"^ .v" 'Sim* "^ i"^ .^^ ^^.^^ ^^o^ . iR^#W!W^ ■* ROADSIDE GLIMPSES OF THE GREAT WAR •Th^>(^0 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO / ' -, V Probably the only German military pass to Paris since 1870. Given to Mr. Sweetser by the commandant at St. Quentin. ROADSIDE GLIMPSES OF THE GREAT WAR BY ARTHUR SWEETSER ILLUSTRATED THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1916 All rights reserved < Copyright, 1916, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1916. Nottonnli 'H^xtee J. 8. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. NorwoG^, Mass., FEB 17 1916 ..Oi^I.A4 18857 MY MOTHER CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I I. The Lure of War 11. From the French Lines to the German IIL In the Wake of Von Kluck IV. Prisoner of the Germans . V. Prisoner of the French VI. Uhlans and Taubes .... VII. A Report to the State Department . VIII. Germany in the Suburbs of Paris IX. Prisoner Again X. How A Spy would Feel XI. From France's Calmness to Belgium's Agony XII. Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 23 52 81 105 130 148 159 180 207 227 250 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ^ Probably the only German military pass to Paris since 1870. Given to Mr. Sweetser by the commandant at St. Quentin . . . Frontispiece PAGB French mobilization order. Bearing the imprint of 1 904 facing 1 4 ~ " Herr Arthur Sweetser of Boston (Mass.)" is allowed to go from Valenciennes to Cambrai, from Solesmes to St. Quentin . . . " 50 " German communique to the French ... 64 , Ruins of Senlis, twenty-five miles from Paris, where the mayor and sixteen councilmen were shot and the main streets put to the flames as Mr, Sweetser bicycled in under guard . . ** 91 ■ " Self-styled journalist " is freed to go to Paris after having bicycled across the lines . . . " 143 " French requisition order posted as inscribed on the official bulletin board of Germigny I'Eveque ** 173 " M. Arthur Sweetser living at Villers-Cotterets " is freed once more to go to Paris . . " 226 - *' For five weeks Lille had been rasped to a frazzle" " 237 ROADSIDE GLIMPSES OF THE GREAT WAR I THE LURE OF WAR "Flash!" snapped the telegraph operator in a voice set and hard from an unparalleled week's strain. I jumped to the telegraph instrument. The operator spelled off : " G-E-R-M-A-N-Y D-E-C-L-A-R-E-S W-A-R O-N F-R-A-N-C-E." The instrument was snapping angrily. Opera- tors all over that vast nerve system of the United Press were working as they had never worked before. Bulletin. Berlin, August 3. Germany of- ficially Declared War on France to-day, etc., etc. The newspaper world had gone wild. For a week we had been standing on our heads. Servia B I 2 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War Refuses Austria's Ultimatum, Russia Mobi- lizes, Germany Declares Martial Law, Eng- lish Fleet under Sealed Orders, ultimatums, mobilizations flying back and forth, flashing from capital to capital, jamming one on top of the other over the wires, editions tumbling out as fast as the presses could turn them off, the whole world in tumult — Great God, what would be the next news ticked off ? By noon of that memorable August 3, my nerves were completely gone. How puny and trifling the work of the Boston bureau of the United Press seemed ! How absurd to sit there, almost literally swallowing cigarettes from ex- citement, while the whole world was going wild ! "Bert," I said to the operator, "I'm going over. I want you to do the little Bureau work left ; I'll get another operator to take the wire." It was 4.30 P.M. No, said the steamship offices, there's not a boat going from the whole Atlantic seaboard, everything's cancelled. What, I asked, Boston and New York both t Yes. Montreal t That's The Lure of War 3 so, yes, there was a boat from there, the Vic- torian, sailing the next day at 10 a.m. The last train connecting left that evening at 8.30. From 4.45 to 8.30 to get reservations and gold, close the house, pack, and say good-by. And all the banks closed ! I phoned Thomas Cook. - "Please get me ticket to Montreal on the 8.30 to-night, reservation on the Victorian, some gold, and hold the office open till I get there." "We have no gold," came the reply. Fortunately my cousin was head of a large brokerage company. Gone for the day ! At last I reached him on the long distance. Yes, he would make me a personal loan and phone the office to stay open till matters were arranged. On the way down I picked up Cook's man, who went to witness the validity of the check. We tore back to his office where reservations all the way to Liverpool were waiting. Ten pounds and about 100 francs was all the gold they could give me, and that at a terrible premium. The Cunard line added a few pounds more. 4 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War It was now 7 p.m. Only the packing remained. A taxi rushed me home. By good luck, the laundry had just come back, and I took the whole package as it was under one arm and a suitcase under the other. Unfortunately, as I found out later, the .laundry that week contained no pajamas, but instead a large bed-sheet, which accompanied me to the front. There was just time at the station to buy some sandwiches for supper, without enough to say good-by to the family over the telephone. The next morning I was on the Allan line steamship Victorian. We dropped down the St. Lawrence to Quebec. - "England declares war on Germany," greeted us from all the headlines as we dropped anchor off the Chateau Frontenac. Three German cruisers were reported off the Gulf; the time of our sailing was absolutely unknown. For two days we dangled at anchor there, and then, under heavy convoy, set out in a little fleet with five other vessels to run the gantlet of what- ever Germans were on the high seas. By day we were nearly invisible through a new coat of The Lure of War 5 black paint; by night all leakages of light to the outside were made impossible. The windows of the smoking room were so heavily wadded with paper that before the evening was under way it was nearly suffocating. Only the scantiest wireless messages came to us on the trip ; the main topic of conversation was the truth of the report that thirty-five German war-vessels had dared battle and been blown up. At last we came to the coast of Ireland, not southern Ireland as is customary, but way up in the North. Wireless orders sidetracked us into an unknown little harbor for a twelve-hour wait; then we were allowed to go on again. Finally, we put into Liverpool, seventeen days after we had set sail from Montreal. "One hundred thousand troops have landed in France," greeted us here. Ten thousand more were just going out that day; 25,000 had left Southampton in the last twenty-four hours ; all England was moving to the battle-front in France. The harbor simply teemed with excitement. The wharves were crowded ; men were swarming all over the welter of ships at the piers, everyone 6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War was rushing, shouting, excited. Even before we were allowed to land 200 nondescript human derelicts from the wharves of the city filed up our gang-plank with saws, hammers, axes, mallets, and every kind of tool of destruction. As we went down to Customs,, there came to us the noises of pounding and ripping which indicated all too well the conversion of our good old boat into a commerce-destroyer or a transport. All of us rushed to the first train to London ; all of us felt that there indeed we would find the nerve centre of the British Empire. How magnificent, how inspiring the soul of Britain was in this awful hour ! Though man was involved in the most direful cataclysm in history, though civilization was suspended, stock exchanges closed, commerce, news and travel discontinued, though the world's nations were flying at each other's throats, and 12,000,000 men hunting each other like wild beasts, even yet England remained calm. No hysteria, no wild panic had shattered the English- man's imperturbable restraint. Well indeed he The Lure of War 7 knew that his magnificent Empire, built up by years of self-sacrifice and slow accretion, might come toppling to the ground ; yet hardly for a second did his self-possession waver. For ten years he had watched the German militarist storm rising across the North Sea ; for ten years he had been reconciling himself to the inevitable clash ; and when at last it came he took it almost as if for granted. The self-possession of London during that last week of August, 1914, was incredible. Life was quickened somewhat ; there was, as it were, a slight catching of the breath, but hardly more. The great English battle-fleet tossed about in the Channel awaiting a world battle, but London went its way. An Expeditionary Force landed in France for the first time in 100 years, yet London kept its calm. Newspaper extras came forth in rapid-fire succession, yet London remained imperturbed. Now and then a company of soldiers passed by. There was a swing and a business-like attitude, almost a sombreness, about them which com- pelled a hush from the few who stopped to watch. They came from nowhere and disappeared into 8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War nowhere, no bands, no flags, no cheers ; only tense, serious faces. There was tragedy indeed about this blind devotion to country; yet one thrilled at it as the stuff that empires are made of. Occasionally, too, recruits could be seen drilling in some of the parks or machine-guns being moved across the city. Occasionally, sen- tries were encountered pacing back and forth with fixed bayonets, as at the Bank of England. But except for these few signs, one would never have guessed that the English Empire was hang- ing in the balance. Yet do not mistake this for indifference. Far from it; London was stirred as it had not been for a century. Everyone realized that a death struggle was on ; that the great world structure which England had raised up would either crumble or glide into smooth waters for another lOO years. The spirit of England was too well tempered for hysteria ; she set about laying foundation-stones for a titanic effort with an almost cold thoroughness. The press was splen- did in killing false reports and maintaining secrets of the Expeditionary Force. The Prince The Lure of War g of Wales, the Queen, and the Queen-Mother were all busy gathering funds ; the people were quietly organizing for their fearful task and its yet more fearful consequences. Withal, the crisis drew forth all that is finest in English character. The Irish civil war was laid aside. Several serious strikes were silently suspended. The government was acclaimed by all parties with tremendous enthusiasm. Down in the deep reaches of the Empire's make-up, there was, moreover, almost a religious ' fervor for the war. The Kaiser's challenge to English Empire, sea-power, * and trade was the obvious cause of conflict, of course, but even beyond that was a real hatred of the system the Kaiser stood for, and as German force bade fair to impose German militarism and lack of constitutionalism on unhappy Belgium, England's anger rose even higher. As one Englishman, with true English bluntness, put it to me : "The Kaiser's getting a bit too thick; it's time to draw his teeth." The capital of the British Empire is grim enough even in peace times. Heaven knows, for 10 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War the hard hand of history and the dampening fogs have left behind their unmistakable traces. Centuries of struggle have aged and matured her. The Continental wars running back to the roots of history, the Napoleonic cataclysm, and within the present generation, the Boer disasters, have scarred and seared her spirit into a placidity and imper- turbability not unlike that of her old towers and castles. Storms have broken over her as they have broken over the buildings which go to com- pose her, but they cannot destroy. They merely further solemnify the weather-beaten old city. But to me, as an American, a poor cousin as it were, from across the seas, the most touching aspect was the solicitude expressed on all sides for American sympathy. It was the reaching out of a nation in its hour of peril for the moral approval of its nearest kin. More than this was not expected, but significant indeed it was of the old saying that blood is thicker than water, that England, settling down to a long struggle for her empire, should have looked with fond hope for the moral support of the only people who had ever left her flag. The Lure of War ii La France ! With what anxiety, with what loving appre- hension we saw your shores come slowly Into shape out of the distance ! How was it Indeed that we should find you now that the Prussian hordes were once more after forty years flooding across the frontiers ? As our little Channel boat danced gracefully over a kindly sea, we strained our eyes as If Instinctively to sense the spirit which moved you, calmness or panic, con- fidence or fear. In an Incredibly short time we glided gently alongside the pier at Boulogne. Flags, crowds, soldiers, noise, bustle, excite- ment, burst upon us in one animated, perpetual- motion, ever-shifting medley. Boulogne was a seething camp, crammed with nervous humanity, smothered in fluttering flags. It might have been a great gala day, a big festival, if one could judge by the hubbub and excitement. The calm, the self-possession, the stolidity from which we had just come faded away into a mere vague memory. Could it be — yes — by George it was — a group of Tommies strolling along the pier. Tom- mies ! At last the Great Mystery was solved. 