first on one side then on the other in frantic efforts to break the Allies' grip—and giving no indication of sufficient power to succeed.
Objectives of the Germans in the North.
The British gradually retire about Ypres.
The objects of the German effort in the north were several. Primarily it was intended as a means of breaking the defenses of Arras and of Lens by cutting in behind the heights of Notre Dame de Lorette and Vimy Ridge. Again it was intended to take Hazebrouck, Bethune, St. Pol, Aire, and St. Omer, through which the distribution of supplies and men landing at Calais is effected. Finally it was intended to take from the British the high ground in Flanders, uncover Ypres, and open the way to the coast. But for many reasons, now that the Allies had caught their breath for a moment, so to speak, the advantage appeared to have passed from German hands. The element of surprise, so essential to success even in trench warfare, was no longer possible. The gradual retirements of the British around Ypres were not costly nor did they "open a way" to thechannel ports as the Germans hoped. The Germans had fixed the points of attack—and these were the only possible points: southern Flanders and from the Avre to the Scarpe. Germany had already used in the offense 130 divisions out of 204; and of these 50 had been in action twice—while the British had been heavily engaged from the outset, the French have had but few divisions in action. There was, therefore, apparently much greater reserve strength behind the Allies' battle line than Germany could possibly muster. And it is reserve strength which must ultimately decide the issue.
The crisis of the Great War is at hand.
Germany has taken the great plunge—the concentration and utilization of her entire resources in man power in a final effort to win. It is Germany's last bid for victory before the peace propaganda is launched. Germany must win or go down to defeat. But Germany cannot stop. She must go on and on regardless of cost. She has expended literally hundreds of thousands of men, not for territorial conquest as the German press has pointed out and emphasized, but to destroy the British army. What figment of pretense is left if the battle remains indecisive? None the less, for the Allies as well the situation is serious though not critical. The crisis of the Great War is truly at hand. None can doubt the outcome who has any belief in honor and justice among civilized nations.
Copyright, World's Work, June, 1918.
For many months prior to the end of the war Bulgaria had sought an opportunity to make peace. The people were wearied with fighting and it was plain to them that a German victory was hopeless. Finally a complete collapse occurred, King Ferdinand fled, and Bulgaria surrendered, as is described in the following pages.
"Mitteleuropa" crumbles.
Bulgaria's withdrawal from the Teutonic block and her frank capitulation to the Allies is easily the most dramatic episode of the World War. Almost overnight the massive bridge of "Mitteleuropa" has crumbled at its central span, leaving exhausted Turkey foredoomed to speedy surrender and laying distracted Austria open to the combined assaults of Allied arms and domestic revolution. So stupendous are the possibilities flowing from the Allies' September offensive in Macedonia that we are almost tempted to believe that the age of miracles is come again.
The war-spirit of Bulgaria weakens.
Yet in such hours we should clarify our vision by insistent remembrance of Clausewitz's famous saying that war is but the extension of politics. For brilliant as was the Franco-Serbian escalade of mid-September, storming successive mountain walls as though they were mere trench lines and shearing through war-hardened Bulgarian divisions like a knife through rotten cheese, there was more than fighting involved. For the last year and even longer a combination of circumstances had been weaning Bulgaria from her former solidarity with the Central powers, and this disruptive process, proceeding with special rapidity during the last few months, had been steadily sapping the morale of the Bulgarian people and the war-spirit of the Bulgarian soldiery. From the broader point of view, therefore, the Allies' Macedonian offensive mustbe deemed not merely a skilful military operation, but even more a well-timed garnering of fruits ripe for the plucking. In such masterly combinations of strategy and politics lies the secret of decisive victory.