The Wonder of War on Land

by Anonymous

  CHAPTER VI

  RETREAT! RETREAT!

  There were tears in the major's eyes as he rose, and he unaffectedlywiped them away.

  "Major Fouraud, sir," said Horace eagerly, "let me take the dispatches.The machine isn't injured a bit."

  "You ride a motor-cycle also?" the major asked.

  "Yes, sir. I had one in Beaufays, not this make, but one a good deallike it."

  The officer pondered.

  "My battery may go into action at any minute," he said, "and there'sbeen no chance to send you to the rear. I certainly have not the rightto keep you with the battery. The dispatches are important. Minutes areprecious and I do not know where to find a messenger. Well, then, youshall go."

  He drew the boy aside, out of hearing.

  "I will tell you the message," he said, "that, if anything happens,you can pass on the word and the dispatch. Charleroi is in Germanhands."

  "So Croquier told me last night," ejaculated the boy.

  "Pay attention," said the Major, curtly. "This dispatch is in reply toa message from the Fourth Army, asking for support. The reply is thatthis army will move its left wing north to join the Fifth Army, fallingback on Philippeville and presenting a united front to the armies ofVon Buelow and Wuertemberg. You understand?"

  "Perfectly, sir," the boy answered, biting his tongue to keep fromrepeating his information concerning the German army which lay inbetween.

  "Off with you, then," said the major, "and good fortune!"

  Horace clambered into the saddle of the motor-cycle, snatching a lookat the road map which had been found in the dispatch-rider's pocket andstarted off at full speed. The cheers of his former companions of thebattery, led by the loud bellow of Croquier, reached his ears as herounded a turn of the road. All this had happened before the rising sunhad cleared the horizon. He waved his hand in reply.

  His motor-cycle ate up the miles to Anthee and Rosee and he tore up toFlorennes with a fine burst of speed. Just before reaching the village,the boy thought he caught a glimpse of spiked helmets at a farmhousewindow and he slackened speed for caution.

  It was well that he did so.

  Trotting rapidly, straight for him, was a squadron of cavalry, and, onthe slope of a hill beyond the town, Horace saw column after column ofthe iron-gray infantry.

  He stopped, jumped from the saddle before the wheels had ceased toturn, and whirled the heavy machine around as though it were a racingbicycle. Well he knew that on a narrow road, such a maneuver was farquicker than trying to make a turn. In a second he was in the saddleand had started off again, leaning low over the handle bars as he puton full speed.

  A volley of bullets followed him, but scattering and most of them wild,for the cavalry had been utterly unprepared for this sudden vision ofa motor-cycle twisting around a bend of the road. No sooner, however,did it become clear that the boy was in full flight than the Uhlansrealized he must be an enemy and started in pursuit.

  _Courtesy of "The Graphic."_

  "WE'VE GOT THEM LICKED, BOYS!"

  Wounded sergeant-major being borne off the field by German prisoners,cheering the reservists going to the front.]

  If all went well, on his fast machine the boy could afford to laugh atthe speed of a galloping horse, but he had a lurking fear of the spikedhelmets he thought he had seen in the farmhouse.

  Was he ambushed?

  At the sound of the volley, two soldiers had run out of the farmhouse.Seeing the motor-cycle driving straight at them and the Uhlansgalloping behind, the riflemen prepared to fire.

  Lacking an officer's direction and unaccustomed to judging the speed ofan oncoming motor-cycle--that particular form of target not having beenincluded in the German drill-book--the soldiers waited a second toolong. Horace swerved to one side of the road as their rifles came upand, with the speed of the wind, he was between them.

  One of the soldiers put out his hand to grab the flying rider.

  Horace was conscious of a sudden desire to drive straight into his foeand scatter his brains on the road, but prudence reminded him that,in such case, he might not be able to control his machine. Ignoringvengeance, he shot between the soldiers like a thunderbolt and was halfa mile or more ahead when the Uhlans reached the farmhouse.

  He turned off a side-road not marked on his map, and, seeing an oldpeasant working in his fields, halted to secure information as to apossible route.