12 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War So here it was then that England's tens of thou- sands of troops had gone ; hither it had been that these silent battalions had marched off through the night. For ten days all England had known that something was going on under the surface which could not be mentioned ; for ten days the papers had maintained silence while 65,000 men were spirited across to the Continent. Tommies were everywhere, walking, riding, on the street corners, alone, in groups, or joking with the natives. The women and girls had received them with all the ardor possible to French enthusiasm ; had at first embraced and kissed them, and later flirted outrageously with them, till as one of the Tommies put it to me : "It was jolly fine fun for a while, but we're getting awful fed up with it now." The first to arrive had been literally showered with flowers as they marched through streets bedecked with English flags to their camps. Such wild enthusiasm had never been seen before, they told me. The freedom of the city was theirs in every way. And yet withal, the Tommies remained indifferent, almost stoical. They were The Lure of War 13 friendly, perhaps a little curious to know why anyone "Was kicking up such a beastly fuss " and rather coolly amused at the great hit the Scotties made with their kilties. But beyond that they were rather bored with it all. Evidently they had come over to fight and did not know how to be frivolous. No less than five times I had to show my pass- port before I could leave for Paris, once on landing, then at Customs, on entering the station, on getting a ticket, and finally on boarding the train. We left Boulogne at 7.30 and should have arrived at the capital at 11.30. Instead we hitched, poked, and shunted along in ner- vous gasps, while troop-trains rumbled by under right of way. At last we arrived at Amiens, where our train was commandeered and we were herded into another. There for three solid hours we stuck. Heavy troop-trains ground in, rested a minute, and ground out again. Small knots of nerve-worn, exhausted Frenchmen gathered under the flaring station lamps to speed them on with sincere but rather wan cheers. Tommies, blinking with sleepiness, smiled out of the cars 14 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War where they were penned like cattle, or waved farewell from among the snorting artillery horses. Occasionally there intervened a long, grim, silent train with the hungry barrels of heavy artillery pointing forward out of the tarpaulin as if already snuffing blood. Inexorable indeed. How many, I wondered, of those cheerful Tommies were going but to their graves 1 At 2.15 A.M. we resumed our way once more. Four of us, cramped in a small compartment, knotted up and slept what little we could between snaps, jerks, and whistles. As dawn broke, we looked out to see the whole countryside alive with red-pantalooned, blue-coated French sol- diers, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, moving through the chill dampness direct across fields and over dales. War never sleeps. At last, one minute past 7 a.m. we arrived in Paris, almost twelve hours after we had started on a three-hour run. One who loved Paris could not but be filled with anxiety during those first few days as to what she should be in her hour of trial. The [[.eII ORI>R HOBILIMIOV (iElll4U Par dt'orol ilii Pn-xident ilc l.i K<'-|>iilili<|iK'. 1h iu<>l>ili«H(i(>ii dvi nrmei* de lerre el dn oier I'sf ordonnpc, aiusi i|iif la n■<|lli^4iliull das aiiimuiix. v()i(uro» vt Imiiiais nw'iisiilren an compi^ni>'iit de c«K armees. Le premier jour de la ni .lisation est le Tout Fraiiv«is suumis aiix oWijialioKs niili(airi-K doil, soils *hip d'l'lre puni H>tK toiile la ri(,m-ur d«>« loU, obt-ir nn\ prej>cii|>liun« du FASCIHITZiE SK Si03ttMAT101I I'imfios toIoim-.x piao'es danu son livret). Soai -rises piir le present onlre TOtTS I.E8 H0MBEE8 uoii pros.-iits sons les. l>rniK'n«x vt appurtenant : 1° a I'ARMEE de TEBRE }' rompris les TBOVFEf. OOI^IOUSS et les inonimes d,« ■EBVICES AtXIUAIBEa: 2° a rARMEE K MER > rompris les nricBiTfl takaxraqfa et le.'. ASKxrassss deir MUUUHS. L«3 AutoritAs ci^ales et mlHlair ; responsables de IftxecuLion An prftsent diorel. French mobilization order. Bearing the imprint of 1904. The Lure of War 15 war was now but three weeks old ; the Germans were just beginning to leak through Belgium ; the first hysteria of excitement had changed into the mechanical reasoning of campaigns. How indeed would Paris act, Paris the gay, the care- free, the irresponsible ? At first all seemed much as before. The boulevards were crowded. Women brought their knitting to the Champs-d'Elysees as they had always done ; men were in evidence in plenty. The city was nearly smothered in flags. Every building, nay almost every window, boasted its tricolor. Sprinkled generously among them were not a few English flags, many Belgian, and now and then a Russian. At first the capital of France seemed festive. Slowly, however, the change flooded over me. Everything was tense and sombre. People looked stern and serious. The cafe and boulevard crowds no longer whiled away the hours nonchalantly ; they talked in low, serious tones with hardly a smile. Never was there the agitation of former days except when an extra was screamed through the streets ; then everyone became excited and 1 6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War the pages were scanned eagerly, fruitlessly. It seemed indeed as though Paris lay hushed and still awaiting the next extra. Apparently that was the one real reason why people continued to go to the cafes and boulevards. On shop after shop were signs *' Mobilise" or "Ferme pour la Mobilisation." Theatres, mov- ing-picture houses, and many shops were closed. Evidences of the cessation of ordinary living chilled one at every turn. Troops were everywhere, in the cafes, in the Bois, or marching through the streets. Always they were given preference, as much in entering trams as in the graces of the hero-loving French women. The sale of absinthe had been forbidden. That curse under which France had struggled for years was thrown off with one great moral convulsion. Above all the national health must be conserved. The demi- monde also suffered. Comediennes, models, and others upon whom a pleasure-loving public had long frivolled its surplus savings were now re- duced to a terrible struggle for existence. It is thus indeed that society in time of stress casts off its parasites. The Lure oj War 17 But It was at night that the terrible changes stood out most sombrely. Where before Paris had once bedecked herself in myriad lights there was naught but dulness. What had been long scintillating rows of cafes where care-free people dallied tinkling glasses through the long evening, had ceased to be. It was now only the bare business of eating. By 9 o'clock the outer chairs on the sidewalks were collected and piled up ; by 9.30 every cafe was closed as black as a tomb. The few people still out hastened surreptitiously home through the darkened streets. Paris waited, waited, patiently at first, then nervously, for the news which was not given. Up North something was happening, big events were shaping themselves in Belgium. There was much enthusiasm about the holding out of Liege, and not a little wonderment that the Germans were nevertheless miles south of there. News trickled down atom by atom, never com- plete or satisfactory, always late, always vague. Criticism at times was harsh, especially when the plan to send five correspondents, Including an A. P. and a U. P. man, was continuously 1 8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War postponed. Many Parisians felt they were being treated like children, and asked if they had not shown themselves big enough to stand disaster. Had it not been for a tremendous fundamental confidence in French arms and in a combination of an appreciation of the military need for se- crecy and the feeling that no news is good news, Paris would certainly have lost its head. As it was the German avalanche was on them almost before they suspected it. During these first three weeks, for default of anything better, Belgium, Liege, England, and Russia filled the papers. The bravery of Bel- gium served as a beacon light for the French. That gallant little country was hailed with an air of reverence. Likewise the calm, solid sup- port of England steadied the French tremendously and made them feel the ground firm underneath them. The awesome union of France, England, Russia, Belgium, Japan, and Servia in one great concert against Germany glorified the French conception of the war almost into religious fervor. Paris indeed had become a new city. The mirth and song of her life had ceased. The The Lure of War 19 blight of war had penetrated to her very marrows. The light and sparkle had gone, but in their place had come a bigger and finer thing. The veneer of frivolity, irresponsibility, and excess had been scraped off. There stood revealed a patriotism, a self-sacrifice, a determination almost glorious in their intensity. The strength of a nation which had been waiting for forty years was ready — splendidly husbanded, splendidly directed, and strong in the memories of Austerlitz and Jena. It was this spirit which made my waiter say : "Monsieur, I go to mobilize to bring back my grandfather who fell in '70." Five days passed almost in a twinkling. No sooner however did I begin to feel at home in the new Paris than the great events outside called me. Paris was grand indeed, but it was not to see Paris that I had come abroad. A vague but dominant force rose within me ; I could not sit idly by in cafes while world history was being decided in the country just outside. I don't know what it was ; whether it was that stupefying, bewildered confusion which brings the moth to the flame, or the nervous, uncontrollable 20 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War curiosity of our American life ; but certain, it is that I was helpless against that appeal. My whole heart and soul was trajected out of Paris to the dim, hazy fields of Belgium whence now and then the censor let escape a real spark from the roaring furnace beneath. What was happen- ing behind that thick veil t More and more often I dropped into the Ameri- can embassy which was even still an uproar of ill-behaved, stranded fellow-countrymen and weak, rather frightened Austrian and German civilians who had come under our care. I asked first one official, then another, till finally I screwed up courage to speak to Captain Parker himself, the military attache. " Lille ! " he exclaimed. " But what in Heaven's name do you want to go there for .?" "Why," I stammered, not quite sure myself, "I remember reading somewhere that it's a fortified city." "Yes, but it may be attacked any time." " I know," I answered desperately. " That's why I want to go there. The Germans are pretty sure to pass that way from Belgium." The Lure of War 21 "But, my dear man," Captain Parker burst out, "you could never get there. Not even a rab- bit could get through to Lille." "Why not.?" I asked. "Is there any rule against it.?" "Common-sense ought to tell you," he added stiffly. "Common-sense; this is war. Not even a rabbit could get by now." Thereupon I went to Phil Simms, Paris manager of the United Press. He at least would encourage me. He knew France, for he had been there six years. "Lille!" he exclaimed. "Good Lord, you might as well try to break into Heaven. You've got as much chance as a snowball in hell." "But how do you know.?" I persisted. "Know, you darn fool, why, this is war; war, real war. The French don't allow tourist parties. Where's your common-sense .?" " Common-sense " again ; that was too much. I too figured that it was war and that everything was topsy-turvy. The most expected would fail to happen ; the least expected was quite likely to happen. So I went to the railroad station. 