British Soldiers crossing the Aisne. (See page [244].)

THE

CHILDREN'S STORY

OF THE WAR

by

SIR EDWARD PARROTT, M.A., LL.D.

AUTHOR OF "BRITAIN OVERSEAS," "THE PAGEANT OF ENGLISH LITERATURE," ETC.

From the Battle of Mons to the Fall of Antwerp.

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS

LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN, AND NEW YORK

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.

Sir Walter Scott

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

THE FRENCH ARMY.

In Chapter XXIII. of Volume I. I told you that the French began their raid upon Alsace on August 7, 1914. At this time some of the Liége forts were still holding out, and the great German advance through Belgium had not yet begun. As the French were able to push into the enemy's country thus early in the war, you may imagine that they were quite ready for action before Belgium was overrun. Not, however, until August 22 were their preparations so far advanced that they could begin the business of war in real earnest.

Before I tell you the story of the first real battle of the war, let us learn something of the French army. In Chapters IV. and V. of Volume I. you read an account of the little man, with the pale face and cold blue eyes, who made France the greatest fighting nation of the world. He became, you will remember, master of continental Europe, and his legions marched in triumph through Berlin, Vienna, Naples, Madrid, Lisbon, and Moscow. He taught the art of war to all Europe, and France under his rule rose to the highest pinnacle of military glory.

When Napoleon fell, Frenchmen turned in loathing from the work of war. They remembered the awful waste of life and the terrible misery which had resulted from his campaigns, and they longed for peace, during which they might build up the nation anew. The French army, therefore, became a mere shadow of what it had been formerly. Under Napoleon III., however, there was a revival of military spirit. His army, as you know, fought well in the Crimea[1] and in Italy,[2] but it suffered hopeless defeat in the war of 1870-1 against the Germans.[1] The French took to heart the fearful lessons of this war, and began almost at once to put their military house in order.

In 1872 they passed a law which was supposed to compel every young man to serve as a soldier for twenty years—five years with the colours, and then four years in the Reserve; five years in the Territorial Army, and six years in the Territorial Reserve. But this law was not fully enforced. The men called up each year were divided by lot into two groups, and one of these groups, in time of peace, was let off with only one year's service in the Regular Army. Whole classes of persons, such as breadwinners and teachers, were free from service altogether, and any man could escape with one year's training by paying a certain sum of money. This plan proved very unsatisfactory, and in 1889 a new law was passed by which every young man was forced to serve twenty-five years—three years with the colours, seven years in the Reserve, six years in the Territorial Army, and nine years in the Territorial Reserve. By this means France hoped to raise her total number of trained men to 3,000,000.

Up to the year 1893 France and Germany had about the same number of soldiers on a peace footing; but very soon Germany began to forge ahead, chiefly because her population grew so rapidly. Soon it was clear that France could not hope to raise so large an army as Germany; so in 1897 she made an alliance with Russia, by which each Power agreed to take part in the other's quarrel if either of them should be attacked. In 1905 France again altered her army law by reducing the time of service with the colours to two years, and by increasing the period of service with the Reserve to eleven years. But even this arrangement did not give her all the soldiers which she needed; so in 1913 she decreed that every Frenchman found fit for service must join the colours at the age of twenty, spend three years in the Regular Army, eleven years in the Regular Reserve, seven years in the Territorial Army, and seven in the Territorial Reserve. Thus every strong and able-bodied Frenchman became liable for military service from his twentieth to his forty-eighth year. Roughly speaking, this new law enabled France to put into the field, a month or so after the beginning of war, about 4,000,000 trained men. This gave her a first line army of about 1,500,000, a second line of about 500,000, and a reserve of about 2,000,000. Germany feared that this new law would so strengthen France that she and Russia combined would be more than a match for her; and one of the reasons why she declared war on August 1, 1914, was to crush the French before the new arrangement could come into full working order.

Recruits in the Streets of Paris. Photo, Sport and General.

Every year in the month of February a Council sits in Paris and in the provinces, and before it all youths of twenty must appear to pass the doctor. If they are found "bon pour le service," they are told what regiment they must join and the place where they are to undergo their training, and in the following October they join their depots. Frequently the young men so chosen pin big paper favours on their coats and hats, and, thus decorated, march about the streets. Outside the hall in which the Council is sitting there are almost sure to be a number of stalls loaded with these blue, white, and red decorations.

When the young soldier arrives at the barracks he is given three suits of clothes, one of which is his drill dress, another his walking-out dress, and the third his war dress. These clothes he keeps on a shelf above his bed, and he so arranges his garments that the French colours, blue, white, and red, are clearly seen. In summer he rises at 4 a.m., and in winter at 6 a.m., and he goes to bed at 9 p.m. all the year round, except when he is on sentry-go, or has permission to stay out late. Every day the barrack-room is inspected, to see that the beds are properly made, that the men's clothes are in good order, and that the room is clean and tidy. The "little breakfast," which consists of coffee and a roll, is served at 5 a.m.; lunch is eaten at ten o'clock, and dinner at five. The meals usually consist of soup, meat, vegetables, and fruit. On great occasions wine is supplied, and cigars are handed round. The conscript's pay consists of one sou (a halfpenny) a day, and his tobacco. Some of the men receive money from their parents and friends; others have to make shift on the trifling allowance which the Government gives them.

The men who begin their service in a particular year are known as the "class" of that year. Thus the men who joined the colours in 1914 belong to the class of 1914. Frenchmen fix all their dates by reference to "la classe." When two Frenchmen meet almost the first question they put to each other is, "Of what class are you?" When two or three men who have served their time in the same regiment come together they are like old schoolfellows; they love to recall their experiences, and chat about the jokes and tricks and scrapes of their soldiering days.

If you were to see a regiment of conscripts on the march[3] you would not be much impressed. Compared with the well-set-up, smartly-uniformed British soldiers, they would seem to you to be badly drilled and badly clothed, and to slouch along in any sort of order. You would perhaps smile at their blue overcoats buttoned behind the knees, and their ill-fitting red trousers; but you must remember that the French do not believe in the pomps and vanities of military show, but in making men fit for the actual work of war. Battles are not won by clothes, but by the men who wear them. The French soldier is very brave, a great lover of his country, and a splendid fighter, even though he may not look the part in your eyes.

The officers are educated for their profession at one or other of the great military schools, and they must pass difficult examinations before they receive their commissions. Infantry officers are trained at the famous school of St. Cyr, which was founded by Napoleon in 1806. Foreigners are admitted to this school, but not Germans or Austrians. All French officers must learn to speak German, and this knowledge of the enemy's language has more than once proved useful in the present war. Some time ago a French officer captured one end of a field telephone unknown to the Germans at the other end. He replied in German to the questions addressed to him, and was told that a train of reinforcements would pass a certain station at a certain time. At once he made his plans, and before the train reached the station it was blown up.

You know that in the German army the officers belong to the higher classes of society, and that few if any of them have risen from the ranks. In France any man who has the ability may rise to the highest posts in the army. There is a great gulf fixed between the private soldier and the officer in Germany; but in France there is a strong spirit of comradeship between all ranks, and this knits them together far better than the iron discipline of the Germans.

The army of France is inferior in numbers to that of Germany, but it easily ranks as the second of the armies of the world. Our regular army, as you know, is trained in India; France uses her North African colony of Algeria for the same purpose. Her infantry have long been renowned for their dash and spirit, and they are, next to our own regulars, the best marchers in Europe. The Zouaves, with their baggy red trousers and short blue jackets, are picked men. They are to the French army what the Highlanders are to our army—men of the most fearless bravery, and almost irresistible at the charge. The bayonet, which the Highlander calls the "wee bit steel," is their favourite weapon; the Zouave calls it by the poetical name of "Rosalie."

Cuirassiers leaving Paris. Photo, Central News.

French cavalry have always been famous, and it is said that they were never better than in 1914. The riding was good and the horses were excellent. What are known as the Chasseurs d'Afrique are perhaps the best of all French horse soldiers. At Sedan their furious charges almost turned the fortunes of that black day. The Cuirassiers[4] wear a brass helmet, from which a tail of horsehair hangs down the back. The helmet is covered with gray cloth in time of war.

French artillery is generally thought to be the best in Europe. What is known as the 75-millimetre gun[5] is a very rapid quick-firer, and is wonderfully accurate; no better piece of artillery has ever been known in the history of warfare. French generals show great ability in using their artillery to cover the advance of infantry.

What is known as the Foreign Legion is peculiar to the French army; no other army in the world has anything like it. The men who serve in the twelve battalions of this Legion are not Frenchmen but foreigners, who for one reason or another have taken service in the French army. Englishmen, Americans, Spaniards, Italians, Germans, and Russians rub shoulders in the ranks; and most of them have enlisted under false names. No questions are asked of any man who wishes to join the Legion; if he is strong, and can ride and shoot, and is willing to "rough it," he is promptly enlisted.

Infantry of the Line leaving Paris. Photo, The Sphere.