  "Have any Germans passed here?" he asked.

  "Just before daybreak, they did," the old man answered. "Saxons, theywere. They didn't do me any harm, though. They went over the fieldsthat way," and he pointed to the left.

  "Is there any road from here to Walcourt?" the boy asked, studying hismap, fearing that his road was cut off entirely.

  "There's a foot-path," said the peasant, "but it's too narrow for thatmachine of yours."

  "Has any one gone that way?"

  "Only some children."

  "I'll tackle it," said Horace, remembering the way in which Croquierand he had slipped through all the German armies by keeping away fromthe roads. Any foot-path, however narrow and stony, was better thanencountering the Saxon advance-guard.

  It was not long before he overtook the children of whom the peasant hadspoken. There were three of them, a girl about fourteen years old andtwo boys of seven and five years old. They shrank into the bushes whenthey heard the motor-cycle behind.

  Horace stopped and asked them details of the way.

  The girl was terror-stricken, but on finding out that Horace was not aGerman, told him all she knew.

  "You've been hurt!" the boy said, sympathetically, noticing the boys'arms were bandaged.

  The girl looked at Horace with a brooding rage and fear in her eyes.

  "The Germans cut off both their right hands," she said, fiercely.

  "But they're going to grow again, Marie!" exclaimed the youngest boy,whose face was streaked with tear-stains. "You said so!"

  The girl looked pleadingly at the young dispatch-rider. He read thelook aright, realizing that the girl had tried to soften the blow tothe children. So, to help lift the terrible burden of the girl and toease the pain of the little ones, he answered cheerfully,

  "Oh, yes, they'll grow again, right enough!"

  But Horace, as he rode on slowly over the faint footpath, which wasshaking his machine to pieces, laid up this cruelty as another item inthe long black count against Germany. Thousands of boys in Belgium andin northern France have been deliberately crippled for life, so that,when they grow old enough, they will not be able to carry arms to aidin the revenge which the world will inflict on Germany.[15]

  Walcourt, as Horace approached it, was evidently the scene offighting, but an orderly from a Chasseur regiment told him where tofind headquarters, and the boy whirled past, south of the village, onanother road. In spite of all his adventures, he had been only twohours in the cycle-saddle when he reached his goal. There he had agreat deal of difficulty passing the sentries, owing to the lack of auniform. He was still wearing the woolen shirt that Aunt Abigail hadthrown out of the window and the bloodstained clothes in which he hadpicked up little Jacques Oopsdiel, a week before. Finally he was passedthrough, though on foot and under guard.

  Having delivered his dispatch, he saluted, conveying a desire to speak.

  "Well, sir?" the staff officer asked.

  "I have other information, sir," said Horace. "It's not official, sir,but it may possibly be of value."

  "Speak, then."

  "I'm pretty sure, sir, that there is a whole German Army operatingbetween Von Buelow's force and the Duke of Wuertemberg."

  The officer strode forward a step, looking critically at this ladin civilian clothes who seemed to have so clear a knowledge of theopposing armies.

  "We have suspected it," he said. "Tell me exactly what you know."

  "In detail?"

  "No, briefly!"

  "Last week, passing through Belgium, I saw a big army. A little lateron I found out they were Saxons
. This morning I learned from a littlegirl that the general in command is General Von Hausen."

  "Your information," said the officer, "tallies with news brought in byour scouts this morning. It may explain the pressure on the Charleroicorner, which is out of all proportion to the forces we were supposedto have against us. You have not breakfasted?"

  "No, sir."

  "Go and have something to eat. I will send for you later."

  Horace went gladly. He had not finished eating when he was summonedhurriedly.

  "I have sent an official message to the Fourth Army," the officer said,"but there's always a chance that the messenger may not get through.Our lines of communication past Charleroi are demoralized. Apparentlyall the wires behind us have been cut. This dispatch is important. Ishould like to forward it in duplicate. Will you take it?"

  "Willingly, sir," said Horace, delighted to find that he had discovereda way to be of service.