22 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War "Third class to Lille." This was said boldly. "Oui, monsieur, fourteen francs, please," and the ticket was handed out to me. "No rules, restrictions, passports?" I asked. "No, monsieur, why should there be.''" "Common-sense," I almost ejaculated, but didn't. And I walked confusedly out thinking of Captain Parker's rabbit and Simms' snowball. II FROM THE FRENCH LINES TO THE GERMAN The next day, I was on the train for Lille, straight up to the North, straight towards the Belgian border, straight to the heart of that world-struggle from which we had seen only chance sparks. I had set out under the flush of the "glories of war," thrilled with thoughts of flags borne forward, bugles sounding charges men doing triumphs of bravery, shells, smoke, flashes filling the air in one mighty splendor. Towards Cambrai, we saw the first of it. We were on the main line of communications both to Paris and to England. Train after train of soldiers, both French and English, rushed past. Snatches of song, the Marseillaise, Rule Bri- tannia, or friendly greetings or jests in broken French and English floated back to us. Thou- sands of men, smiling and laughing, were rushing 23 24 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War on to annihilate their fellow-men. Did one not realize the horrible business of it all, the songs and jokes might have made it appear almost a colossal game ; but as it was, the cheery faces only heightened the immutability of the forces which drove them on. Our train hitched on, siding by siding. Every mile or so we stopped, backed on to an odd track, and gave right of way to a rushing troop-train. Always we alighted to see anything that was to be seen and to enjoy the warm sunshine of a beautiful day. Just south of Marcoing, those who were first to alight shouted : "Les canons, les canons." The rumble of artillery came clearly to us out of the distance. Great Heavens, the Germans were well inside France ! What had happened in Belgium } How had they broken through 1 What, even now, was going on in that spot towards which we strained our eyes t Did this tragic breaking of the silence in which we had lived presage another Sedan t For two hours we remained on that siding. Occasionally a German aeroplane was visible on the distant sky, circling around like an angry From the French Lines to the German 25 vulture seeking the prey's weak spot. Train after train rushed by us. Curiously enough, all those going out were British, all those coming back were French. Apparently the Tommies were going out to hold the Germans while the French reformed below. Little we realized it at the time, but the battle we were there hearing from a distance was that of Cateau-Cambrai, where Sir John French's valiant Expeditionary Force just escaped annihilation. Soon came the first wounded. Englishmen huddled into common cattle-cars, having had only the most rudimentary treatment out front, and with no one to care for them on the way. Those in view were wounded in every conceiv- able fashion, arms, legs, and bodies, while behind closed doors lay men even then perhaps breath- ing their last. It had been literally a slaughter, they told us. On Sunday, 25,000 British had been entrenching near Mons when a German aeroplane spied them. Twenty minutes later 125,000 Germans were on them. The artillery fire was fearful beyond words ; whole divisions perished to a man ; the 19th Hussars who alone 26 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War could charge were completely obliterated. Finally the British retreated and the Germans ran into a trap. The French cut in on their flank. What then happened Heaven knows. Not a man I saw from the front that day but felt amazement at the Germans' mighty military prowess ; with some it was a mania. The men returning from the front had a sad- ness, a pathos, a bewilderment in their expres- sions which all too well bespoke the whirlpool into which they had been drawn. There was a blankness and a dulness in their eyes which be- tokened almost complete mental dismay. The re- actions of many of them were too unreasonable, too out of perspective to be believed. Many, kindly and gentle in appearance, boasted to me of the most gruesome of deeds — deeds which ordinarily would have shocked them, even in the telling. That delicate something within man, call it soul, spirit, psychology, what you will, had in thousands of cases been smashed so com- pletely that future generations will suffer far more from its effects than from all the physical injuries and disabilities put together. From the French Lines to the German 27 One Tommie I remember who had been in a bayonet charge just before. He was leaning Hstlessly against the door of the car, his eyes fixed in unseeing gaze on an open field beyond. A sadness enshrouded his still figure which made me hesitate to intrude. As I spoke in a low, impersonal voice, he looked up indifferently, and relapsed almost at once into absorption. Then unexpectedly, in droning, mechanical fashion, he told me how his company had become trapped in the trenches by a German crossfire. "We were going down like flies," he said, "and it would have been the end of all of us to have stayed any longer in that trap, with machine- guns squirting on us from both ends. About the only thing we could do was to make a run straight at 'em — at least we'd die standing up. God knows anything was better than crouching there till we were all cleaned out. We couldn't even fight, it was just waiting." By now the dulness had left his eye, and a ring come into his voice. "It's funny," he went on, "how little things count. When the order came, I jumped over 28 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War the earthworks and then went sprawling over a head of cabbage. It seemed as though I'd never get to my feet again. Bullets were nipping all about me; the enemy's trenches looked like a long line of red ; seemed to me I was as big as a giant with some one catching at my feet and all those guns going at me alone. "I don't remember much more. There was one big final crash and I leaped on the top of the trench and began to stab. Once I remember reaching out to get at someone and stepping on the face of a dead man at my feet. God knows how long it lasted — not long I fancy, for then they broke and ran. "It was an awful mess all about. Dead and wounded all mixed up — lots of Germans and many of us. Then those bloody machine-guns opened on us again. I tried to pull one of our fellows into shelter, but my right arm was out of commission. First I thought I was wounded. Then it came to me. I'd been swinging my bayonet so hard there wasn't any strength left." His eyes clouded again. From the French Lines to the German 29 "My God," he went on softly, "if I could only forget. It's all a nightmare now — still I can't help wondering — maybe the blows didn't get home — maybe — " He turned his face away. Two hours later we started on our way again, not on towards Lille, for that road was indeed blocked, but back in a wide sweep to Amiens. Our carriage, before badly crowded, was jammed almost to suffocation by the cramming in of eighteen Belgian refugees, driven they knew not whither. Opposite me was an old lady with seared face, bright sparkling eyes, and a white ruffled bonnet tied under her chin. She was at least eighty-five years old, and, I wager, had never before left home. With her were several big scrawny men with rough farmers' shirts and finger-nails fresh from the soil, three young girls, and a various assortment of children. Only two days before they had been wakened in the blackness of night by the screeching of German shells bombarding Charleroi. They had had only time to gather their children before fleeing pell-mell, penniless, and without food into 30 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War the darkness. For a whole day they had had nothing to eat. At last at 4 o'clock we came to a station where French soldiers rushed joyously to them with bread. That scene was only one of the tiny back-eddies of war, it is true, but it went into the very depths of human emotions. Three Frenchmen in the carriage with me actually had tears in their eyes, and told the sufferers that they had only to show their colors in France to receive the bounty of a grateful nation. At last at 10 P.M., twelve hours after we had left Paris, we ground heavily into the big station at Amiens. What a sight ! Wave upon wave of refugees wandering aimlessly under the flare of the arc lamps, French and British soldiers here and there in groups, train upon train steaming in, hitching about, and then running out into the blackness, — such was the chaos and confusion about us. Black-robed ministers and priests were stalking about to administer the last rites ; a long Red Cross train with steam up waited for the next load from the North. The refugees, homeless and crazed with fear for loved ones left behind, walked about distractedly From the French Lines to the German 31 or sought sleep on the hard platform floors. Women lay on the few bundles which remained of all their worldly goods. Children were curled up beside large packs. Once, stepping over a prostrate sleeper I put my foot squarely into his derby hat, lying at his stomach. And when at last I arrived at the lunchroom I found there was nothing to be had but a few cakes and chocolate, not very substantial food indeed for my only meal since breakfast. Two long hours we stayed there, waiting. Still that silent death's procession to and from the front. What was happening out there through the blackness .'* At last we got under way. Heaven knew whither, except that it was in the general direction of the battle. All night long we hitched our way northward, constantly being sided for troop-trains, and several times stopping for nearly an hour in the blackness of the open country. Somehow I dared not sleep, but preferred to stay awake while darkness faded into dawn and dawn into daylight. At 7 o'clock our train ended its weary way almost with a groan of satisfaction. I looked 32 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War out to see an odd little town of white walls and red roofs, absolutely foreign to anything French. In considerable bewilderment I turned to a French reservist who had just come back from the cotton-mills at Woonsocket, Rhode Island. "Where in the world is this place .f"' I asked. "Hazebrouck." , "Where the devil is that.?" "Flanders." "But what the devil is it built like.?" "Flemish." "But what in the name of goodness are we stopping for ?" "It's our destination." "Destination ! " I exclaimed. "Where's Lille ?" "Twenty-five kilometers East." "Aren't we going there.?" "No, it's on another line." "But what in the name. of Heaven are we going to do then.?" "Wait." "And the battle, the war — stay cooped up here.?" "Je ne sais pas, Monsieur." From the French Lines to the German 33 And we landed at the little Flemish town of Hazebrouck, just on the edge of Belgium, twenty- five kilometers from Lille, and twenty-three hours after leaving Paris. At once we went to the prefect of police, a small army of about twenty-five reservists and myself. Rather ominously I was held till the last. The prefect was a very self-important person with a long black beard and snapping eyes. The moment he saw Uncle Sam's big red seal, he snorted loudly, drove out the French-American who had stayed to help me, settled back in his chair, and flew at me with a volley of French which I could no more stem than I could have stemmed Niagara Falls. I stuttered out that I was an American, and then, with no idea of what the passport was, he settled his big seal on it and herded me out of the ofiice. Lille was open ; the rabbit or the snowball was safe. But that was by no means getting there. After a horrible breakfast and an earnest attempt to remove a little of the night's grime by aid of a faucet in a dirty back yard, we went to the station. No trains would run all morning. 