The men of this Legion have been called the "scallawags of Europe," and the story of their past is usually sad and painful. Some have committed crimes; some are bad characters who have been driven out of society or have been thrown over by their friends; others have held honourable positions, which they have lost by wicked or foolish conduct; and many of them are desperate men, who hope to find death as quickly as possible. Like the "free lances" of the Middle Ages, they are prepared to sell their swords to any country that will employ them, and they will fight as fiercely against their own land as against any other. They have only their lives to sell, and, as a rule, they are prepared to sell them as dearly as possible. They are not easy to discipline; but it is said that they are always courteous to women. One of the rules of the Legion is that its members shall always lead the "forlorn hope;" refusal to do so means the punishment of death. For this reason they are always placed in the firing line at the most dangerous point, and they ask for nothing better. In peace time two-thirds of them serve in the French possessions in the Far East, and the remainder in North Africa.

Before I close this chapter, I must tell you something about the colonial troops of France. Just as we form native armies in our overseas possessions, so the French make soldiers of the black and brown races in their colonies. Their chief colony is Algeria, in North Africa; but they also rule over Morocco, and have large possessions in West Africa and in Indo-China. The French colonial troops are chiefly Arabs and Berbers from Algeria, Moors from Morocco, and Senegambians from Senegal. The native troops of Algeria are known as Turcos and Spahis.[6] The Turcos are chiefly Berbers,[7] and they are trained on the same lines as the Zouaves.

The most picturesque of all the native troops of France are the Spahis, who are mainly Arabs mounted on white Arab steeds. The Arabs are a fiercely warlike people, and France conquered them only after a long struggle. They are Mohammedans, who believe that death in battle is a sure passport to heaven.

The Spahi is as much at home on horseback as the cowboy of the prairies, the Cossack of the steppes, or the Hungarian of the plains. As a light horseman he has few superiors. Each man wears on his head a white felt cap covered by a haick, or long strip of woollen gauze which hangs flat at the back of the head, covering the neck and shoulders. The haick is attached to the cap by twenty or thirty twisted coils of camel's-hair rope, and a fringe of it is allowed to fall on the forehead to shade the eyes. The body garment, or gandoura, is a gown of white woollen material, bound round the waist with a broad silk sash. Over all is worn a hooded cloak, or burnous, which is usually made of white or fine blue cloth. Red leather top-boots complete the costume. Many of the men are very tall and of a strikingly noble cast of feature. They carry themselves with great dignity, and are very grave and sparing of speech. Their love for their horses has been the subject of many a song and story.

Arab Cavalry (Spahis) at the Front. Photo, Underwood and Underwood.

Never before in the history of warfare have so many men, of such widely differing races, creeds, and colours, been gathered together into such an army as that which is upholding the cause of the Allies on the fields of France and Flanders. When the Romans were masters of Britain they garrisoned the Great Wall from the Tyne to the Solway with men from nearly all the countries of Europe; but the motley array which then struggled to beat back the "slim" Pict cannot compare for a moment with the medley of races now under arms in the western theatre of war.

Britain and France hold empires which Cæsar never knew, and they are thus enabled to draw troops from every continent on the face of the globe. Englishman, Scot, Welshman, Irishman, British and French Canadian, Australian, New Zealander, Frenchman, and Belgian, stand shoulder to shoulder with Pathan, Gurkha, Sikh, Bengali, Baluchi, Senegambian, Arab, Berber, and Moor—Christian, Mohammedan, Hindu, and heathen—all united in a vast army determined to overthrow the nation which aims at nothing less than the mastery of the whole world. Such a remarkable gathering of races in one army has never before been seen.

CHAPTER II.

THE FIRST CLASH OF ARMS.

I wonder whether you have ever met with the word dinanderie. You will find it in an English dictionary, though it is an old word which has almost gone out of use. Dinanderie means vessels of chased copper or brass used for household purposes. In the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries such vessels were largely made in the little Belgian town of Dinant; hence the name.

You can scarcely imagine a more picturesque town than Dinant. It stands on the right or eastern bank of the broad river Meuse as it sweeps northward from France to join the Sambre at Namur. The main part of the town lies at the foot of lofty limestone rocks, which are honeycombed with grottoes containing stalactites, or limestone "icicles," such as you may see in the caves of Cheddar[8] or Derbyshire. In the Grand'-Place, quite close to the foot of the limestone rocks, is the Cathedral of Notre Dame, a very handsome building with finely carved portals. Behind the cathedral there are four hundred and eight steps cut in the rock, by means of which you may ascend to the citadel which crowns the summit.

From this citadel, or from the top of the hill behind it, there is a glorious view of the Meuse valley. If we face the river, we shall see on the opposite bank the houses straggling up a wooded hillside, and to our right "Roche à Bayard," a bold pinnacle of rock with an ancient story. Bayard[9] was the prince of knights in the sixteenth century, a hero of the most noble and unselfish character, "without fear and without reproach." We can pay no greater honour to a soldier than to call him a "Bayard." Like our own King Arthur, he has become a figure of romance, and all sorts of magical deeds have been ascribed to him. It is said that on one occasion he defended a bridge single-handed against two hundred Spaniards. According to an old legend, he was once pursued by Charlemagne, and was only saved from capture by his gallant horse, which sprang right across the gorge of the river, and left a hoofmark on the rock which now bears his name.

I have described Dinant because it was in and around this town that the French first came into contact with the Germans. In Chapter XXX. of our first volume I told you that after the entry of the Germans into Brussels, von Kluck's army (the First Army), which was to form the extreme right of the German line, was rapidly advancing towards the Franco-Belgian border, and that von Buelow's army (the Second Army) was moving in the direction of the strong fortress of Namur. The first clash of arms between the French and Germans took place five days before the occupation of Brussels, when von Kluck's army was fighting its way towards the capital.

At that time the Duke of Würtemberg's army was marching through the wooded hills of the Ardennes towards the Central Meuse, and the Saxon army was advancing farther north towards Dinant and Namur. While these movements were in progress, the French sent a detachment northwards to occupy Dinant, which is only ten miles as the crow flies from their border. On 15th August, at about six in the morning, German cavalry and artillery of the Duke of Würtemberg's army made an attack on the town, which was only held by part of a French infantry regiment. Though the French were greatly outnumbered, they fought gallantly, and held the bridge across the Meuse stubbornly. By ten o'clock, however, the Germans had driven them off, and had hoisted their flag on the citadel. Some of their cavalry then crossed the river into the suburbs on the left or western bank.

About two in the afternoon, in the very nick of time, French reinforcements arrived. A French infantry regiment appeared on the left bank of the river, and drove the cavalry out of the suburbs. Meanwhile two French batteries took up position, and began a brisk cannonade of the citadel. One of their first shots cut the German flag in two. So hot was the fire that the enemy was forced to leave the citadel and retire along the cliffs to the south. A vigorous artillery duel was kept up across the valley; the French dashed across the river by the bridge, retook the town, and flung back the Germans, who retreated east and then south. Thus in the first battle of the war the French were victorious.

The fight at Dinant, compared with those which were to follow, was a mere baby battle. Only about eight thousand men took part in it, and there was not much loss on either side. It has, however, a special interest, because it marked the first dash of arms between the French and the Germans. Not for a week later did the war begin in real earnest.

The Battle of Dinant, August 15, 1914. French infantry recapturing the town.

Now we must visit another town of Belgium—the famous fortress of Namur, which stands on a hill in the sharp angle between the Meuse and the Sambre. Southward and eastward of it lies the trench valley of the Meuse; to the west extends the vale of the Sambre, which runs through the "Black Country" of Belgium. Standing at the meeting-point of these rivers, Namur bars the road into France, and it has been fortified from very early times. Brialmont, of whom you have already heard, built a ring of four large forts and five smaller forts round it, and about three hundred and fifty guns were mounted in them. From this little map you will see how they were placed. As most of them were on high ground, it was hoped that they would hold out for a long time.

The Belgians had ten days' notice of the attack, and while the great siege trains of the Germans were slowly lumbering westward over the cobbled roads they did much to strengthen the place. About twenty-six thousand men were moved into it to hold the forts and trenches, large areas were mined, houses and trees in the line of fire were cut down, and barbed-wire entanglements, charged with a deadly current of electricity, were set up.

General Michel, who was in command, was well aware that the forts could not long resist the fierce onslaught of the German siege guns, but he hoped that before the first shot was fired the French would come to his assistance and would man the trenches for him. He had good reason for his hope, for French cavalry were already on Belgian soil, and French infantry and artillery were at Dinant, only eighteen miles away. He was not, however, well served by his scouts, and he does not seem to have learned that the Germans were advancing on both sides of the Meuse. Had he been better informed he might have struck a blow at the German siege train which was crawling slowly towards him. As it was, he did nothing, and the Germans were able to bring up their big guns and fix them on concrete platforms without being molested.

Plan of Namur Forts.

Now let us see how the Allies proposed to meet the Germans. Here is a map which you must study carefully, for it shows the positions occupied by the British and French on the evening of Friday, 21st August. The British army, which was to form the extreme right of the Allied front, lay along the line Condé[10]-Mons-Binche.[11] In reserve, behind the French fortress of Maubeuge,[12] about twelve miles south of Mons, was a French cavalry corps of three divisions, and away to the west, at Arras, was a corps of French Territorials, facing east. In the angle between the rivers were two French armies, one holding the line of the Sambre and the other the line of the Meuse. Farther south, from the French border through Mézières,[13] past Sedan, to Montmédy, was another army, also holding the line of the Meuse.

Map showing Position of Armies.