  "I have no desire to expose you to danger," he was told, "especially asyou are volunteering as a civilian, so you had better go by Beaumontand Chimay. It is a long way round, but I think you will find the roadsclear."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You may state that an army estimated by our airmen as being four corpsstrong is being forced in between the Fourth and Fifth Armies. Here isthe dispatch."

  "Very well, sir."

  "You'd better put on a French uniform."

  "But I haven't the right--" Horace began.

  The officer summoned an orderly.

  "Have some one find a uniform for this boy," he said. Then, turning toHorace, he added, "I'll write you an order authorizing its use, as youare on special service."

  Half an hour later a uniform was brought to Horace where he was busyoiling his machine and filling the petrol tank.

  "Where did you get it?" the boy asked curiously.

  "There was a dispatch-rider shot a little distance up the road."

  Horace shivered with repugnance. He did not like putting on adead man's clothes. However, there was no help for it, and, inuniform--which was a little big for him--he started back for the FourthArmy.

  The ride was without special incident and the boy delivered hismessage. He was expected, for the official dispatch-rider had succeededin getting through, though a bullet had clipped his ear. Langle deCary, however, had anticipated the news, and, drawing back from Dinant,had joined with the Fifth Army, thus renewing the operative corner, towhich the reserves were being hurried.

  In and around staff headquarters, the boy picked up information whichenabled him to piece together the happenings from the time he hadescaped from Liege, to this crucial Sunday morning of August 23.

  Soon, quite soon, Horace was once more to come in touch with the troopshe had encountered at Beaufays, who had attacked the forts of Embourgand Boncelles, whose shells had blinded Deschamps and whose companionshad murdered the cure and little Jacques. This was Von Kluck's armywhich had marched westward, undelayed by the detachment of 40,000picked troops to make a triumphal parade through Brussels, undelayed bythe detachment of several "frightfulness companies" deliberately chosenand ordered to terrorize that section of Belgium between Aerschot andLouvain.

  Von Kluck, indeed, had not halted a moment. He had farther to marchthan any other of the German armies, although it is true he had themagnificent railroads and highways of Belgium to aid him in histransport. By August 18, Von Kluck was at Tirlemont; by August 19, hewas at Wavre; by August 20, he was at Nivelles; by August 21, his leftor southern wing had halted a little northeast of Namur, his centeradvancing slowly over the famous field of Quatre Bras, while his rightwing made a forced march at top speed through Enghien to Mons, thecavalry sweeping out in the direction of Tournay. By August 22, thestraightened line, now facing south, advanced slowly in a heavy massedformation to take up positions facing the British line and the left ofthe Fifth French Army. Thus, if Von Buelow and Von Hausen should curlup the eastern flank of the Fifth Army, Von Kluck was in position tocrush it in his iron teeth.

  On this Sunday morning, August 23, the British force was still ignorantof the fall of Namur. Sir John French had heard nothing but the distantcannonading of the Battle of the Sambre, and when, at midnight,Charleroi broke into flames, the British, though holding the leftwing of the whole Allied movement, were unaware of the disaster. Thedisorganization caused by the sudden fall of Namur and the still moresudden appearance of Von Hausen's mysterious army had demoralized allcommunication. Spies behind the lines had cut all the telegraph andtelephone wires, and the only messenger sent to the British neverreached them, either having been killed or taken prisoner.

  Although the attack on Givet, on Dinant, on Namur, on Charleroi and onMons are all a part of the same simultaneous battle-plan, which mightperhaps be called the Battle of Namur, history has definitely dividedit into four parts: the battle of Givet-Dinant, between the FrenchFourth Army and the Duke of Wuertemberg, of which Horace had seen thefirst day's fighting; the defense of Namur, between the Belgians andVon Buelow, which was merely a holocaust produced by the 42-centimeterhowitzers; the battle of Charleroi, between the French Fourth Armyand Von Buelow and Von Hausen combined, at which the one day's gracenecessary to save the whole campaign from destruction was secured bythe glorious and desperate courage of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, theTurcos and the Zouaves; and the battle of Mons, between the British andVon Kluck, which became a week-long retreating engagement.