34 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War Great Heavens, marooned in a sleepy village, twenty-five kilometers from the centre of world history. The only way I could keep my temper and my wakefulness was to write all morning as I had written all night. By lunch-time even the Frenchmen were worn out with waiting. Two set out for Lille on foot ; others hired the town's one automobile. Both twenty-five kilometers and twenty-five francs seemed big to me, but it was another long time before I ran down a messenger who was just about to drive back to Lille. An interminable ride it was,' after our sleepless night, for from 3 to 8 we jolted along in a tireless, springless wagon. My only mem- ories are of heroic efforts not to jounce on to the road in my sleep, of interminable stops for beer at red-tiled inns dotting a magnificently rich country, and of a pretty French woman nursing a won- drous golden-haired child, who asked if we spoke English in America or had a language of our own. At the little town of Armentieres we descended from our good wagon and waited around in the cold damp rain for a tram which by some acci- dent was still running spasmodically. Another From the French Lines to the German 35 half hour and we were in Lille, the city to which not even a rabbit could go, the city the chances of reaching which were as good as "a snowball's in hell." Lille had stopped completely, no work, no play, only waiting. For seven days there had been no trains, no mail, no telegraph, no government. Not a soldier remained, for the forts had been dismantled, the garrison withdrawn, the city decreed open and unfortified. No defence was possible ; the higher strategy felt it necessary to sacrifice the city to greater ends. Big flaring posters begged the citizens to be peaceful when the Germans entered. The papers came out intermittently, always without news. The only news at all was that borne of supercharged imaginations. For all that was known France might have ceased to exist. Wild rumors, both of victory and defeat, sprang from nowhere, surcharged the air, encom- passed the city. Memories of 1870 and wild stories from Belgium made all Lille quiver like a raw nerve. Suspense hung like a pall over the city. Something must happen. It was as 36 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War though a giant genii had mummified all life into inactivity. During my stay reports of a few stray Uhlans in the environs at once sent the rasped nerves of the city completely a-j angle. Crowds gesticu- lated on every street corner. Speculation was wild. It was the occupation at last, atrocities, indemnity, and all. There was above all fear, with a certain relief that the suspense was at last ended, and a deep grief that the city should be thus sullied. But the Germans did not come ; they had more pressing business elsewhere. Nevertheless fear of them so haunted the city that it was finally decreed that anyone spreading sensational news would be arrested and forced to give his authority. How this could be done with all the police force gone I do not know, but doubtless it hushed many a clattering tongue into silence. The government of the Departement du Nord, of which Lille is the capital, had fled pell-mell to Dunkerque on the sea-coast. One day during my stay they returned, and post, telegraph, and train service were resumed. The people were From the French Lines to the German 37 jubilant. The German goblins vanished like a hideous nightmare. Imagine the panic, however, when the very next day it was found that the government had fled again in the night. It was obvious that even if the Germans entered Lille at all, it would be only with a small holding force. The main army was driving through farther east. Douai, they told me, was the centre of activities, but how to cover the forty kilometres there was a poser. At last the idea of a bicycle struck me. It would be quaint in- deed thus to chase the battle-front blindly all over France. After a whole day's hunting and tremendous linguistic effort, I secured the best the city could offer, the best bicycle, I soon believed, in all France, a machine which, costing me but $23 secondhand, was destined to take me half across the country. Then to have my passport vised. The few relics left over from the fugitive city government shunted me on from one to the other as if com- pletely astounded at my proposal. At last I arrived before the grand factotum himself. He growled menacingly at me, and more menacingly 38 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War at my passport. When he heard I wanted to go on to Cambrai, he snapped out that I was most suspiciously following the armies. So that was where they were then 1 but I hastened to tell him of two American girls I was trying to locate. It didn't go. The dates on my pass- port were all against me. The game was up, I thought, and quickly forgot all the French I ever knew. Here's where I go down as a spy, I was just thinking, when suddenly down came his pen on the passport, and I found myself booked for Arras. Arras t I looked it up on the map as soon as I could and found that there were more ways than one of getting there. So I bicycled out of Lille, for Arras, via Douai. What in the world would I blunder into in those forty kilometres t French, Germans, battles ; danger or peacefulness t Inn after inn I stopped at — for it was hot work bicycling — and always it was the same story, husband, son, or brother gone, dead for all that was known these past three weeks, nothing left but misery, suspense, abject fear, and utter defencelessness. What nerves the dull-witted peasant women of Northern From the French Lines to the German 39 France have were worn into such a frazzle that nothing was too terrible to fear of "les barbares." At last, with considerable trepidation I entered Douai. To my amazement, however, the Ger- mans had not yet come there. The atmosphere was even more electric than at Lille ; the slightest clatter down any side street at once magnetized a gaping crowd into activity. Trains, post, telegraph, and newspapers had ceased eight days before. Once I saw a small crowd apparently mobbing a single man, who turned out to be only a poor newspaper dealer with a few old Lille papers. Occasionally a Red Cross auto tore in from that mysterious land of the front, dashing recklessly through the streets and covered thick with dust. Crowds at once gathered in the hope of a few crumbs of news. Only once did I see that fear-ridden crowd laugh. That was when a heavy wagon clattered down the street with three men in front carrying giant carrots cut out to represent the Kaiser. There was the helmet, the upturned moustache, the jaunty head, and all. The laugh, however, was nervous and half-hearted and soon ceased. 40 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War Still I don't suppose any other people in the world but the French would have thought of such a thing at such a time. Again it was obvious that I was on the wrong scent. The map showed Valenciennes to be the next big city eastward and I set out without loss of time to get my passport vised onward. "But the Germans are at Valenciennes!" exclaimed a pompous chap, and he went off at once to get another official. Out came a fat little man with staring eyes who seemed to be the big nabob. "But, Monsieur," he protested, "there are Ger- mans there." "I know," I replied. "They won't hurt me." "But," he stammered, "the Germans, the bar- barians — " "Yes, but I'm an American." "And you want to go to Valenciennes, where all the Germans are?" "Yes," I replied. "I'm crazy, stark crazy; nobody will harm a mad man." He burst into a roar of laughter and went out to call the few other officials left in the building. From the French Lines to the German 41 To them we gave a dress performance of the whole, at the end of which the Httle nabob, amid chuckles and "les Allemands," affixed his portly seal to my much-abused passport. That after- noon he met me in the square and a second time explained about the Germans. At dinner at the hotel I saw him again, still chuckling and talking about "les barbares." Off I started the next day for Valenciennes, sure at last of meeting the Germans, uncertain of everything else. I confess, too, that I could not but absorb some of the terror about me ; I could not but wonder what they would do to a lone civilian bicycling aimlessly about. With every turn of the wheel the tenseness seemed greater. Every kilometer of the thirty-five to Valenciennes the German phantom became more life-like. All the way the stagnation and loneliness increased. Harvests were rotting ; few people were In the fields ; more were at the crossroads, waiting, waiting. At last I came to Aniche, a dirty little town with two main cross-streets, roughly cobbled and wet with filth. Every doorstep was crowded 42 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War with women and children and a few old men, all ready to turn and run, all animated by terror, sustained by curiosity. The fear was so choking that I stopped to inquire. "Les barbares" were just entering. Crash ! they were there at the corner. Up snapped their horses' heads ; to either side the great helmeted men peered with burning inten- sity. Uhlans ! The whole village winced. Chil- dren ran behind their mothers ; women made ready to flee. — Mediaeval indeed, a page from the Crusades ; it could not be the twentieth century. Suddenly two of the horses started towards where I was. The crowd ran helter-skelter in absolute terror. For a second I stood alone in the road-way like a marked man, with my suit- case strapped to my bicycle and a straw hat on my head. Believe me, I lost no time in getting to a doorway with my precious machine. For- tunately, however, it had been no more than a bolting horse. Shortly the people returned, quiv- ering but still curious. Sadly, bitterly, they watched the division ride past, impotent to do anything, their own men way behind them to the From the French Lines to the German 43 South, they themselves absolutely at the mercy of the big, stalwart, fearsome-looking warriors whose march was thus forever engraven on their memory. It made my soul sick when word was whispered back that "les barbares" had taken possession of the town hall and requisitioned luncheon. Now indeed I was within the German lines, a pretty pickle indeed, I began to fear. In four days I had swung around the French and British flanks, from the French and British rear to the German rear, and was hearing the same battle which I had heard only a few days before from the exactly opposite side. What would they say when they found me 1 The die was cast ; I might as well go forward as back. Without warning a big gray automobile burst upon me with frightful speed. I thought my bicycle was gone ; but no, the machine tore on into the dis- tance, unnoticing. Dimly, faintly, I began to hear a dull rumble to the south, a sound like far-away thunder, grim and sullen. As I advanced, it separated into the distinct shocks of heavy artillery. By 44 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War the map I could see that the line extended from Cambrai through Le Cateau to Maubeuge. Here indeed was the clash of the nations, cruel, primi- tive, savage, where the world's most momentous issues were being adjudicated by mere brute force. Just at sunset I stood on a little hill looking down on the white spires of Valenciennes. It was the main German headquarters of Northern France. Should I go down } Certainly I could not put my head more completely into the noose. I had no German papers and nothing but an American passport showing how in five days I had circled up from Paris around the French and English flanks to the German rear. What would "les barbares" make of it all 1 And what good reason could I give them for being there anyway ^. A long, long time I waited. At last there appeared an educated- looking Frenchman. "Monsieur," I said, "I'm an American. Is it safe to go down .f"' "Perfectly," he replied. "But can one enter the city?" "Certainly." From the French Lines to the German 45 "No guards?" "No, Monsieur." "No sentries?" "No, Monsieur." "No need of passport?" "No, Monsieur." I could not believe it. Surely my French must be wrong. One could not enter the