Before we go any further we must look closely at the position of the French armies marked 2 and 3 on the map. You notice that they form a sharp angle with each other. Military men call any angle less than two right angles a salient. I think you can easily see that the armies holding such a salient as that formed by the two rivers were by no means in a strong position. They were very much exposed to attacks on their flanks, and they depended at their weakest part—the point of the angle—on the fortress of Namur. As long as Namur held out, well and good; but if it should fall the line would be pierced, and the French would be in a very dangerous position indeed.

CHAPTER III.

THE FALL OF NAMUR.

Now let us look more closely at the position which the British were to hold.[14] Find the town of Mons, which stands to the west of Charleroi,[15] on the highroad running northward to Brussels. Mons is the old capital of Hainault, and its history goes back to the days of Cæsar. Those of our soldiers who came from colliery districts must have been strongly reminded of home when they arrived in the neighbourhood of Mons, for it is a place of busy factories, surrounded by a coalfield. Tall chimneys, the headgear of pits, huge mounds of refuse, railway lines running along embankments, and miners' cottages are the chief features of the landscape. Many of the rubbish heaps have been planted with little forests of dwarf firs, and look like ranges of low wooded hills. The country is, however, flat and much cut up with deep dykes filled with muddy water.

The British headquarters was at Mons, and the line which our soldiers were to hold extended to the west and to the east of that town. On the west it stretched along the banks of a canal which runs west for fifteen miles, from Mons to the village of Condé. Still farther to the west, a French Territorial battalion held the town of Tournai. Eastward of Mons the line ran for another ten miles to the village of Binche, which lies south-east of Mons. The British position, you will observe, was not quite straight, but in the form of a very flat triangle, with the apex at Mons. By the evening of Friday, 21st August, two army corps and one cavalry division of the British were in position awaiting the German attack. The 3rd Army Corps had not yet arrived.

The Town of Mons. Photo, Exclusive News Agency.

The Commander-in-Chief was Sir John French, of whom we have already heard. The 1st Army Corps, which was posted to the east of Mons, was commanded by Sir Douglas Haig, a cavalryman like Sir John French, and one of the youngest of British generals. He had seen service in the Sudan and in South Africa, and had held high military positions at home and in India. The 2nd Army Corps, which was posted along the line of the canal west of Mons, was commanded by General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien, also a brilliant soldier, who did fine work in South Africa. The cavalry division was under Major-General Allenby, one of the most famous cavalry scouts in the British army, and the 5th Cavalry Brigade was commanded by Sir Philip Chetwode.

During the 22nd and 23rd of August the 5th Cavalry Brigade and some other cavalry squadrons pushed far to the north, and did some excellent scouting work. They also met the advanced patrols of the enemy, and there were several small fights, in which our troops showed to great advantage. One of these fights took place at the corner of a village street, where a party of our hussars rode down a strong detachment of German cavalry. The two forces met front to front, and there were wild hurrahs as our men charged the enemy with flashing sabres. It was all over in a few minutes, and the Germans were driven back in confusion. "Men and horses were heavier than we were," wrote one of the British hussars who was wounded in the skirmish, "but our men were smarter and handier."

Map showing British and French Positions at the Battles of Mons and Charleroi.

You know that von Kluck's army entered Brussels on 20th August. An American writer who fell in with an advance division tells us that the Germans marched at a very rapid pace towards the Franco-Belgian frontier to meet the Allies. To keep up with the column he was forced to move at a steady trot. The men did not bend the knees, but keeping the legs straight, shot them forward with a quick, sliding movement as though they were skating or ski-ing.[16] Many of them fell by the wayside, but they were not permitted to lie there, but were lifted to their feet and flung back into the ranks. The halts were frequent, and so exhausted were the poor fellows that, instead of standing at ease, they dropped to the road as though they had been struck with a club. It was these forced marches which brought von Kluck's army so rapidly to the right wing of the Allies.

While our soldiers from Condé to Binche were busy digging trenches and gun-pits, and clearing their front of cover, they could hear away to the right the dull roar of cannon. Fighting was going on not only at Namur but along the Sambre. You know that von Buelow's army was marching along the north bank of the Meuse towards Namur, and that the Saxon army was moving towards the same place along the southern bank. On the evening of the day on which the Germans entered Brussels the first shots were fired at the fortress. It was a sultry evening, and behind the screen of haze the great howitzers were placed in position. They began to fire on the Belgian trenches to the north-east of the city, and all night continued to bombard them with great accuracy. Any man who lifted his head was immediately hit. The guns were three miles away, so the Belgians had no chance of rushing on the foe with the bayonet as they had done at Liége. They were forced to wait and suffer. After enduring ten hours of bursting shrapnel, which killed large numbers of them, they were obliged to withdraw, and the Germans pushed within the ring of forts and took up a position on the ridge of St. Marc north of the city.[17]

Meanwhile two of the eastern forts had fallen. Upon the fort just to the south of the Meuse the Germans guns rained shells at the rate of twenty a minute, and it was only able to fire ten shots in reply. The shells wrecked concrete and turrets alike, and nothing could resist them. The fort directly to the north of the river held out longer; but when seventy-five of its garrison had been slain, it too was forced to yield. At the same time the southern line of forts was fiercely bombarded, and after an attack of two hours three of them were silenced, and a German force was pushed across the Meuse into the southern part of the angle between that river and the Sambre. All day long an infantry battle raged, and the Belgians hoped against hope that the French would come to their assistance.

Next morning, 22nd August, five thousand French troops, mostly Turcos, arrived from the west, but they were too late and too few to save the fortress. It was a black, dread day for the Allies. The skies were darkened by an eclipse of the sun, and the people of Namur were in a state of panic. German aeroplanes flew over the place and dropped bombs, which killed many of the inhabitants and fired their houses. The heavens thundered, the great guns roared, and Namur fell.

When the commander, General Michel, saw that he could no longer hold out, he tried to call in the troops from the forts and march them westward, in the hope that they might join their comrades beneath the shelter of the forts at Antwerp. Traitors or spies, however, cut his telephone wires, and he was only able to rally a portion of them for the retreat. Two Belgian regiments hacked a way through the Germans who blocked their road, and managed to join the French and reach Rouen; where they took ship to Ostend, and then joined the main Belgian army at Antwerp.

On Sunday afternoon, 23rd August, the Germans marched into Namur singing their national songs and shouting in triumph. Next day von Buelow entered, and with him was the new Governor of Belgium, Field-Marshal von der Goltz, who was described by one of the townsfolk as "an elderly gentleman covered with orders, buttoned in an overcoat up to his nose, above which gleamed a pair of enormous glasses."

The Belgians made their last stand between the forts to the north-west of the city. They held out until the morning of Tuesday, 25th August, when they left their trenches and moved into the woods on the north bank of the Sambre. Here they were surrounded, and were obliged to surrender. Only about 12,000 out of the 26,000 men who attempted to hold the fortress escaped. Large quantities of guns and stores had to be abandoned, and these fell into the hands of the Germans.

I have already told you that Namur was considered so strong that it could defy attack for a long time. It fell, as we have seen, very rapidly. The first shot was fired on the evening of 20th August; by the next night five or six forts had fallen; on the 23rd the Germans entered the city, and two days later every fort was in ruins.

Now we are able to understand the terrible peril of the Allies. The French line along the Meuse and Sambre could only be held so long as Namur was able to resist. Now that it had fallen the line was broken, and a million men were on the verge of disaster.

The Siege of Namur.

While the German howitzers were battering down the forts at Namur a fierce battle was raging round about Charleroi, on the Sambre, some fifteen miles to the east. Those who remember the story of the battle of Waterloo will recollect that Napoleon's armies crossed the Sambre at Charleroi on their way to the famous battlefield. Like Mons, Charleroi is a place of coal mines, iron foundries, and glassworks.

Less than ten miles to the north-east of Charleroi is the village of Ligny,[18] where Napoleon beat the Germans under Blücher on June 16, 1815, and forced them to retreat. On the same day Wellington beat Marshal Ney at Quatre Bras,[19] which lies a few miles to the north-west of Ligny; but because Blücher had retreated he was obliged to fall back to the field of Waterloo, where, as you know, he was joined by the Prussians, and an end was made of Napoleon. It was over this historic ground that von Buelow's army advanced towards Charleroi.

Charge of the Turcos near Charleroi. From the picture by Dudley Tennant.

Not until late in March 1915 did the French lift the veil and give us a glimpse of what happened. We are told that General Joffre's plan was, in the first place, to hold and dispose of the enemy's centre, and afterwards to throw all his available forces on the left flank of the Germans. On Friday, 21st August, the French centre attacked with ten army corps. On the next day it failed, and the French suffered a severe defeat. They frankly confess that their officers and troops were unequal to the task imposed on them, that they were imprudent under fire, that the divisions were ill engaged, that they deployed rashly and fled hastily, and that the lives of the men were thrown away too early in the struggle. During the fighting the Zouaves and Turcos behaved most gallantly. Twice they cleared the town of Charleroi at the point of the bayonet, but all their efforts were unavailing. Five times the town was captured and recaptured, and every time it changed hands it was fiercely shelled. By Saturday evening it was in the hands of the Germans, who, after suffering great losses, crossed the Sambre.