  The British had not reached their appointed positions on thebarge-canal until Friday, and had spent Saturday, entrenching. Sir JohnFrench had only an army corps and a half in his command, with an extracavalry division covering the west wing. There was not the slightestindication of immediate danger. Sir John French himself stated thathe was informed by his patrols, that "little more than one, or at themost, two of the enemy's army corps, with perhaps one cavalry division,was in front, and I was aware of no outflanking movement." As a matterof fact, Von Kluck had five army corps opposed to the British one anda half, and three cavalry divisions besides. The odds, therefore, wereover three to one.

  _Courtesy of "L'Illustration."_

  THE WAR OF FIRE.

  Modern warfare has horrors heretofore unknown, with liquid fire, poisongas, and explosive fumes. Yet after all, it is the spirit of thesoldier which counts most.]

  Von Kluck's strategy was clear. He sent one corps to engage thejointure between the French and English lines--always a weak spotbecause of the division of command. He threw three army corps againstthe one and a half of the British, not trying to throw them back, butmerely to keep them in action every minute of the time. With the linethus fighting for its existence, he sent his entire fifth army corps ina tremendous mass of motor vehicles around by Tournay and the Forest ofRaimes to crumple up the British left flank. Here was the outflankingmovement, again, beloved of German strategy and made possible bysuperior numbers.

  The attack on the British by Von Kluck, then, began on the morning ofSunday, August 23, at just about the time that Horace escaped from theUhlans while on his way to deliver the dead dispatch-rider's message.The battle, that morning, was wide-spread but not too heavy. Von Kluckdid not want the British to retire, for that would make his flankingplan more difficult; he merely wanted them to hold. On the Britishright, however, this need for restraint was less and the pressure wasmade heavy enough to compel the withdrawal of the British from Binche.This was for the purpose of flanking the French Fifth Army's right.

  As the infantry fell back, a cavalry division was hurled after them.The English turned suddenly and charged the German horsemen, who brokein disorder.

  "When they saw us coming," wrote Trooper S. Cargill, of the BritishArmy, "they turned and fled, at least all but one, who came rushing atus with his lance at the charge. I caught hold of his horse, which washalf wild with terror, and my chum was going to run the rider throughwhen he noticed the awful glaze in his eyes and saw that the poor chapwas dead."

  So Death rode on his pale horse into the British lines that d
ay andbecame a constant companion in the awful week that was to come.

  Shortly after noon, Horace was sent back to the Fifth Army withdispatches to the effect that the Fourth Army had made the turningmovement successfully and had retired on Philippeville.

  By two o'clock that afternoon, the Fifth French Army was at the pointof annihilation. Von Hausen had pierced the line at Charleroi. VonKluck had pierced the line at Thuin. General Lanrezac was partlyenveloped on both flanks. Knowing that the whole strategy of thecampaign was in process of swift destruction, Lanrezac did the onlything possible. He retreated so precipitately that he was compelled toleave behind his wounded and not a few of his guns.

  When Horace came up with the dispatches, he found himself entangled insuch a confused retreat that an hour passed before he discovered someone who could tell him to what place staff headquarters had been moved.And, when he reached there, it had moved again. Undoubtedly some kindof order existed, but to the boy's untrained eyes, all was confusion,while into, over and through this confusion, Von Hausen's cavalry wasplunging.

  All communication between the Fifth French Army and the Britishtroops was cut by the presence of Von Kluck at Thuin. Horace, who,thanks to the veteran's teaching and the hunchback's perception ofmilitary values, had a fair idea of the strategy of the campaign,saw the danger that the British might be encircled and captured ina body. Accordingly, he volunteered to try to take the news of thefall of Charleroi to Sir John French. Owing to lack of telegraphiccommunication with the General Staff, the Fifth Army Staff had nowarrant for this, but the boy was given to understand that if he tookthe news on his own responsibility, he might be rendering the Britishan important service. He decided to go.