main German headquarters unchallenged. To win his confidence, I showed him Paris papers a week later than any he had seen and gave him news of the capital. His joy knew no bounds ; I was sure that he would not deceive me. I descended the hill; approached the city gates gingerly; entered ; passed through ; found myself un- challenged in the city of German headquarters of Northern France. Ah, Valenciennes, you were indeed a stricken city. Helpless under the iron heel of the Ger- man military system, you were forced to house your bitterest enemies ; to give them of your best ; to see yourself made the base of a mighty blow at the heart of your country. Heaven knows how many thousands of hostile troops 46 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War sullied your soil ; how many hundreds of busses, wagons, automobiles, thundered out of your gates towards the capital of France. Alas ! what a tragedy of helplessness ; the spirit willed but strength failed. You were like a great stricken animal, com- prehending all, suffering all, too weak to struggle. Your people looked on with piteous, pleading eye while Germans swarmed on you and over you like a pest of locusts. Sadness, gloom, despair, held you in firm grip, with never a smile to brighten the tragedy. For six days it had been thus. Before that the English had been here for three days, having come 25,000 strong from Dunkerque and Boulogne and rushed through to disaster at Mons. Shortly the Germans burst through Liege, swarmed on in immense droves, and flooded into Valenciennes in unestimated numbers. Hardly had the clatter of one regiment ceased than that of another began. Irresistible, inexhaustible, they swarmed on while Valenciennes choked down its straining heart. Never will I forget the dull agony of the Place d'Armes. On one side rose the great mass of From the French Lines to the German 47 the crystal-towered Hotel de VlUe in all its Gothic beauty. High from its belfry flaunted the hated German colors. In its court and throughout its rooms stalked the dull gray of hundreds of German uniforms. In the centre of the square was a constantly changing stream of Ger- man soldiers, artillery, cavalry, and supply wagons, ready for the drive south. On the other side, a line of cafes filled with Germans and French alike. In one of them, the Cafe Fran9ais, I sought out the Mayor. He and his government had been driven from the picturesque Hotel de Ville and forced to take up their headquarters here to do what they could. A splendid picture of manhood he was too, flowing white hair, erect stature, and sparkling eyes. "Sir," I said, "I am an American journalist just from Paris. I have newspapers telling of the new French war ministry. Would you care to see them .f"' "Mon Dieu, yes," he exclaimed. "But not here?" I questioned. "Heavens, no," and he led me out of the crowded cafe into a small alley-way, up a rickety 48 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War back stairs into a darkened room, where a group of what had been the city government greeted the news with boyish excitement. It was the first they had had for eight days, and it showed that France still lived. Now for the German commandant. Obviously I could not be caught without some sort of papers. It was better to face it out voluntarily than to wait for the inevitable challenge. I passed through the German sentries patrolling the sidewalk and stepped gingerly out towards the Hotel de Ville over what seemed to be a deadline for all but German gray. A score of soldiers were lolling about in the entry way of the Hotel de Ville. My request in English for the commandant turned all eyes on me most menac- ingly. It was the time when hatred for England was most bitter. Fortunately, one man under- stood me and explained that I should go to the rail- road station. I was glad indeed to go anywhere. Men half naked, men bathing, men gorging food, men marching, men sleeping on straw, Red Cross women flitting about, horses being led out- side, artillery bumping across the platform. From the French Lines to the German 49 noise, confusion, a babel of talking and com- mands — such was the main station of Valen- ciennes on this, the first day of the opening of through communication with Germany. At last I located the commandant and hitched myself to him like a wagon to a star, careering after him through the jumble. "What do you want?" he flared between commands. "To go to Cambrai," I said. "What if you do .?" he snapped. "I suppose I need a German pass," I said. "I don't want to get shot." "You can't get there," he exclaimed. "Oh, yes, I have a bicycle." "My God, you Americans, you're everywhere — always ready." He was off like a shot out of a gun. I caught glimpses of his fat little body flitting about beside a train just in. Suddenly he dropped out of nowhere before me ; ordered me to come with him, and tore off down the platform to his office. "Where do you come from .f"' he asked. "Boston." 50 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War "That's a poor place." "It's the best city in the world," I exclaimed. "Don't talk like that to me if you want a pass." "Well, what city do you like then.?" I asked. "Philadelphia," he replied, and I burst out laughing so hard that he nearly dropped his pen. Finally, after admitting that Philadelphia was incomparable in the United States, I got my German pass. I could not keep away from the Place d'Armes, however; its tragedy fascinated me. At regular intervals the sound of iron heels of marching men pounding rhythmically on solid cobbles came to us from along the road from Germany. Another detachment swung out of the narrow streets into the square and goose-stepped onwards to the Hotel de Ville. A snapping command cut the air like a razor ; the detachment halted as one man ; another snap, and crash, the guns were grounded on the cobbles. Magnificent ! A few minutes rest and another thousand gray uniforms were off to the heart of France. Then a sharp siren screech as a single gray automobile, thick with dust and bristling with ■tc^ [ . " I ^^ %;«-M-t.qiture^njncyclette, en chemin defer ou en automobile et se rendant d. 4c2:^'/V .^a'^_ y^/c des agents provocateurs. CharTe.^.OELESALLE, Ch. DEBIERRE, ' \>!'i' Senalcui- QVDELORY, H. QHESOUIERE, I'epiilf , IJepuli' SArNT-VENANT, PICAVET, For five weeks Lille had been rasped to a frazzle." See opposite page. France's Calmness and BelgiuyrC s Agony 237 I had been gone, the Germans had been in heavy- force just outside and had once sent in a squad of Uhlans. Even as I entered, I read on all the walls official proclamations just posted by the Mayor that the formal surrender of the city was imminent. One of those which seemed to be most universal I was able to detach from an official bulletin board at considerable risk. It is reproduced on the opposite page, and may be translated as follows : " Supreme appeal to the population of Lille ! In case German horsemen, however small their numbers, make an incursion into our city, we call attention to the fact that no civilian has the right to do them any injury or give them any provoca- tion under pain of furnishing a pretext for bloody reprisals. The laws of war are strict in this matter. "Once more, we beg you to keep to your homes and preserve your sang-froid. Distrust provocateurs." The next day, it seemed as though all Lille were emptying itself southward in one great stream. Fortunately, I discovered a lone train at the station bound for Tournal, just across the border in Belgium, and I lost no time in getting on board, 238 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War aided by a young French girl who picked an acquaintance with me and quite seriously pro- posed that I take her to the States. Such is the fraternity of war-times. After a short ride, a sixth sense which war seems to develop showed someone running off with my precious bicycle at a little way-station. To my surprise I found it was the Belgium customs, one of the last shreds of Belgian authority left. "I am an American" opened the country to me with mystic rapidity and we sped rapidly on to the danger-line. I have known fear several times during this war, but never had it been so subtle, so stifling, so all- pervading as it was after I had been in the little Belgian town of Tournai for an hour. It seemed as though the whole population of Belgium had been squeezed out from under the merciless Ger- man steam-roller and backed up into the town's little square. I had planned to bicycle on through the German lines, into Charleroi, Mons, Louvain, and Holland, but alas that I stopped ! Yes, the Germans were just outside ; ooh-la-la, anyone on a bicycle was shot first and examined afterwards ; Uhlans were all over ; and I had Paris papers 1 — France^ s Calmness and BelgiunCs Agony 239 they were forbidden on pain of death — and a camera ? — oh, Monsieur, you would not Hve five minutes. I paused. The little square was choked with people. Everyone was shifting, moving nervously about, casting apprehensive glances towards the East, as though from that quarter some fearful ogre might spring. Wild, unreasoned terror electrified the seething mob. It was in the air ; it sprang from person to person ; it finally worked its way into me too. I glanced fearfully in the direction I had planned to travel. My two lunch companions, educated Belgian refugees, enlarged on stories of children cut to pieces, women disembowelled, a whole village put under the mitrailleuse — "They're coming." It rose up from the mob, a great wail. A new group of refugees brought word that the Germans were moving on the town in large numbers. The news spread like wild-fire. The ominous noise of a terrified mob rose louder and louder. People grabbed up their bundles and ran everywhere, helter-skelter. Some rushed to the open roads to the south and west; some jammed a four-car 240 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War tram even to the roof; others surged over to a long train waiting with steam up in the station. In a twinkling the town had emptied itself. The square before me was completely barren. My two lunch companions had vanished into space ; only the waiter remained in what had been a crowded restaurant. Except for him I was the only living being about. What to do — I cer- tainly did not relish the idea of being there alone to welcome the whole German army. And my bicycle, my camera, my French newspapers 1 Brrrh. The blind, unreasoned, psychological effect of mob fear surged over me too. My only desire was to run — to get away — to escape that terrible something in the air. I too crowded my way into the station and found room at last only in the baggage-car. I never wanted to see a German again. Slowly we hitched along. Every compartment was crowded to over-flowing with sometimes as many as fifteen people. Thousands were fleeing blindly, not knowing whither or caring, except that it was away from the scourge behind. They had abandoned everything but a few large bundles France'' s Calmness and Belgium's Agony 241 of clothes or precious possessions snatched up at the last minute. They had left husbands, wives, children, friends, whose fates their imaginations pictured in most ghastly detail. There indeed was one of the most agonizing tragedies in all this agony-stricken land. Belgium might have been divided into two spheres, a little ragged, ill-trained army hopelessly, gloriously brave, and a seething homeless peasantry crazed with ' a fear which denied all reason. While the soldiers were flinging themselves forward to certain death with a smile on their lips, the ignorant, superstitious peasants were fleeing, pell-mell, vying with each other in ghastly atrocity stories and drinking In with avidity the most impossible reports of wholesale butchery, slaughter, and devastation. That the Belgian army stood up against this fearful panic is an eternal tribute in Itself. At last we arrived at Ghent, that beautiful historic city where almost loo years ago England and America made peace. Here too it was one great molten stream of sad, despairing refugees, pushed on from all over Belgium by the German tidal wave. A nervous, seething crowd throbbed 242 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War about the big square before the station, now rush- ing to one side to watch a line of soldiers file by and off into the distance, now gaping vacantly at an aeroplane overhead, but always raw with terror and premonition. And as I picked my way through this human wreckage to the Hotel de Ville, I could not but hope that the English and French flags which were draped there on either side of the Belgian might bring rescue to this gallant little people who had dared to defend themselves. Just one more atom as I was in that trembling mob, I made straight for a big Stars and Stripes flying over the American consulate. , My first acquaintance there was an American lecturer, who, I am sure, was the only man in Europe be- sides myself to be wearing a straw hat. "Late for straws," I ventured. "Yes," he replied, "I guess we're the last ones left." "It's the last thing I got in Boston." "Good Heavens," he exclaimed. "That's where mine came from," and the labels showed they were bought within one hundred yards of each other. France'' s Calmness and Belgium^ s Agony 243 "Where you been ?" I asked. "Nearly shot by the Germans for a spy," he repHed. "And you?" "Oh, the same thing by the French," and another war friendship was on. Consul van Hee then hove in sight and took me to another room. Like a thunderbolt he dropped me down before two American girls just as I was, dressed in rags and rough-and-tumble clothing. They were terribly — I use the word advisedly — terribly pretty ; tall, lithe, graceful, with beautiful coloring, and each wearing a pink and white sweater, a trig short skirt, and high tan tramping boots. They were indeed types of ideal woman- hood, bright, sparkling, vivacious. "Great girls," said van Hee. "Just come from Charleroi." "Charlerol!" I echoed dazedly. The word struck me cold, for at that time Charleroi was an Inferno, and all the hundred miles between were filled with men drunk with battle who knew not right nor chivalry. "Yes," laughed one, "we've just come from there." 