Meanwhile another fierce fight was going on farther east along the line of the Meuse. On Saturday morning a German army, which had advanced through the Northern Ardennes, crossed the Meuse into the angle between that river and the Sambre, where, you will remember, the Germans had already gained a footing. This new force attacked the right flank of the French, and began to work round to their rear, so as to threaten the line of retreat. With von Buelow pressing hard on the front, and the Saxon army pressing on the right and rear, the French in the angle between the rivers were forced to give way, and in order to save themselves from destruction were obliged to retire to the south. So rapid and confused was this retreat that the French staff neglected to send news of the disaster to Sir John French until the afternoon of next day. He thought that the French line was still holding out on his right; but as a matter of fact he was without any support in that direction, and was left, as the soldiers say, "in the air." Further, von Buelow was now able to spare some of his right-wing troops and send them to help von Kluck, who was about to swoop down on the British line.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BATTLE OF MONS.

It is a peaceful Sunday morning; the sun is shining and the bells are ringing. The Belgians in Mons and the surrounding mining villages are flocking towards their churches; but in the British lines our soldiers are hard at work in their shirt-sleeves deepening the trenches and making ready to meet the threatened attack. As the morning wears on a German Taube[20] comes gliding high over the trenches like a huge vulture seeking its prey. It circles round and round, and more than one enterprising "Tommy" discharges his rifle at it. Now a British aeroplane ascends to give it battle; but the Taube makes a long curve northward, and disappears in rapid flight. Meanwhile our own airmen and cavalry scouts are coming in with the news that large numbers of the enemy are moving through the green woods towards the centre of the line, and that towards Binche and Condé other columns are on the march.

Sir John French assembled his commanders at six in the morning on August 23, and explained to them what he understood to be General Joffre's plan. He knew nothing of what had happened on his right, and he believed that one, or at most two, of the enemy's army corps, with perhaps one cavalry division, were on his front. He had no idea that the enemy outnumbered him by at least two to one, and that they were attempting to envelop him by attacking his exposed flanks.

A private in the 1st Royal West Kent Regiment tells us how the battle began. He says: "It was Sunday, 23rd August, that we were at Mons, billeted in a farmyard, and we were having a sing-song, and watching the people coming home from church. At about 12.30 an orderly had gone down to draw dinners when an aeroplane appeared overhead, throwing out some black powder. After this shrapnel began to burst, acquainting us with the fact that the Germans were in the vicinity. All was confusion and uproar for the moment, because we were not armed, and our shirts and socks were out to wash, that being the only chance we had to get them washed. It did not take us long, however, to get in fighting trim and go through the town of Mons to the scene of operations, which was on the other side of a small canal that adjoined."

The British were soon standing to arms in their position along the whole twenty-five miles of the battle-line. Hardly had they thrust the cartridges into their rifles before the terrible thunder of the German guns began. These guns were massed just outside the southern edge of the woods, behind railway embankments, roadside trees, hedgerows, and the raised towing-paths of the willow-fringed canals. The thunder of the cannonade speedily showed that the enemy was in far greater force than had been supposed. Not, however, for some hours did Sir John French and his staff realize that they were everywhere outnumbered.

The guns were booming, but there was no sign of the enemy. The front seemed empty of men, but an observer would have seen soft, fleecy clouds hanging above the British trenches—a sign that shrapnel was bursting over them, and that a deadly flail of iron bullets was beating down upon them. Our soldiers, who had learned to take cover in South Africa, lay close, and waited, whiling away the time by joking and by playing marbles with the shrapnel bullets that fell among them. At first the aim of the enemy's artillery was not very good, but speedily their aeroplanes came circling over the trenches, and by throwing down smoky bombs revealed their whereabouts. Then they made very accurate shooting, and many of our men were hit. Meanwhile our artillery began to reply, and more than once silenced a battery of the enemy.

Our officers knew full well that the roar of the guns was the signal for the German infantry to advance. For a time nothing could be seen of them, for they took cover well, and their bluish gray uniforms seemed to melt into the leafy background. Our officers, who were eagerly scanning the landscape with field-glasses, only saw them when they began to open fire with rifles and machine guns.

The Germans believed that if they kept up a fierce artillery fire on our trenches our men would become so terrified that they would scuttle from their burrows like rabbits at the approach of a ferret. They did not then know of what stuff British soldiers are made. No fighters in the world are so cool and dogged; none can take such severe punishment without flinching, or wait so patiently for the right moment to advance.

And now the blue-gray masses of the Germans came into full view. They made desperate attacks near Binche, where, owing to the retirement of the French, the flank was exposed to a turning movement. Some of the troops who were to help in holding this part of the line had only just arrived, after a long and trying march under a hot sun, and were busy "digging themselves in" while the shrapnel was bursting over them.

When the infantry of the enemy began to appear our soldiers had three surprises. In the sham battles which they had fought at Aldershot or on Salisbury Plain they had learned to fire at men moving forward in a thin, extended line, with eight or ten paces between them. To their amazement they saw the Germans coming on in dense masses, as though they were parading in the streets of Potsdam. Our men grasped their rifles and waited until the enemy came within six or seven hundred yards of them. On rolled the Germans, singing their national songs, and believing that they could sweep the British out of their trenches by sheer weight of numbers. At last the word was given, and a tornado of rifle and machine-gun fire crashed down upon the dense masses.

Our men fired as steadily as though they were shooting at targets in time of peace. Not a shot was wasted; every bullet found its billet. "The Germans were in solid square blocks, standing out sharply against the skyline," wrote Sergeant Loftus, "and you couldn't help hitting them. It was like butting your head against a stone wall." Before the rapid fire and sure aim of the British the hosts of the enemy went down in heaps. "It was like cutting hay," said a private. In one place there was a breastwork of German dead and wounded five feet high, and our soldiers had to leave their trenches in order to see the foe.

The second surprise was the poor shooting of the German infantry. They fired as they marched, with their rifles at their hips. Though thousands of their bullets whizzed by, very few of them found a mark. "They can't shoot for nuts," said one Tommy; "they couldn't hit a haystack." "They couldn't hit the gas works at Mons," said another. "If they had, I wouldn't be here."

The third surprise was the vast numbers of the enemy that made the attack. Our first line did not consist, at any time, of more than 80,000 men, and against them von Kluck hurled at least 150,000 men, without counting the masses of cavalry which were moving towards the space between our left at Condé and the town of Tournai. Though the Germans were shot down in thousands, they continued to roll on like the waves of an incoming tide. "It was like the crowd leaving a football ground on a cup-tie day," was the description of one of our soldiers. For every five men which the French and the British had in the field in the early days of the war the Germans had eight.

Against these terrible odds our men fought stubbornly. Again and again the dense masses of the Germans pressed towards them, and as they did so a sheet of flame flickered along the line of British trenches, and they were beaten down like a field of standing wheat before a hailstorm. But no sooner were they swept to earth than their supports appeared, only to meet the same fate. Our men grew sick with slaughter. In some places the crowded ranks of the enemy managed to come close to the British trenches. Then our men leaped forward with a cheer and drove with the bayonet through and through the ranks, until the survivors turned and fled, followed by the pitiless fire of Maxims and field guns.

The British in their Trenches at Mons. From the picture by Dudley Tennant.

One important feature of the attack was the very large number of machine guns used by the Germans. They were mounted on low sledges, so that they could be rapidly brought into the firing line and worked by men lying down. It seemed in these early days of the war as though the enemy was going to do the real fighting with artillery and machine guns, and that his infantry were only to act as supports.

You already know that von Kluck was throwing his main strength chiefly on the British right, but there were also furious fights along the canal towards Condé, where our men were holding the bridges. Frenzied attacks were made on these bridges, but they were stubbornly held. When, however, the overwhelming numbers of the enemy appeared, our troops were withdrawn to the south bank, and orders were given to blow up the bridges and the barges in the canal. The engineers did the work with the coolest courage in the face of a deadly fire.

A hundred deeds of gallantry were done that day. One bridge was held by a devoted company of the Scottish Borderers. When they saw that it must be abandoned, a sergeant and three men dashed on to it to fire the fuse. The three men dropped in their tracks, and the sergeant went on alone. He hacked the fuse short and fired it; but with the destruction of the bridge he too was destroyed.

Foiled at the bridges, the enemy now attempted to cross the canal by means of pontoons. Our guns were trained on them, and an awful scene of slaughter and destruction began. Ten separate times the Germans managed to throw their pontoons over the water, and ten separate times the guns of the British smashed them to fragments.

Stubbornly as our men were fighting, the terrible pressure of the Germans could not be resisted. About three o'clock Sir Philip Chetwode's cavalry brigade, which had been guarding the flank, had to be withdrawn; whereupon the enemy occupied Binche. Sir Douglas Haig then drew in his right, and slowly fell back to a long swell of ground south of the village of Bray. You know that the British line had been almost straight; the retirement of the 1st Army Corps swung the right half of the line towards the south, so that there was a sharp angle between it and the 2nd Army Corps, holding the line of the Mons-Condé canal. The British were now in the same sort of dangerous position as the French when they held the angle between the Meuse and the Sambre. General French saw at once that his men in Mons were exposed to attacks from the front and the flanks, and that they were in peril of being cut off; so he directed the commander of that part of the line "to be careful not to keep the troops on this salient too long, but, if threatened seriously, to draw back the centre behind Mons."