  Horace had planned to ride south within the circle of the forts ofMaubeuge and thence toward Sir John French's headquarters, but he wascompelled to abandon the plan. Every road to the rear was choked withwounded, with refugees, with transport, with the inextricable disarrayof vehicles that follows a sudden change of army plans under the threatof a disaster. Horace, fearing that every hour might see the finalsmash of the weak corner between the Fourth and Fifth Armies, made allthe weaker by the pounding of the mysterious Von Hausen army which hadmarched its way through the Ardennes forests unseen by airmen, rode on,heartsick and despairing. Finding Maubeuge unreachable, he turned hismotor-cycle north with a grim determination to try and save the Britishand bring them back into the fighting diamond. Clear in his mind's eyeslay the situation. The British, the Fourth Army and the Fifth Army mustretreat slowly in order, on the fourth army--the reserves near Paris.

  He ran into the zone of shell-fire. Now, the boy hardly cared. He wasbeginning to find himself and the work that he really could do. What ifhis heart seemed to beat as loudly as the exhaust of the motor-cycleitself? He was going on! A few miles further, the shell-fire slackened.This sector was less furiously attacked. Presently he shot past a farmwagon loaded with hay.

  A shout stopped him.

  "You're French, aren't you?"

  "Yes," answered Horace, not seeing any need for explanations.

  "Well, the Germans aren't more than a mile ahead of you, thousands ofthem. You'll run slap into the middle of them if you go on."

  "Then they're on both sides of me."

  "And all around," said the farmer, nodding his head warningly.

  "Isn't there a footpath, somewhere? I've got to get to Mons."

  "With dispatches?"

  "Yes."

  The wagoner thought for a moment.

  "I'll risk it," he said. "Put your machine in the hay and hide in ityourself."

  "But if they search you?"

  "They did it, only half an hour ago. They ordered me to deliver thishay to their forage depot, beyond Thuin, and said they'd cut my throatif I didn't. And I like my throat better than my hay. But I'm going totry and make them pay for it, just the same!"

  "Then you ought to be able to pass," said the boy, with a quick hope.

  "Like that! And why not you, too? They won't take the trouble to searchtwice."

  It was the work of only two minutes to lift up the motor-cycle andhide it in the hay. The boy concealed himself also, leaving only thesmallest breathing-space.

  The farm-wagon rolled into Thuin, the farmer showing the German orderthat he had received and clamoring for pay. The only response was athreat to cut off his thumbs if he failed to deliver the hay beforenightfall. He drove on sulkily.

  Near Marchienne, where a small road branched off to the west, thefarmer stopped and helped Horace to take down the machine.

  "Good luck!" he said quietly and drove on, grumbling, as he went, aboutthe price of his hay.

  It was now four o'clock in the afternoon, and Horace sped forward,finding, to his discomfiture, that the little road was tendingnorthward towards Bray. The roar of the battle, muffled at first as hedrove through the coal-pit region, grew louder and louder. The woodlandcountry ceased, and in place of fields and trees the landscape becameone of shafts, chimneys and piles of debris on which grew a few stuntedpines, a landscape which fitted well with the hideous ugliness of war.The motor-cycle throbbed on and presently Horace ran into the lines ofan infantry regiment, not dressed in the blue jackets and red trousersof the French[16] nor in the iron-gray of the German, but in the khakiof the English.

  "Where's your commander?" he asked, in English, forestalling suspicion.

  "Over 'ere!" said a Tommy. "What 'ave you got in yer bonnet?"

  "Dispatches," the boy answered, "for headquarters."

  He was taken to the ranking officer, a tall man with a quiet, impassivevoice and a cold manner.

  "Your name?" he asked.

  Horace gave it.

  "Credentials?"

  "I haven't any," said Horace, and he explained the situation.

  "I will have the matter duly investigated," the major replied.

  "But I want to tell it to Sir John French!" persisted the boy.

  The Englishman would not even disturb himself sufficiently to looksurprised at the lad's presumption.

  "The matter will pass through regular channels," he replied. "I cannotallow you to proceed farther along the British lines. You will remainhere, under guard."