244 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War "But," I gasped, "how in Heaven's name did you do it ?" "Oh," she replied, "we walked. You see we'd been there eight weeks in the Red Cross and couldn't stand the strain any longer. We left Paris the minute war broke out and joined the Red Cross at Charleroi. First came the Belgian soldiers, then the French, then the English, then the bombardment. For three days they fought about the city while we lived underground. Then the Germans fought their way in — there were hours of street fighting — and finally they got con- trol. There was nothing we could do but stay; the wounded and dying were being poured in by hundreds ; and we were the only trained nurses in the city. No time for rest or sleep, always the same awful work, always on duty. After eight weeks we broke down. Finally we told the Ger- mans we simply must get away. They didn't pre- vent us, but they wouldn't do one thing to help us. They really did need us. We decided to go anyway. We packed a few clothes in knapsacks and set out on foot for Paris. Every now and then we got a lift, and here we are, eight days afterwards." France^ s Calmness and Belgium'' s Agony 245 That indeed is the American girl. For two months they had borne the strain of nursing while the battle had raged round them. Then they had set resolutely out on foot, undaunted by the 150 miles to Paris, the crowds of war-drunk soldiers on their route. 'Tis an unsung bravery indeed that carried these young and tempting women through. Mr. van Hee was so interested that he offered his automobile for a trip to Antwerp. Probably in no other way could we have entered that beleaguered city. Though none of us had passes the machine bore two large American flags and was widely known as the one thing other than bullets and shells which passed between the Belgian and German lines. Every few minutes along the rough, cobbled way we were held up by suspicious sen- tries with guns lowered and fingers on the trigger. Each time our chauffeur leaned out, motioned to the sentry, and whispered in his ear the one word : "Mons." That was all ; there was no scrutiny, no exam- ination ; that one word was the Open Sesame to 246 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War the great city of Antwerp. Surely it was more mediaeval than modern — made me think, too, more of the absurd college fraternity than war. It was amusing to see that one word metamorphose the determined scowling face of a heavily armed sentry into a broad smile with ejaculations of "Bon, bon, bon." Miles and miles we went, past soldiers lounging about or cavalry all mounted for action, past trains of rapid-fire guns and supplies ; past tangled networks of barbed wire, fields of sharp- pointed stakes, and little woods cut down so that bullets but not horses might pass, embankments and subterranean shelters. Nature the whole length of the road to Antwerp had been perverted to the work of annihilation. Truly the traps which man sets for man are heinous. Ah, Antwerp, thou fair city, as your graceful spires came into view over the little harbor, what a prayer welled up within us that you at least might rest unsullied from the invincible conqueror who has devastated all your peaceful country. There, within your gates, you held the last of Belgium, King, government, army, and all, backed up in France^ s Calmness and Belgium^ s Agony 247 the last and greatest stronghold after a struggle which will ring gloriously down through the pages of history. All that there was, all that there is of Belgium, was in your keeping. As we rattled across a rough pontoon bridge over the Scheldt, our hearts were indeed fast with you in your hour of trial. Strange indeed it was how Antwerp kept its natural expression, even in these most dire hours. The inexorable German army was even then pounding at the inner forts ; the eastern suburbs were closed by the bombardment, and yet there were but few signs of the intensity of the combat near by. Soldiers were strolling all about; Red Cross officials were moving busily around ; mili- tary machines honked their way through rather crowded streets to the outposts ; many stores were closed ; the lights were out at 8 o'clock ; but even at that there was at first nothing striking in the atmosphere. Only slowly did the grim spectre which lay behind become evident. Above all was a calmness almost of fatality which awoke in one a peculiar combination of premonition and acute grief. Everyone seemed grim and determined, as 248 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War though the sufferings of recent weeks had steeled them to meet the future's worst. How bitterly affairs were going at the front was concealed from everyone, even newspapermen, and the thought that the city would be in German hands within a week was never entertained. So self-controlled did Antwerp seem that we decided to run back to Ghent to get back to the front from that direc- tion. Little did we dream that the Cathedral we admired so that night would see Zeppelins sail- ing about it and shells bursting around it only seventy- two hours later. 'Twas midnight when again we saw the graceful spires and the rough pontoon bridge on our way back to Ghent. Behind us Antwerp lay calm and still in the moonlight. All lights were out, lest any prowling Zeppelin get in its dastardly work. 'Twas an eerie sight and sad, for truly it seemed that no life moved within. 'Twas an eerie ride, too, which was to come. Our route lay through a dim, bluish moonlight, through long miles of dying camp-fires, where heavily blanketed men moved ghost-like about, trenches, barbed wires, and occasional neighing horses. Every quarter France^ s Calmness and Belgium'' s Agony 249 mile or so, in spectral, uncanny way, a red lantern moved out into the road and a heavily armed sentry with shining rifle-barrel peered suspiciously through the semi-darkness. Again the magic word "Mons" passed us through with smiles and whispered ejaculations. Engraven on my memory for all time is the picture of that weak bluish light cast by a shimmering moon on cleared fields, trenches, entanglements, and the spectral figures of men with the back-ground of a city in its last stand for freedom. XII BELGIUM'S HOPELESS HEROISM The next day was in ways the most surprising of the many surprising days I had spent in Eu- rope. I still retained vivid memories of my war correspondent's experiences in France, of my being dragged about handcuffed, cooped up in jails, left to sleep in horse-stalls, on bare floors, in the open air, and otherwise convinced of my unpopularity. Indeed, I had been cured of any idea that correspondents were men, or to be treated in any way as human beings. Conse- quently, when some English correspondents, whom I had picked up at Ghent, invited me to go to the front in their automobile, to take a sightseeing tour, as it were, for the small sum of ^5, it seemed as though I were in a dream. Cer- tainly we would be shot for our presumption. Still, I accepted. To my surprise they pro- duced a real automobile. I blundered in be- wildered. Even now as I write I can hardly 250 Belgium^ s Hopeless Heroism 251 believe what I say. We left Ghent; we passed guard after guard ; we stopped ; we took pic- tures ; we rode wherever we wished ; we did whatever we desired. We set off in one direc- tion because we thought we could locate a battle there; we changed our course several times on getting advice nearer the front. In all grim reality, we were hunting a battle as though it were a spectacle. All the way It was a beautiful lowland, the rich, verdant lowland of Belgium, cut by regular lines of slim-trunked, high-tufted poplars and peaceful with the spell of the first breath of early fall. All the way, too, there were marching men, swift-moving cavalry, long trains of artil- lery and convoys, with always the distant grumble of battle humming like a dull background. We had absolutely no idea where we were. Modern battles cover so much territory and are so in- definite in line that you can chase one all day and then not recognize it when you come upon it. Suddenly, however, we came full upon four little field guns just swinging into action in a 252 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War cabbage-field. The Pathe Freres movie man jumped out. "Howdy-do, Captain .?" he said in English to a Belgian officer whom he recognized. "Starting something ?" "Yes, you're just in time." "Wait a minute then, till we get ready." And the order to fire was held up till the pho- tographers had distributed themselves in strategic positions. That indeed was too much for me — I had to rub my eyes to see if I were really awake. If this had been France, we would by now have had guards with fixed bayonets behind us and a wild-looking official in front of us. Instead, the movie man turned to the Captain informally, and said : "All ready, Captain." "Fire!" rang out the order in whatever the French of it is. Four terrific crashes, four fiery flashes at the gun muzzles, four wisps of smoke, four barrels kicked violently back in recoil, four empty shells thrown out hot and smoking, four new shells slid into the breeches — and four more shells were Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 253 off to the German trenches miles away. Round followed round, dully, mechanically, unemotion- ally. About the guns were small squads of men, dull, mechanical, unemotional. It might have been drill ; it surely did not seem real war. There was no lust of battle, no flush of strife. Blindly the gunners had set the machines to scientific calculations, which they did not understand ; equally blindly they loaded and reloaded against an enemy they had perhaps never seen. Probably no man there, except the Captain, knew what success they were having. Several miles away men were falling under the fleecy white puffs which followed every crash from the guns before us. It was a poor game after all. So far as we could see, all they were aiming at was a row of poplars 100 yards ahead. Through that first line was a meadow ; beyond that a second line — that was all, except for one's imagination. Truly it was wearisome, that constant loading and re- loading, much as the din of the old Fourth of July becomes wearisome before the day is hardly on. We were standing in the middle of the road, smoking and discussing the futility of it when — 254 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War Zz-z-z-z-z-z, a horrible, screeching, tearing, smashing sound slashed its way through the atmosphere overhead in a siren crescendo which crashed in a scattering explosion behind us. It might have been a giant express train catapult- ing through the atmosphere at stupendous