Hardly had this message been sent off before a startling telegram from General Joffre reached General French. It gave him news which he ought to have received hours before, and made his gallant stand quite unavailing. It told him that Namur had fallen on the previous day; that the 5th French Army and the two reserve divisions on his right were in retreat; that the passages of the Sambre between Charleroi and Namur were in the hands of the enemy; that at least three German army corps were moving on the front of his position, while another was making a wide turning movement round his left by way of Tournai. Probably at this time some 200,000 Germans were about to attack Sir John French's 80,000. All this meant that the little British army, though it had done, and could still do, miracles of valour, was in peril of being cut off, enveloped, and destroyed. There was nothing for it but to hold on until nightfall, and then retreat. You can imagine the bitter disappointment of our men, who now knew that they were more than a match for the Germans.

A sergeant tells us that all day long the British defied every attempt of the enemy to dislodge them from their trenches. "After the last attack," he says, "we lay down in our clothes to sleep as best we could; but long before sunrise we were called out, to be told that we had got to abandon our position. Nobody knew why we had to go; but like good soldiers we obeyed without a murmur."

CHAPTER V.

SOLDIERS' STORIES OF THE BATTLE OF MONS.

The account of the Battle of Mons which you have just read has been built up from two main sources of information. First, and most important, is the dispatch of Sir John French. It is a plain, business-like statement, giving a broad outline of the manner in which his troops were disposed, and relating in proper order the chief features of the struggle, but not telling us much about the details of the fighting. Then come the accounts which the soldiers who took part in the battle have given of their experiences. Of course each of these soldiers only saw but a very small portion of the battle, and they knew very little of the "moves" which their commanders were making; but it is from them that we hear those details which give life and colour to the story. In this chapter you are going to read some accounts of various incidents in the battle as told by those who fought at Mons on the 23rd day of August 1914.

Here is the story told by a Gordon Highlander named Smiley. He drew a little diagram to illustrate the fighting which he saw, and I reproduce it on the next page in order that you may the more easily follow his story. You will notice that he and his comrades held a trench to the south of Mons.

"We marched out of our billets at 4 a.m. We marched up to No. 1 and wheeled to the right, which fetched us on the main Paris road (No. 4.4.4.4), with Mons itself somewhat half-left on our rear. We immediately set about clearing the foreground of willows, beans, wheat, and anything which gave head cover. About 10 a.m. we had (except buildings) a clear rifle range of quite two thousand yards. We then dug our trenches, and much labour and love we put into them.

"The ball opened at 11.30 a.m. by a terrible artillery duel by the Germans over our trenches to No. 5. This went on for some hours, until a movement of infantry was seen at No. 6. This movement was evidently intended for the Gordons, as you will see that had they managed to reach the wood in front of us (No. 7) our position would have been made untenable by hidden infantry and well-served artillery, who could have flanked us by sheer weight of numbers.

"However, we opened on them at No. 6 with a terrific Maxim fire. They advanced in companies of quite one hundred and fifty men in files five deep. Guess the result. We could steady our rifles on the trench and take deliberate aim. The first company were simply blasted away by a volley at seven hundred yards, and in their insane formation every bullet was almost sure to find two billets. The other companies kept advancing very slowly, using their dead comrades as cover; but they had absolutely no chance, and at about 5 p.m. their infantry retired.

"We were still being subjected to a terrible artillery fire. But we had time to see what was happening on our left flank (1, 2, 3). The Royal Irish Regiment had been surprised and fearfully cut up, and so, too, had the Middlesex, and it was found impossible for our B and C Companies to reinforce them. We (D Company) were one and a half miles away, and were ordered to proceed to No. 2 and relieve the Royal Irish as much as possible. We crept from our trenches and crossed to the other side of the road, where we had the benefit of a ditch and the road camber[21] as cover. We made most excellent progress until one hundred and fifty yards from No. 1. At that distance there was a small white house flush with the road standing in a clearance. Our young sub.[22] was leading, and safely crossed the front of the house. Immediately the Germans opened a cyclone of shrapnel at the house. They could not see us, but I guess they knew the reason why troops would or might pass that house. However, we were to relieve the R.I.'s, and astounding as it may seem, we passed that house, and I was the only one to be hit. Even yet I am amazed at our luck.

"By this time dusk had set in, four villages were on fire, and the Germans had been and were shelling the hospitals. We managed to get into the R.I.'s trench, and beat off a very faint-hearted Uhlan attack on us. About 9 p.m. came our orders to retire. What a pitiful handful we were against that host, and yet we held the flower of the German army at bay all day!"

Another soldier who was present in this part of the battlefield says:—

"We were digging trenches, and were totally unaware that the enemy was near us, when all of a sudden shells came dropping all around, and the Germans bore down on us. One of the Middlesex companies was not at that time equipped in any way, with the result that they were terribly cut up. Then I witnessed what a real Britisher is made of. One of the sergeants of the Middlesex, instead of holding up hands and begging for mercy, like the Germans do, fought furiously with his fists, downing two Germans with successive blows. Other members of the Middlesex followed their sergeant's example. Later on a German sergeant-major who was taken prisoner, on viewing our numbers, said, 'Had we been aware that there were so few of you, not one of you would have escaped.'"

In scores of soldiers' letters we find references to the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. One young private wrote as follows to his father, who is a gardener: "You complained last summer, dad, of the swarm of wasps that destroyed your fruit. That will give you an idea of how the Germans came for us." Another man writes: "It looked as if we were going to be snowed under. The mass of men who came on was an avalanche, and every one of us must have been trodden to death, if not killed by shells or bullets, had not our infantry charged into them on the left wing, not five hundred yards from the trench I was in." A non-commissioned officer also refers to the odds against which our men struggled: "No regiment ever fought harder than we did, and no regiment has ever had better officers; they went shoulder to shoulder with their men. But you cannot expect impossibilities, no matter how brave the boys are, when one is fighting forces twenty to thirty times as strong." "They are more like flies," said another man: "the more you kill the more there seem to be."

Holding the Canal at Mons. By permission of The Sphere.

Here is the story of Lance-Corporal M'Auslan of the Royal Scots Fusiliers, who was fighting on the Mons-Condé line. He says: "I was up in the engagement before Mons on the Saturday. We marched thirty miles, and had an engagement with the enemy, and fought a rearguard action over twenty miles for twenty-four hours. The canal at Mons must be full of German dead now. We were working two nights to prevent them crossing the canal, and we mowed them down like corn. The D Company of our regiment was cut up in about ten minutes, and Captain Ross and Captain Young lost their lives. I was with Captain Ross when he got bowled over. It was not the rifle fire that hurt us—they could not hit us at fifty yards—but it was the shrapnel fire that caused the damage. The German big gun fire was good, but their rifle fire was rotten. The aeroplanes did all the piloting. They gave the Germans the range of our guns, and they shelled us pretty successfully; but we brought down two Zeppelins and an aeroplane in the first two days of the battle."

A Times correspondent tells us that he was much impressed by the coolness and dash of our men, and their utter indifference to danger. "I shall never forget," he writes, "the admirable reply given by an English soldier, wounded in the hand, whom I found sitting by the roadside outside Mons, wearing an air of consternation. I began to talk to him, and asked him if his wound was hurting him. 'It's not that,' he said, with a doleful shake of the head, 'but I'm blessed if I haven't been and lost my pipe in that last charge!' I gave him mine, and he was instantly comforted."

Here is a fine story of the fights for the bridges at Condé where the canal joins the river Scheldt; it is told by Private W. E. Carter of the 2nd Manchester Regiment:—

"To deliver their attacks it was necessary for the enemy to cross two bridges. The officer in command of the Royal Engineers ordered a non-commissioned officer to swim the canal and the river, and set fuses under both bridges. He reached the farther bank in safety, and on returning he set a fuse under the river bridge. When making for 'home' one of the enemy's big guns fired on him, and blew away one of his arms at the shoulder. Another member of the same corps entered the water and assisted him to land. When the Germans had marched over the first bridge it was blown up, leaving their ammunition carts on the other side. Then the second bridge was blown up, and a German force of 25,000 was placed at our mercy. A desperate fight followed, the Germans being left with no ammunition but what they carried. They struggled heroically to build a bridge with the object of getting their ammunition carts across, but every time this improvised bridge was destroyed by our artillery fire. Though they were thus trapped, the Germans held their ground very stubbornly."

The following is an account of how some of our men were trapped. A wounded officer says: "We were guarding a railway bridge over a canal. My company held a semicircle from the railway to the canal. I was nearest the railway. A Scottish regiment completed the semicircle on the right of the railway to the canal. The railway was on a high embankment running up to the bridge, so that the Scottish regiment was out of sight of us.

"We held the Germans all day, killing hundreds, when about 5 p.m. the order to retire was given. It never reached us, and we were left all alone. The Germans therefore got right up to the canal on our right, hidden by the railway embankment, and crossed the railway. Our people had blown up the bridge before their departure. We found ourselves between two fires, and I realized we had about two thousand Germans and a canal between us and our friends. We decided to sell our lives dearly. I ordered my men to fix bayonets and charge, which the gallant fellows did splendidly; but we got shot down like ninepins. As I was loading my revolver after giving the order to fix bayonets I was hit in the right wrist. I dropped my revolver; my hand was too weak to draw my sword. I had not got far when I got a bullet through the calf of my right leg and another in my right knee, which brought me down.