  "You mean I'm a prisoner!" Horace exploded.

  "You will remain here, under guard," the captain repeated, without theslightest variance of inflection in his tone.

  "But I'm an American!"

  "The matter will be duly investigated."

  Horace grew red with anger, and boy-like and untrained in militarydiscipline he burst out,

  "Well, if you all get cut up by Germans, it won't be my fault. You'vegot Von Kluck on your left, Von Buelow on your right and Von Hausenbehind. If you stay here, they'll make mincemeat of you."

  "We will endeavor to avoid that fate," said the Englishman, stiffly,and motioned for the lad to be led away.

  Horace fairly danced with temper.

  The Londoner, who had listened to the boy's outburst, grinned broadlyas soon as they had left the place.

  "You've got cheek, you 'ave," he said, "talkin' to an officer likethat."

  "He!" exploded Horace, "he's made of wood, head and all!"

  "Go slow," said the Tommy, "'e's a proper bit of all right, 'e is,don't you make no mistake. That's 'is way. 'E's just the same underfire, never turns a 'air. 'E was drawlin' 'is orders this mornin' like'e was on parade. An' it was a tight corner, too."

  "Were you attacked this morning?" Horace asked, with sudden interest.

  "We fair were! I was through the Boer War, an' the 'ottest fight we 'adin that was frost-bitten aside o' this mornin'."

  "I'm not surprised," the boy retorted. "I could have told that humanicicle with the eye-glass--if he'd had the sense to listen--that thereare five corps facing your two. Besides, they've reserves ready to jumpyou any minute."

  The Tommy looked at him curiously.

  "Not now they won't," he said.

  "Why not?"

  "They're in a blue funk."
/>
  "You mean--scared?"

  The soldier nodded mysteriously.

  "They'll be driven on, scare or no!" declared the boy. "What did you doto scare them all?"

  "Nothin'."

  "Then, what?"

  "They've got the trembles."

  Horace saw that there was something behind the Tommy's evidentreluctance to speak, but, little by little, he won him round.

  _Courtesy of "The War Illustrated."_

  SAVED IN A HAIL OF SHELL.

  British drummer who dashed into the zone of fire to save a woundedofficer. When hit himself, he fell, but hooking his feet under theofficer's arms, propelled himself by his elbows backwards into safety.]

  "There's queer things 'appen in war!" he remarked.

  "Very queer," agreed Horace, thinking of Mme. Maubin's prophecy andremembering some of the tales he had heard the French gunners tell.

  "Mark what I'm sayin'--if it wasn't for some o' them queer things, Iwouldn't be 'ere talkin' to you."

  "You saw something?" queried Horace, jumping to a conclusion.

  "I saw it? We all saw it. First there was a sort o' yellow mist, sorto' risin' out o' the ground before the Huns as they came to the topof the 'ill, came on like a solid wall, they did--springin' out o'the earth, just solid; no end o' them. I just gave up. It's no useour fightin' the 'ole German race in one day, thinks I. It's all upwith us. The next minute, up comes a funny cloud o' light, an' when itclears off--this is gospel truth, I'm tellin'--there's a tall man, withyellow 'air, in gold armor, on a white 'orse, 'oldin' 'is sword up an''is mouth open. Then, before you could say 'knife,' the 'Uns 'ad turnedan' we was after them, fightin' like ninety."[17]

  He stopped, in a shamefaced silence.

  "That's queer," said Horace, "I've heard a lot of yarns just likethat with the French Army. Only yesterday I was talking with a Frenchcavalryman. He was one of the squad of men sent out by his colonelto find out who were the cavalry acting as rearguard to the retreat.He saw the cavalry, himself. But when he got there, nothing could beseen. Yet that invisible cavalry was keeping the Germans back, just thesame."[18]

  "We took a prisoner, this mornin'," corroborated the Tommy, "'oo said'e 'ad seen 'is bullets strike the air an' drop as if there 'ad been awall there. We 'ad the Fiend on our side, 'e said."