speed, except that the high-pitched, vibrant noise of its passage was too entirely supernatural. It was so ugly, so vicious, so vindictive, that it seemed rather the death scream of some terrible fiend. I was too stunned by its suddenness and its horror to move from the spot where I had been idly smoking. I half expected the heavens to come clattering down on us through the rent overhead. "Hullo," said the Captain, putting his head out of a hut where he had taken shelter. "There are the Germans saying good morning." *'Yes," I stammered, "and I don't intend to stay till they say good night." "Don't worry," he replied. "It's not the ones you hear that do the harm. They're too far past. It's the ones you don't hear." BelgiuTu's Hopeless Heroism 255 Thereupon I was obsessed with a desire to hear shells. Quicker than scat we had turned our automobile round and were making off fast down the road, leaving our little battery at its work, with the pretty certain knowledge that the next shell would strike nearer home. For some time we drove along in the lee of a twelve-foot embank- ment flanking the river Nethe, almost lost as to the location of the battle. Above it rose a tre- mendous dense cloud of coal-black smoke pouring up in billows from a large gasoline storage tank which had been fired by Belgian artillery as soon as the German forces had come up to it. Shortly we were stopped by sentries. How natural it seemed ! This idea of war correspond- ents running around in automobiles, chasing battles, with artillery captains holding their fire till the cameras were ready, was wearing on my nerves. But no, it was only to say that while we might go on if we wished, it would not be wise to do so. The Germans were for some strange reason bombarding the little town of Grambur- gen to powder, although the sentry assured us that not a solitary inhabitant, except possibly a 256 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War few cats, remained. They were big guns that were at work, too. I timed several of those screeching monsters, catching one at ten seconds and another at thirteen from the time its siren first began till the final crash. Think of it, thir- teen seconds of hurtling death ! Suddenly I conceived the brilliant idea of climb- ing the embankment of the Nethe to see what was on the other side. Pandemonium burst out among the sentries ; several of them rushed for me ; I found myself in the middle of the road with the whole group gesticulating about me. The purport of it all was that the Germans were only seventy-five yards beyond ; that a head over the top of the embankment would have been a target for one hundred guns ; that the Teutons almost took another American's life. Such is the difficulty of locating "the front" nowadays. Anyway, I did not climb the embankment, nor did we go farther down the road. Instead we returned to the white, characterless town of Zele, where by good fortune was what purported to be an inn. It was just about far enough behind Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 257 the lines for men to shake themselves free from the horror of battle and see Its real significance. I was sitting In a small parlor when a sous-officer, gray with mud and startlingly pallid, entered the room and dropped into a chair. "Pardon, Monsieur," he said to me. "May I rest here a moment V^ "Certainly," I answered; and after a pause, "It's pretty rough outside to-day, isn't it .^" "Mon DIeu, It's terrible," he replied. "Those Germans, ah — " He shuddered, and then looked resentfully at the small grimy window and its large heavy curtains. Suddenly he burst out : "That noise, always that noise — even in this quiet little room. They pound night and day, night and day till It seems as though I'd go crazy. Can't I ever get away from It — can't I ever get where I won't hear those guns again ?" "You're just back.?" I ventured. "Yes," he replied wistfully, "and I almost wish I weren't, almost wish I'd stayed out there with Jacques. Jacques was my best friend. Monsieur, — he is dead now — yet I wonder If s 258 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War he isn't better off? At least he won't always have to remember." His head fell into his hands. It seemed during a long silence as though he were sobbing, then he murmured : "Ah, Monsieur, what a ghastly thing war is ! How brutal ! What things it makes us do ! Two days ago I was happy — now I can think of noth- ing but Jacques, hear nothing but that roar. "You see it was night before last at midnight that they got us out to dig a trench. There was Jacques, who had been my best friend for years, myself, and about 1 20 others. We worked with terrific speed, for we only had a few hours before dawn. « ' " Before we were half done it began to get gray. Suddenly there was an awful crash. Then the hellish jip-jip-jip of a machine gun. We all dropped where we stood in the half-dug trenches, — Jacques and I were together — and in a second we saw the Germans had caught us from both ends. There wasn't anything we could do — to have tried to run would have been sure death — so we squashed down into the half-dug Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 259 holes. I remember digging with my hands — burrowing like a mole to get myself underground and away from that ghastly fire. Any way I lay part of me was exposed, and it seemed as though any second might be my last. Hours and hours those guns kept going. "Suddenly there was a little gasp beside me. Jacques crumpled all in, limp and strengthless. I spoke — then I turned up his face. Ah, Mon- sieur, it was the look I had learned too well recently, — and yet to have it come to Jacques — mon Dieu, it was too much. "And the Germans kept right on with that hellish noise. It seemed as though they might have let up for a few minutes — it would have been a little thing to have done — and I thought I'd go wild with fury that they didn't. I started burrowing again — I thought I'd never get away from it. Then my eye fell on poor Jacques — no, I couldn't do it — it was too much — and yet why not — it meant no harm to him now, poor lad, and I knew he'd want me to. "Monsieur," he continued almost in a whisper, "I pulled Jacques up carefully from the hole 26o Roadside Glimpses of the Great War he'd been in and doubled him up between me and the Germans. He'd done me many a good turn in life, yet how, I've asked myself ever since, could I have asked this of him in death ?" His voice broke, then — "Heaven knows how long we lay there, Jacques and I — it seemed years. Several times there was a thud against the cold body beside me and each time I thought I'd go crazy. If only I could jump into the air, dance feverishly about, and then crash into that machine gun with poor Jacques. "Then at four o'clock in the afternoon came the order to retreat, twelve hours afterwards. Somehow they'd got the Germans out and we had a few minutes' chance. I moved Jacques back and fixed him as well as I could. Then we ran — and when we united in the little wood some way behind, there were only twenty-two of the one hundred and twenty left. "Ah, mon Dieu, to think of those twelve hours — and of what I did to Jacques. I wonder if it's true — certainly it isn't possible I could have profaned him in that way. Yet I know it Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 261 is — I did it — I know I did it — can I never forget?" It was enough to make one's heart bleed, that shaking, dust-covered head and shoulders and the grim silence broken only by quick breathing and the ever present rumble of the guns. I could not but feel that here was another of those several million men who have experienced psy- chological and spiritual shocks in this war which would have made it far better if they, too, could have fallen as Jacques fell on the spot where they received their fatal wounds. How much, I won- dered, will Europe be retarded when all these men return home to live in mental anguish and to cause it, to continue on as mental derelicts, and to pass on their sufferings to those about them and their children ^ Such is the poison of war. Glad indeed I was when it came time for luncheon. About the big table were nine Belgian officers, men who exemplified a bravery so help- less, so tragic as to make one almost cry in pain. During a pause I asked : "Do you think the Germans will take Antwerp V^ 262 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War A stillness fell. Then slowly one of them re- plied : "Monsieur, the Germans get anything they want." Not an officer protested ; not a man spoke. A pin could have been heard falling. The silence was sacred.. Shortly the officer lifted his eyes, and, racked with emotion, said : "But, by God, it will cost them dear." Such was the spirit of the Belgian army. Such was the knowledge of its men on the firing-line, who still fought like tigers, even when they knew how hollow was the world's belief that Antwerp was impregnable. The height of utter self- sacrifice shown in those few words dulled the rest of luncheon till all of us were glad of its completion. Even yet I felt odd at being at large. It seemed I ought, instead of dining with officers, to have been munching war bread in a horse-stall with sentries glowering in at the windows. The climax, however, was now to come. Two officers asked if I wouldn't like to see the country. We entered a church, climbed up and up the cold Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 263 stone stairway of the steeple, up the wooden lad- der of the upper belfry, to stand finally at the very apex. Belgium lay before me, a rich, smiling, checkerboard country, the Scheldt wandering in the foreground, two burning villages beyond, and Antwerp far on the sky-line. And beside me were two men who did not think me a spy, two men who trusted me so fully as to give me their field-glasses, in order to see the better. Could this, I wondered, be war "i Yes, emphatically yes, when a hubbub in the street below called us down lest we attract the German shells to the tower. That afternoon for the first time I saw joy in stricken Belgium. It was when we entered an ill-kempt, drear little village right in the heart of the fighting-zone. There was every reason for despondency. Heaven knows, for German shells and German soldiers might come at any moment. And yet there were hundreds of people about. The streets were crowded. Everyone was laughing, smiling, talking. People who for days had huddled panic-stricken in their homes, who had thought of nothing but blood, rapine, and 264 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War death, came forth from hiding-places as if to face the sunrise of a new day ; faces which for weeks had shown naught but anguish and misery were lit up with a happiness which fairly spiritualized the whole motley unkempt crowd. Positively it was uncanny. We honked our way through the crowd who cheered enthusiastically at the Union Jack on our radiator. The little square in the centre of the village was jammed solid. We got out of the machine and forced our way in among the people. Ah, Tommies ! English armored motor- cars ! Heaven be praised ! Great Britain had come back to Belgium ! How big, how cheerful, how inspiring those few khaki uniforms looked ! What a warmth and radiance glowed over the whole scene ! Positively we thrilled till the tears almost came to our eyes. Little Belgium, smashed and crushed into its last stronghold, alone against an overwhelming enemy, might now see rising be- hind it the might and power of the British Empire. The bleeding Belgian army could once more struggle to its feet and acclaim itself a fighting Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 265 force. The utter desperation which had settled upon Belgium when the British and French had fled precipitately from Mons and Charleroi was now at least lightened. It was not the actual force of the five Rolls-Royce mitrailleuse ma- chines before us ; it was the power for which they stood. Nor did the Belgians mistake this fact, not even the pretty Belgian maidens who brought out tea to their strange phlegmatic guests. And whatever be said of Churchill's 9000 marines, let it ever be remembered that 50,000 Belgian soldiers retreated out of Antwerp with the knowl- edge that their struggle was not a lone one. It was dark when we got back to Ghent that night, but the atmosphere we found there was even darker. Waelheim and Catherine St. Woevre were crumbling before the German attacks. The fall of Antwerp was being spoken of as a real possibility. All next day, even as British marines rushed through Ghent and British aeroplanes flew overhead, the exodus was beginning. The roads were filled with refugees fleeing wildly before the German avalanche. Parts of the army passed through Ghent, on foot, in automobiles, by train. 