"The rest of my men got driven round into the trench on our left. The officer there charged the Germans and was killed, and nearly all the men were either killed or wounded. I did not see this part of the business, but from all accounts the gallant men charged with the greatest bravery. Those who could walk the Germans took away as prisoners. I have since learnt from civilians that around the bridge five thousand Germans were found dead, and about sixty English. These sixty must have been nearly all my company, who were so unfortunately left behind."

In the Trenches—waiting for an Attack. Photopress.

One of the finest features of our army is the admiration of the rank and file for their officers, and the equally sincere admiration of the officers for their men. In letters home they are constantly praising each other. A cavalry officer writes in his diary: "Can't help feeling jolly proud to command such a magnificent body of men. Hope to goodness I am capable of doing the lads full justice. Our men ARE playing the game;" while a private pays the following striking tribute to his officer: "You know I have often spoken of Captain ——, and what a fine fellow he was. There was no braver man on the field. He got knocked over early with a piece of shell which smashed his leg. He must have been in great pain, but kneeling on one knee, he was cheerful, and kept saying, 'My bonnie boys, make sure of your man.' When he was taken away on the ambulance he shouted, 'Keep cool, and mark your man.'"

During the hot hours of the fierce fighting our men were frequently very thirsty, and longed for a cooling drink. Over and over again peasant women came up to the trenches with water and fruit for the parched and wearied men. They showed the most wonderful courage in approaching the firing line, and our soldiers were most grateful to them. One man wrote home to his mother: "I can assure you they are the bravest souls I have ever met." All honour to these noble women for their deeds of mercy in the day of battle.

The following stories give us a capital idea of the high spirits and undaunted gaiety of our men under fire. A party of British infantry were defending a café near Mons. As often as the Germans attacked the place they were driven back, though big holes were gaping in the walls and the place was rapidly becoming a ruin. There was an automatic piano in the café, and every time the Germans appeared, one soldier would say to another, "Put a penny in the slot, Jock, and give them some music to dance to." Each time the enemy attacked this was done, and the "band" struck up.

A wounded lancer tells us that when the Germans bore down on his trench the men were singing "Hitchy Koo." "Before we were half through with the chorus," he says, "the man next to me got a wound in the upper part of his arm. But he sang the chorus to the finish, and did not seem to know that he was hit until a comrade on the other side said, 'Don't you think you'd better have it bound up? It's beginning to make a mess.'"

Captain Buchanan Dunlop, who was wounded at Mons, tells a splendid story to illustrate the pluck and undaunted spirit of our men. He says: "I was talking to an officer of my own regiment in town yesterday. He was also wounded, and he told me about a fight in which one of his men lying just in front of him under a heavy shell fire turned to him and said, 'Sir, may I retire?' 'Why?' asked the officer. 'Sir,' replied the man, 'I have been hit three times.'"

Every boy and every girl who reads these pages has heard of the Victoria Cross, the highest award of valour known to the British army. Perhaps you have seen a man who has won it. If so, I am sure that your eyes shone as you looked at him, for there is no nobler sight in all the world than a man who is supremely brave. The Victoria Cross is a simple Maltese cross of bronze, worth about fourpence halfpenny, and it is so called because it was first instituted by Queen Victoria in the year 1856.

"Her cross of valour to her worthiest; No golden toy with milky pearls besprent, But simple bronze, and for a warrior's breast A fair, fit ornament."

The special glory of the Victoria Cross is that any soldier can win it, be he general or private, son of a peer or son of a scavenger. It is given "For Valour," and for valour only. So highly honourable is it that, no matter what other distinctions a man may possess, the letters "V.C." come first after his name. It is suspended by a red ribbon if worn on the breast of a soldier, and by a blue ribbon if worn by a sailor. It carries with it a pension of ten pounds a year, which may be increased if the possessor cannot earn a livelihood.

The Victoria Cross.

Let me tell you something of the men who did such glorious deeds of valour at Mons that they were afterwards awarded the Victoria Cross.

Captain Theodore Wright, of the Royal Engineers, was engaged in blowing up one of the bridges over the Mons-Condé canal. While preparing the bridge for destruction he was wounded in the head; but he stuck to his work, and refused to retire. The fuse failed to explode the charge, and then, wounded as he was, he dashed forward under a very heavy fire and fixed another fuse, which this time did its work and blew the bridge to fragments. On 16th November he was awarded the Victoria Cross; but, alas! he had then been dead two months. He was killed while assisting wounded men into shelter.

Lieutenant Maurice James Dease, of the 4th Battalion, Royal Fusiliers, was commander of the machine-gun section at Mons. Though he was badly wounded two or three times, he refused to leave his guns, and kept them in action until all his men were shot. He, too, died of his wounds, and the coveted Victoria Cross was handed to his relatives, who cherish it, you may be sure, with mingled pride and sorrow.

Corporal Charles Ernest Garforth, of the 15th Hussars, also won the Victoria Cross on that dread day at a place about three miles south of Mons. His squadron was trapped, and the only road of escape was barred by entanglements of barbed wire. He volunteered to go forward and cut the wire, and this he did while hundreds of bullets flew about him. Thanks to his dauntless courage, his squadron was able to reach safety. Twice later he did equally heroic deeds, and never was the coveted cross more splendidly won.

Lance-Corporal Charles Alfred Jarvis, 57th Field Company, Royal Engineers, showed great gallantry at Jemappes on the canal to the west of Mons. He worked on a bridge for one and a half hours in full view of the enemy, who kept up a heavy fire upon him. For a time he had the assistance of his comrades, but finally he sent them to the rear, and then all alone fired the charges which brought down the bridge. For this deed he was rightly enrolled in that glorious band of heroes who have wrought and fought and died to make us inheritors of deathless fame.

Lance-Corporal Jarvis preparing to destroy a Bridge.

Drawn by Ernest Prater from a rough sketch by Lance-Corporal Jarvis.

Engineers destroy a bridge such as the above by fixing one or more slabs of gun-cotton in close contact with it. Wires are attached to the gun-cotton, and by means of electricity the charge is fired. The engineers must calculate the amount of gun-cotton required, and choose the most suitable position for fixing the charge, so that the explosion may have the desired effect.

CHAPTER VI

THE RUSSIAN PEOPLE.

While our hard-pressed troops are retreating from Mons before overwhelming numbers of the enemy, we must turn to what is called the Eastern theatre of war and see what is happening there. Before, however, I describe the actual fighting, I must tell you something about Russia and the Russian army.

You probably know that Russia is not only equal in extent to half Europe, but stretches right across the northern part of the continent of Asia to the waters of the Pacific Ocean. This vast empire actually covers one-seventh of all the land on the globe. Unlike the British Empire, it is continuous; you may travel from one end of it to the other by rail. You will get some idea of the tremendous railway journey involved when I tell you that the distance from the old city of Warsaw on the river Vistula to Vladivostok on the Sea of Japan is about 6,200 miles—that is, about two-fifths of the circumference of the world at the latitude of London.

Naturally you will expect this vast empire to be inhabited by vast numbers of people. In the year 1912 it was estimated that there were more than 171 millions of people under the sway of the Tsar—that is, more than one in ten of all the people on earth. I have already told you of the extraordinary variety of races which dwell beneath the Union Jack; there is almost as great a variety of peoples in the Russian Empire. There are, for example, thirty different races in the Caucasus alone. The bulk of the inhabitants, however, are of Slav race, and are descended from a people who, ages ago, entered Europe from Asia, and gradually conquered the land and settled in it. What are known as the Great Russians form the strongest and toughest race in the whole empire. They are Slavs who in early times intermingled with the Finns and set up the kingdom of Moscow. These Great Russians gradually succeeded in enlarging their borders, until their territory stretched to the Crimea and Turkestan on the south and south-east, to Manchuria in the far east, and to Germany in the west. The Great Russians are now the largest and most important of all the Russian peoples, and they occupy the bulk of the country.

The descendants of the races and tribes which the Great Russians subdued still exist, and they differ as widely from their conquerors as a northern Frenchman differs from a southern Frenchman. One of these conquered races consists of the White Russians, who represent some of the earliest Slav colonists, and live near the sources of the Niemen, the Dwina, and the Dnieper in the south-west of the country. Most of the people of the south, however, are Little Russians. They speak a dialect of their own, love dance and song, and are less fond of work than the peoples of Northern Russia.

Amongst other races in Russia are the Poles, a Slav people with quite a separate language. In Chapter III. of our first volume I told you that in the days of the English King Edward III. Poland was an important and flourishing kingdom. I also told you how the sovereigns of Prussia, Russia, and Austria conspired to seize portions of this kingdom, and how it was gradually gobbled up until the Poles, like the Jews, had no land which they could call their own. From that day to this they have yearned for the time when their old kingdom might be restored to them. On the 15th day of August, when the war was in full swing, the Tsar addressed the Poles as follows:—

"Poles! The hour has sounded when the sacred dream of your fathers and grandfathers may be realized. A century and a half has passed since the living body of Poland was torn in pieces; but the soul of the country is not dead. It continues to live, inspired by the hope that there will come for the Polish people an hour of resurrection and of brotherly friendship with Great Russia. The Russian army brings you the solemn pledge of this friendship which wipes out the frontiers dividing the Polish peoples, and unites them under the sceptre of the Russian Tsar. Under this sceptre Poland will be born again, free in her religion and her language. You will be granted Home Rule under the protection of Russia.