  "And I saw a Boche," the boy replied, "one of the Death's Head Hussars,who claimed that we hypnotized their horses by magic so that theycouldn't run."

  "There's queer things 'appen in war!" the Tommy said, musingly.

  The talk passed on to other battle omens and Horace told the story ofthe "captive Kaiser." He was recounting Mme. Maubin's prophecy when anorder came requiring him to go before the English captain.

  "A telegraphic dispatch has been received," said the officer,"confirming your information. You are at liberty."

  Horace waited, expecting some apology for the detention, but none wasforthcoming. Evidently the English officer felt that he had actedexactly according to military regulations.

  "What was the dispatch, sir?" the boy asked.

  "I was not instructed to announce it," the Englishman replied.

  The tone nettled Horace, for he had been trusted by the French officers.

  "Thank you, sir!" he said with an irony which was entirely lost on thecaptain.

  There was nothing more to be said and Horace returned to the Tommy.Before he could regain possession of his motor-cycle, however, hewas compelled to waste two hours more in the red tape of officialprocedure, and this, too, while the battle was actually raging a mileaway.

  This dispatch received from General Joffre was, indeed, sufficientlygrave. Received at exactly five o'clock that Sunday evening, itdisclosed that, against the 75,000 men of the British force, Von Kluckwas hurling 220,000 men. Of these, 150,000 were engaged in a frontalattack, 50,000 men were flanking him to the left and 20,000 cavalrywere on his left rear. In addition to that, 100,000 men under VonBuelow threatened his right and Von Hausen's cavalry were closing inon his right rear. A fighting retreat, with a succession of rearguardactions to cover the retiring battalions, was the only tactic possible.

  Much has been said in blame of the French staff for the "unaccountabledelay" in notifying the British. There was delay, but it was neitherunaccountable nor so great as it seemed. It was not until that verySunday morning that Von Hausen pushed forward in advance of VonBuelow and forced the retreat of the Fifth Army. Even with perfectcoordination--a thing rarely possible in a disordered retreat--theFrench General Staff would not know the situation until midway ofthe morning, and, even then, could not know the size and scope ofVon Hausen's army. Then, too, the wires had been cut. There was,undoubtedly, a delay of five or six hours in notifying the British, butnot more.

  That Sunday night was spent in clearing the roads to the rear of allheavy transport. Sir John French knew that absolute mobility was theonly condition of a fighting retreat. He knew, now, his desperatesituation, and he knew, too, the crucial nature of his position. Thefate of France now hung on the stiffness of his retiring line. Forthis, however, he had the most marvelous troops in the world for such apurpose, the British regulars. His original position being slightly tothe northward of the Fifth French Army, he was more than a day behindin commencing the retreat. He was fighting an army three times as largeas his own. He was being attacked on the flank as well as in the rear,yet he was the sole barrier that France possessed against the piercingof its strategic diamond at "third base."

  All night the German artillery continued a steady shelling, withintermittent bursts of rifle-fire, as though threatening an advance.The British outposts, firing largely from loopholes in the walls offactories, gave the Germans no hint that the line was preparing toretire.

  At four o'clock the entire British force stood to arms and the retreatbegan. Horace's aversion, the cold and correct captain, led his men ina desperate attack from Harmignies on Binche, and the lad was compelledto admire the officer's inflexible courage and splendid handling ofhis men. It was true, as the Tommy had said, that the officer was asimperturbable under fire as at his headquarters and he was utterlyregardless of personal danger.

  Gallant as was the leader, the determination of the troops was nowhit less wonderful. There was less dash than among the French, butthe dogged strength and power were superb. No matter how thin theline, the Germans could not break through. One battalion stayed at thecovering point until only five men remained. It was on this day that alieutenant, taking up a position in a building which had but one door,and that facing the enemy, when told by his non-commissioned officerthat there was no way out, replied:

  "There is no need for a way out. We have to stay here for six hours!"