266 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War The last chapter in a heroic fight was being written. To my eternal regret I did not realize it at the time. There were signs, all sorts of signs, but none of them conclusive. All the correspondents, too, who had been there since the war started, assured me Antwerp could not fall inside months. Just at that time I fell sick of a sharp fever. The horror of it all, the constant suspicion, the danger, the longing for home and friends, surged over me. My work seemed done ; it would not be right to spend weeks on the chance of seeing Antwerp fall. The next day I joined the army of refugees flowing through Ghent to the coast. After hours of discomfort on a cattle-pen train, crammed with home-sick, grief-stricken, countryless people, with troop trains rushing alongside and a pro- cession of aeroplanes overhead we arrived at Ostend, — Ostend, once the fashionable, now the anguishing. Still another tragedy of all Bel- gium's insufferable tragedies swept over me here. I was standing before the ugly rent made in a parkway by a German bomb, talking with a cultured Belgian whose roof had been burned Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 267 over his head up-country, and who had lost wife, children, and friends. "Ah, God, if this were all the Germans had done," he said. "If it were only physical de- struction — but, Monsieur, it is that deeper thing, that seering of our national soul, that is the worst curse they have brought us. You know, of course, of the numbers of Germans liv- ing in Belgium — of how we've taken them into our homes, our confidence, our government, and treated them exactly as if they were of our very own family. You find them in high positions in the army, in the cabinet, in business, everywhere. And you know how they betrayed us at the open- ing of the war t" "Not wholly," I answered. "Well," he went on, "you remember how after the murder of the Arch-duke all Europe began to arm itself for the inevitable struggle. King Albert saw the writing on the wall and he begged his ministers to get the country ready. But the Germanophiles in the government stood out against him. He pleaded, he argued, he reasoned, but to it all they answered, 'There's nothing to it.' 268 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War So Belgium drifted on — the king powerless against those who did not want to see. Even as ultimatums flashed back and forth, as mobili- zation orders followed in rapid succession, he could not get action. "Then came a letter to the Queen. She's a daughter to the King of Bavaria, you know, and was told by her father that it was urgent she leave Belgium at once. No reason was given — nor was one necessary. It was a terrible situation for her — her father and land of birth on one side — her king and husband on the other. She chose the latter and gave her father's letter to the king. "He at once issued hurry orders for an emer- gency meeting of the ministry. Almost sobbing with anguish he read them the letter. A hush fell upon those who had not heeded him, and in the stillness, the king said: 'Gentlemen, for God's sake give me action.' It could no longer be delayed ; the damage was done ; the ministry concurred. Orders flew back and forth, but alas too late. The Germans and German sympathizers in the government had held them up just long enough. When the German army entered the Belgiurri's Hopeless Heroism 269 country a few days later, they found it unpre- pared ; they found the way blazed out for them by their own agents ; they found their success assured by the men who had won Belgium's con- fidence only to betray it." Another time I talked with an artillery officer who had been fought back inch by inch all the way from Liege through Namur and Charleroi to Antwerp. "Namur.?" he asked with downcast face. "Oh, I can't talk about it. It's too terrible, too unbelievable. I was there — God knows how I got away — God grant I may forget about it. You wonder that it stood out only four days t I only thank God it wasn't worse. "There are a whole lot of German officers in our army, and some of them in high places. There was one fort at Namur — it was the key position — and if it fell, the whole thing would go. The Germans had taken positions around it and had hammered it pretty hard, when one day a big gray automobile drove up under a flag of truce. Pretty soon the officer in command of the fort went out to it with his staff. To everyone's 270 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War horror he shook hands with the German officers inside, and then got into the machine with them. Turning to his staflF, he said : " ' Gentlemen, you are all prisoners of war. This position with its garrison has been surrendered,' and the machine bore him off. "The staff," my friend continued, "rushed back to the fort. They tried to telephone headquarters, but all the telephone wires had been cut. They tried to organize resistance, only to find that the exhaustion of their munitions had been concealed from them. Then they found a note saying that the Germans had been allowed to take command- ing positions on three sides. The fight was made hopeless for them, but not a man would surrender. There was nothing to do but for as many as could to hack a way through. Only a very small rem- nant of that garrison lived to tell of it." These were the same stories I had heard all through Belgium — betrayal, espionage, corrup- tion, treason. Heaven knows if they were true, the important thing was that on everyone's lips were rumors of betrayal by German residents and agents; rumors of treason by German officers Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 271 in Belgian service ; rumors of bribery and intim- idation of Belgian peasantry. There was no tragedy more awesome than this anguish of national soul and spirit ; no horror more horrible than this unsuspected cancer within. That the Belgian army stood up against it, stood up against civilian panic, stood up against hopeless odds and still smiled, is a tribute which makes a glorious struggle doubly glorified. It was with heart almost bursting with grief, sympathy, and veneration that I went the next morning to the harbor front. My boat was scheduled to sail at 8, but even when I arrived at 6.30 there was a stream of refugees choking the long wharf and passageway far into the street. In the hour and a half be- fore the boat sailed, I progressed halfway from the end of the line to the gang-plank, only to see the boat go out without me. Fortunately, however, a second boat went out at 9. Fully 2000 refugees, none of them with more than a small bundle of clothing, jammed the little ship, A mysterious cannonading still wafted out to us from blood- soaked Europe off Dunkirk; a lane of six British 272 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War torpedo boats guided us to the land of safety. All about me on the boat was the quietude and solitude of a deep anguish. It was indeed almost a fu- neral ship that I was on, for it was witnessing the burial of all the hopes of those whose lives had been uprooted. The cliffs of Dover that day looked down not on the joys of immigrants en- visaging a new land, but on the pains and suffer- ings of those whose hearts clung only to the old. When we landed at Folkestone, we found that the relentless German maw had that day cast up 9000 wrecked and shattered lives on England's shores. Printed in the United States of America. T HE following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan books on kindred subjects The Diplomacy of the Great War By ARTHUR BULLARD Cloth, i2mo, $i.jo A book which contributes to an understanding of the war by revealing something of the diplomatic negotiations that preceded it. The author gives the history of interna- tional politics in Europe since the Congress of Berlin in 1878, and considers the new ideals that have grown up about the function of diplomacy during the last genera- tion, so that the reader is in full possession of the general trend of diplomatic development. There is added a chap- ter of constructive suggestions in respect to the probable diplomatic settlements resulting from the war, and a con- sideration of the relations between the United States and Europe, THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York The Aftermath of Battle By E. D. TOLAND With a Preface by Owen Wister. With i6 full-page PLATES Cloth, i2mo, $i.oo " Most of the pages in this book," says Owen Wister in his preface, " are like the photographs which go with them, torn fresh and hot, so to speak, from the diary of a young American just as he jotted them down day by day in the war hospitals of France." Of the author's service and of the nature of his record of it Mr. Wister continues : " In those hospitals ... he served the wounded Germans and allies, he carried them upstairs and down, or in from the rain, he assisted at operations, he held basins, he gave ether, he built the kitchen fire, he pumped the water, he was chauffeur, forager, commissariat, he helped in what ways he could, as he was ordered and also as his own intelligence prompted in the not infrequent absence of orders. He saw the wounded die, he saw them get well, and he tells about them, their sufferings, their courage, their patience. ... As page succeeds page, written with- out art, yet with the effect of high art, with the effect, for example, of DeFoe's account of the Plague, the reader ceases to be looking at a picture ; he is himself in the pic- ture, its terrific realities surround him as if he were walk- ing among them." THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York The German Empire Between Two Wars By ROBERT H. FIFE, JR. Professor of German at Wesleyan University Cloth, 8vo This is not a " war book " and yet one of its several interests undoubtedly arises from the application of the matters which it discusses to present events. The author writes impartially ; he is not pro-German but treats Germany sympathetically as well as critically. In the first part of the volume he considers the relations of Germany with foreign powers from 1871-1914, after which he takes up internal politics during the same period. He then presents a view of the Germany of to-day, giving special attention to the government of the rapidly growing cities, the school systems, the church and the press. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York A Short History of Germany By ERNEST F. HENDERSON New Edition in Two Volumes. With a New Preface AND Three New Chapters Cloth, 8vo, Boxed " In our opinion, for the English reader, there is no more admirable contribution to the history of Germany as a whole than in these volumes. The excellence of its text lies in its apparent freedom from prejudice. Further- more, on a thorough examination of original documents and sources, we find here the great figures in German history painted as we must believe they really were. They have been described by one who brings to his work a signal freshness, buoyancy and vivacity crowning his past labors as an investigator. Dr. Henderson's style is vital in the best sense." It is the Outlook which thus commends an earlier edi- tion of this standard work, a commendation which has been heartily endorsed by all students of history as well as by the general public. To his previous chapters the author has now added three new ones which bring the text down to the period just prior to the beginning of the present war. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York d 5 D - 6 6. Ao, 1^ f"*"^ V V sL**' ol. jO . Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc e . * r. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide o Q -^ Treatment Date: . , » ^\- O * . ' O ireaimentuaie: <* . . -^ f Mi^ 2081 «>'^ ''.^^- "^^ J^ ^'A' Preservationtechnologi A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVA1 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111 ^^-^^^ V "^ .V o >P^^. V ^^'^^-■. %/ ;^'. %,.^ A--. \/ ym^ /%^ '-^j / \ '-Ws /\ ^o V" OBBS BROS. lART BINOINO C 7 s-^ 0^ ,0-7-. -^-^ AUGUSTINE "^ A^ *''^f^'"- "^ '^'^ ^ FLA ^v r.^13^- ^^ 32084 «P ii>-. ^'^ ^^ %