Polish Soldiers of the old days crossing the River Dneister.

(From the picture by the Polish artist Juliusz Kossak.)

"With open heart and brotherly hand Great Russia advances to meet you. She believes that the sword with which she struck down her enemies at Grünewald[23] is not yet rusted. From the shores of the Pacific to the North Sea the Russian armies are marching. The dawn of a new life is beginning for you, and in this glorious dawn is seen the sign of the Cross, the symbol of suffering, and of the resurrection of peoples."

Cannot you imagine the joy of the Poles, not only of Russia, but of Germany and Austria, when they heard these glad tidings? The Poles of Germany have always been badly treated by the Germans, and they were immediately won over to the side of Russia by this proclamation. When the day of victory arrives Germany will have to give up Prussian Poland, and Austria will have to give up Galicia; and these provinces, together with Russian Poland, will constitute the new kingdom which will rise again after being torn asunder and beaten to the dust for a hundred and fifty years.

The Poles are by no means the only subject race of the Great Russians. There are the Lithuanians and the Finns in the west and north-west, the Tartars and Bashkirs in the east, and the Kalmucks, a Mongol people, who live beyond the Volga. In addition to these peoples, there are the races of the Caucasus, and the many others who inhabit Asiatic Russia. Some five million Jews also live in the Empire, chiefly in the south-west and in Poland.

The armies of Russia are mainly recruited from the peasants. In Northern Russia the peasant is generally a tall, well-built man, with fair hair and blue eyes. In the south, as a rule, he is darker. In civil life the men wear loose shirts belted round the waist, cloth putties on the legs, and, in summer, shoes of plaited straw on the feet. They also wear peaked caps and loose knickerbockers of thin cloth. On Sundays and feast-days they dress in shirts of the brightest colours—red, blue, yellow, and salmon-pink. In winter they wear big top-boots, made of gray felt, and brown leather greatcoats, lined with sheepskin. The women do not wear hats but handkerchiefs over their heads.

The peasant thinks of himself as a member of a family, and addresses his fellows as father, brother, son, or child. He lives in a one-storied house, built of logs and thatched with straw. Inside the house there is a large high stove, on which the family sleep. On the table you will always see the samovar, a large brass urn filled with boiling water for making the tea which is so largely drunk. Meat is seldom seen, the usual fare being porridge made of buckwheat or millet, cabbage soup, and black bread. Formerly a great deal of vodka, a spirit distilled from rye, maize, or potatoes, was consumed, and this was manufactured and sold by the Government. Since the war broke out the Tsar has shut up the Government vodka shops throughout Russia. This is a great step forward, and it will certainly do much to benefit the people in body, mind, and pocket. The Government is sacrificing much money in thus striving to improve the habits of the people, for nearly one-third of its total revenue was formerly obtained from the sale of vodka. After eight months of war the Russian Minister of Finance was able to say that, owing to the shutting down of the Government drink shops, the workmen of the country were able to produce from thirty to fifty per cent. more than formerly. Our French allies have also taken a similar step by forbidding the sale of a very poisonous spirit known as absinthe.[24]

The Russian peasant can do little work during the long winter, when the land is in the grip of ice and snow, so that he has a long period of enforced idleness every year. Perhaps for this reason he does not love continuous work. But he can, if he chooses, do a large amount of hard labour in a short space of time. When, for instance, he is putting out a village fire, or working in the fields, or intent on finishing a job, he will work like an inspired giant. At other times he is inclined to be lazy and happy-go-lucky. As a rule, you will find the peasants independent in their views—shrewd, full of common sense, and much attached to the old ways. They are very stubborn, and nothing can move them when they have made up their minds to resist.

CHAPTER VII.

THE RUSSIAN ARMY.

One very interesting Russian people must now engage our attention. North of the Black Sea we find what are called the Steppes. They are fertile towards the north, but in the south are dry deserts. In the spring they are covered with grass and flowers, but by the month of July all is parched and bare, and in winter they are deep in snow. The Steppes are the home of the Cossacks, who in early times were robbers, living on loot and fighting fiercely against the Tartars, who tried to invade their lands. Later on the Cossacks became Christians, joined the Russians, and fought against the Poles.

The Cossacks are found in Siberia and in ten governments of Russia in Europe, where they hold lands on what is called military tenure—that is, instead of paying rent they give service in the army whenever called upon to do so. You will remember that under the feudal system, which was formerly in force in England, men who held land of the king were forced to provide him with so many soldiers for so many days in the year. The Cossacks hold their lands under somewhat the same system. They find their own horses, uniforms, and equipment, and they are required to serve from their eighteenth to their thirty-eighth year. They are born to the saddle, and are indeed lost without a horse. They ride steeds as hardy as themselves, and there is no trick of horsemanship with which they are not familiar. Cossacks, for example, will charge down on the enemy shielding themselves by hanging between the body of the horse and the foe. They have a reputation for being brutal and cruel, because they have been largely used by the Government in putting down riots and other risings of the people. Nevertheless they are good-natured and long-suffering. Here are two proverbs about Cossacks which give you a clue to their character: "A Cossack will starve, but his horse will have eaten his fill;" "The Cossack's brother is Death."

Now let me tell you something about the Russian army, for it is, perhaps, Germany's most dangerous foe. In peace time its total strength is about 1,500,000 of all ranks, and its war strength is 5,500,000; but this by no means represents the number of men which Russia can put into the field at a pinch. Every Russian is supposed to serve in the army from his twentieth to his forty-third year. Generally speaking, he serves four years if in the cavalry and three years if in the infantry or artillery, and then is drafted into the Reserve for fifteen or fourteen years, during which period he undergoes two trainings of six weeks each. But Russia, with her vast population of 171 millions, does not need all these men in ordinary times, so she lets off large numbers of them, and thus has not so large an army as her vast population would lead us to suppose. No one can exactly say how many men she could put into the field, but probably it is at least about fifteen millions. You will remember that Herr von Jagow, the German Secretary of State, spoke of Russia's "inexhaustible supplies of men." But we must remember that while her man-power is so great, she has many difficulties to overcome in providing transport over her enormous country, and in furnishing her soldiers with arms and ammunition. Probably about seven million men represents the number which she can actually equip, arm, and feed at the front.

About ten years ago the Russians fought the Japanese in Manchuria and were badly beaten, chiefly because the officers were not well trained, and were much given to drink. Since that time the whole army has been thoroughly overhauled, re-armed, and reorganized, and it is now the equal of any army in the world. Russia has done away with her drunken, incapable officers, and has replaced them by smart, sober, intelligent men. Her General Staff is very capable, and at the head of the army is the Grand Duke Nicholas, a giant of six feet eight inches in height, who is one of the most hard-working generals ever known. His soldiers love him, and he is untiring in caring for their comfort.

Cossacks on Active Service. Photo, Daily Mirror.

The great strength of the Russian army lies in its discipline and endurance. Napoleon used to say that you were never sure when a Russian soldier was dead, and it is so to-day. Russian soldiers are dour and dogged, and will bear any amount of hardship and punishment without losing heart; like Wellington's men in the Peninsular,[25] they will go anywhere and do anything. They regard this war as a Holy War; they are full of enthusiasm for it, and ask no greater privilege than to fight and die for "Holy Russia." The moment the Cossacks of Siberia received the order to mobilize, they telegraphed to the Grand Duke Nicholas, "We are coming, Father Commander."

Russian Infantry at a Review. Photo, Topical Press.

I will close this chapter with a noble letter written by a Russian mother to her soldier son. You will be impressed by her warm patriotism and the high ideal which she sets before her boy. Especially you will notice that she urges him not to be led away by "blind vengeance." What a contrast between her attitude and that of the Kaiser, who encouraged his men to repeat the burning and butchery of Attila! Here is the letter:—

"Your father was killed very far from us, and I send you upon the sacred duty of defending our dear country from the vile and dreadful enemy. Remember you are the son of a hero. My heart is oppressed, and I weep when I ask you to be worthy of him. I know all the fateful horror of these words, what suffering it will be for me and you, but I repeat them. We do not live for ever in this world. What is our life? A drop in the ocean of beautiful Russia. We shall not exist always, but she must flourish for ever. I know that we shall be forgotten, and our happy descendants will not remember those who sleep in 'brothers' graves' [soldiers' graves]. With kisses and blessings I parted from you. When you are sent to perform a great deed, don't remember my tears, but only my blessings. God save you, my dear, bright, loved child. Once more: it is written everywhere that the enemy is cruel and savage. Don't be led by blind vengeance. Don't raise your hand against a fallen foe, but be gracious to those whose fate it is to fall into your hands."

Russian Artillery. Photo, Record Press.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE EASTERN THEATRE OF WAR.

On page [59] you will see a map of Eastern Germany and Western Prussia. I want you to examine this map very carefully, because it shows the region in which the bulk of the fighting between the Russians and the Germans has so far taken place.

Follow the dotted line which shows the boundary between the two countries. You see that it zigzags south, then curves west, and straggles southward again to the border of Austria. As a rule, the boundary line between two countries follows, partly or wholly, some such natural barrier as a range of mountains or the course of a river. The Russo-German boundary, however, runs along neither mountains nor rivers. There are no mountains until you reach the Carpathians, about three hundred and eighty miles south of Königsberg; the whole region is a flat plain with scarcely a hill to break its monotony. Innumerable rivers wind their way across the country, and in wet weather overflow their banks and turn wide districts into one vast slough. The boundary line, however, does not follow these rivers, but cuts right across them. The dotted line which marks off Russian from German territory is purely artificial, and for this reason we may almost leave it out of account.