  There was no place for Horace with the British, and at sunrise he wason his motor-cycle on his way back to his friends in the Fourth FrenchArmy, for he saw that the driving force of the battle was not at anyone point, but along the whole line, and he felt he could be of moreuse where he was already known. The retreat, as he passed through it,was vastly more orderly and methodical than the retreat of the Frenchafter Givet and Dinant, but, at the same time, its slow and methodicalmethods resulted in a heavy loss of life.

  The German jaws bit and tore at the English troops. They hurledbrigades of men against companies and engulfed them. But they could notbreak the line.

  The German artillery, advancing, deluged the lines with bullet andshell; the British artillery, retreating, necessarily limbered upmuch of the time for the retreat, could not reply adequately. Onehundred shells to one were hurled at what had been called by the Kaiser"Britain's contemptible little army." But they could not break the line.

  Clouds of cavalry swept upon the flank, picking off the English byones and twos, by dozens and by hundreds. They sacrificed themselvesvaliantly in an attempt to force their way through that khaki-cladresistance. But they could not break the line.

  Morning, noon and night, dusk, midnight and dawn, Von Kluck drovethe attack, leaving scant time for food, less time
for rest andpractically no time for sleep, seeking to wear down human resistanceby sheer exhaustion and fatigue. But he could not break the line.

  Horace found the same terrific pressure on the Fourth Army, forced backby Von Hausen and the Duke of Wuertemberg. He had feared to find a rout,remembering the breaking condition in which he had left the army, buthe found it reformed, reenforced, strong as ever and filled with a grimdetermination to save Paris at all costs. The men of his old batterygreeted him with a shout.

  "Where have you been?" they cried. "Tell us the news."

  Horace told all that he knew, or rather, all that he thought he oughtto tell, describing the desperate though resistant condition of theBritish expeditionary force.

  "But they're retreating, too," said a gun-layer, gloomily, "alwaysretreating. Are we going to give those dogs of Boches all of France?"

  So it seemed as day after day passed by.

  Back, back, and ever back.

  Retreat amid the wounded, retreat in hopeless rear-guard actions withdead on every side, retreat on roads crowded with homeless and hopelessrefugees fleeing anywhere away from the advancing horror of war,retreat without food, retreat without sleep, retreat in rain, in mud,in blazing heat, in choking thirst, retreat under the reproachful eyesof deserted women, retreat under the stinging shame of defeat, retreatuntil the heart was as weary as the feet and death would be a boon.

  Retreat over a front of 200 miles, with every road, every street, everylane, every by-path surging with misery, crowded with panic.

  France, their France, trodden under the heel of the invader!

  To see and hear of nothing but ruin and ravage! To be unable to help!To be afraid to advance! To march until the soul cries for peace andthe body aches for rest, though neither can be satisfied!

  Horrible is the battle, but more horrible by far is the dispiritingagony of the retreat. For twelve long days France saw the flower ofher manhood vanquished and thrown back. She saw her armies despondentand dejected. She saw her territory given over to spoliation anddestruction.

  "Retreat! Retreat! Retreat!"

  Almost the heart of France was breaking.

  Yet she saw, too, her generals and officers, with grim-set lipsand watchful eyes, who knew the mighty strength that lay behind theapparent weakness, in whose minds lurked menace and thrust in the word"Retreat!"

  She saw, too, the line traced by a broad thumb across a big scale mapas her Commander-in-Chief outlined the Valley of the Marne.

  "Retreat!" he said.

  Ever and again his generals questioned him, but received only the word.

  "Retreat!"

  Until, one day, he placed that same broad thumb upon the map.

  "There!" he said. "There, they shall not pass!"

  FOOTNOTES:

  [15] Vance Thompson, writing from the front, Sept. 13, 1914, said ofthis: "Some day the story of what was done in Alsace will be written,and the stories of Vise and Aerschot and Onsmael and Louvain will seempale and negligible; but not now--five generations to come will whisperthem in the Vosges."

  [16] The horizon-blue uniforms of the French Army were not ready untilthe year 1915.

  [17] Red Cross report. Private of the Lancashire Fusilier Regimentafter the battle of Vitry le Francois.

  [18] Official report. Lieut. Col. of Hussars, after battle of Le Cateau.