You will notice that the great river which flows right across this region is the Vistula, which we will now follow from its source to the German boundary near Thorn. So widespread are the various arms of this river, that we might call the region the "Land of the Vistula"—the name by which Poland was known of old. The river rises in Silesia, on the northern slopes of the Carpathians. It flows through a mountain valley, and then turns east and north-east, and forms part of the frontier between Austria and Germany. Next it runs through the Austrian territory of Galicia, and passes by the old Polish capital of Cracow.

Let us pause a moment and see something of this historic city. You notice, at once, that it blocks the road along the Vistula valley into Silesia, and that an invader must capture it before he can proceed to enter that province. Cracow has been a strong fortress for two and a half centuries, and now is surrounded by a circle of forts which the Austrians have strongly garrisoned. For two and a half centuries it was the capital of Poland. The finest of its thirty-nine churches is the Cathedral of Stanislaus, which stands on a rocky hill to the south-west of the old town. It was the crowning-place of the Polish kings, and within its walls are the tombs of several of the great Poles of history. Paintings, sculptures, and other objects of art adorn the cathedral, which dates from the middle of the fourteenth century. There is also a university with a rich library, and a Polish museum of art. About two and a half miles to the north-west of the city is a mound of earth a hundred feet high, which was thrown up between 1820 and 1823 in honour of Kosciuszko,[26] the great Polish hero. Because of its position, Cracow is the natural market for the exchange of goods between Silesia, Hungary, and Russia. There are coal and zinc mines in the neighbourhood.

Leaving Cracow the river runs north-east, and for about one hundred miles forms the boundary between Austria and Russian Poland. At the town of Sandomir the Vistula is joined by the San, which rises on the northern slopes of the Carpathians and flows past the fortress and busy manufacturing town of Przemysl.[27] About fifty miles to the east of Przemysl, on the railway which runs from Odessa on the Black Sea into Silesia, we find Lemberg, an old city which is now a busy place of trade, because it stands in the broadest part of the Galician plain, with excellent communications north, south, east, and west.

This picture gives you an idea of a typical landscape in Poland. Notice the difficulties which the Russians have had to overcome in bringing up food and ammunition to their armies.
Photo, Daily Mirror.

From Sandomir the Vistula runs north and north-west across the high plateau of Southern Poland, in a broad valley hemmed in by wooded bluffs. Passing the Russian fortress of Ivangorod on its right bank, it afterwards receives the river Pilica on its left bank, and crosses the plain of Central and Northern Poland. About thirty miles north of the confluence with the Pilica is Warsaw,[28] the most important town in the whole of Russian Poland. It is a beautifully situated city, and before the war was one of the brightest and gayest places in Western Europe. A glance at the map will show you why it is so important both to the Russians and to the Germans. It is the meeting-place of three great Russian railways, by which alone men and ammunition can be carried swiftly into Russian Poland. Warsaw also commands the main stream of the Vistula, which the Russians largely use for transport. Were it to be captured, the communications of the Russians would be cut, and they would be powerless to meet the foe in Poland. Were the Germans to seize it and hold it, they could keep the Russians so far back from their frontier that all fear of invasion through Poland would vanish. Warsaw is the chief stronghold of Poland, and is one of the strongest citadels in Europe.

North of Warsaw the Vistula swings round to the west, and at the fortress of Novo Georgievsk receives the river Bug, which rises not far from Lemberg, and sweeps across the plain to the east of, and almost parallel with, the Vistula for more than two hundred miles. A right bank tributary of the Bug, the river Narew,[29] is worth notice, because along it we find a chain of Russian forts. About thirty miles west of Novo Georgievsk the Vistula receives on its left bank the sluggish river Bzura, which rises within a short distance of the Warta[30] or Warthe, a northward and westward flowing tributary of the German river Oder. The Vistula now sweeps north-west past Plock, and enters Prussia some ten miles above Thorn.

If you look carefully at Russian Poland, you will see that it forms a salient which projects into Germany and Austria for about two hundred miles from north to south, and two hundred and fifty miles from east to west. To the north of this salient is East Prussia, and to the south of it is the Austrian province of Galicia. Russian Poland can be entered by an enemy from the north, from the west, and from the south. If you look at the position of the forts (marked by stars on the map) you will see how Russia has prepared to meet invasions from these directions. A chain of forts from Novo Georgievsk north-east to Grodno on the Niemen bars the way into Russia from East Prussia. Warsaw and Ivangorod hold the line of the Vistula against an invasion from the west, and Ivangorod and Brest Litovski on the Bug stand in the road of troops advancing from Galicia. All these fortresses are linked up by railways.

The Polish Theatre of War.

When you examine the map you will be sure to notice that in all this western part of Russia there are but few railways for so large an area of country. There are also few good roads, for the country is so swampy that they are difficult to make and to keep passable. Without good roads and railways a modern army cannot keep the field; it cannot march, and it cannot supply itself with the necessary provision for men and guns. The general who has good roads and railways at his command can bring his men quickly and without great fatigue to the desired positions; he can move them rapidly to the points where he means to make his attacks, and he can supply himself promptly and continuously with food and ammunition. He can also bring up reinforcements rapidly, and carry his wounded and prisoners to the rear. Without good roads and railways he is greatly hampered. You can easily see that the Russian commander-in-chief has great difficulties to overcome because of the lack of good roads and railways in Poland.

When, however, we turn to the German side of the frontier, quite a different picture presents itself. The Germans have always paid great attention to military railways, and have planned and constructed them throughout the empire with great diligence and foresight. It was by means of their splendid system of railways that they were able to mobilize their troops so quickly, and fling them without an hour's delay into Belgium. Behind the eastern frontier of Poland they have two double lines of railway, and these are united into a perfect gridiron by criss-cross lines. By means of this railway system they can carry their troops rapidly to any part of the frontier, and can readily supply themselves with food and ammunition. As we shall see later, the German generals have been able to transfer their men from the north to the south by railway, and have thus been enabled to carry out rapid movements which are quite impossible to the Russians.

Before I close this rather dull but very necessary chapter, I must tell you something about the two provinces which form the northern and part of the southern boundaries of Russian Poland. Let us look first at the country which lies between the Lower Vistula and the Lower Niemen, the region in which the Germans and Russians first came to blows. Along the coast, which is lined with sand dunes, you see two lagoons almost entirely cut off from the Baltic Sea by tongues of land. Into the westward of these the Vistula and the Pregel discharge themselves; by means of the other lagoon the river Memel finds its way to the sea.

A large map would show you that these rivers form deltas at their mouths, and this clearly proves that the country is flat and low-lying. The rivers are sluggish, and the slightest obstacle causes them to change their beds. The deserted channels remain as stagnant pools and marshes, and in course of time have become filled with peat. A bird's-eye view of this region shows a maze of water-courses, swamps, lakes, peat bogs, dense forests, and green meadows. Farther south the country rises to a low plateau, which is literally pitted with lakes, amongst which is the Spirding See, forty-six square miles in extent, the largest inland lake in Prussia. Some of these lakes are wide and shallow, with hard gravel floors, but others are simply a film of water above yards of mud. Bogs abound, and it is very hard to tell where the meadows end and the swampy ground begins. On the map you will notice that the lake district is called the Masurian Lake Region; it receives this name from the Masures, a section of Poles who have long inhabited the country. Round about the lakes are thick, dark forests, in which wolves, lynxes, and elks are still found and hunted.

In the valleys of the Pregel and Memel there is fertile soil, in which rye, oats, and potatoes are grown; but for the rest the country is largely sterile moor and bog. East Prussia is the headquarters of German horse-breeding, and there is a great Government establishment for this purpose a few miles to the east of Gumbinnen.[31] East Prussia has for many years past been a favourite hunting-ground of the Kaiser.

From this brief description you will clearly understand that East Prussia is neither a rich nor a very attractive country; yet it is the very apple of the Prussian eye. You will remember that it was stolen from Poland by Frederick the Great in 1772. When he was only Elector of Brandenburg he was King of East Prussia. Königsberg, which you will find near the mouth of the Pregel, was the first capital of the kings of Prussia, and to them it is almost a sacred city. They still have a residence in Königsberg, and are still crowned[32] in its cathedral. Every year the victory of Sedan is celebrated in Königsberg with great rejoicings. Most of the great Prussian families who have given their sons to the Prussian army have estates in East Prussia, where they are lords of the soil. Their farm-servants, though supposed to be free, are really their serfs, and are kept down with a heavy hand. The Kaiser and his nobles regard East Prussia as the very citadel of their power, and to lose it would be their ruin.

Insterburg. Photo, Exclusive News Agency.

From what has been said about East Prussia you would suppose it to be the last region in which the Russians would willingly fight battles. Why, then, did they invade it? I think for two reasons. First, because they could push into it very rapidly; and, secondly, because they knew that, immediately it was attacked, the Germans must come to its rescue. You know that the German General Staff believed that six weeks at least would elapse before the Russian mobilization could be completed. In that time they hoped to beat France so thoroughly that a few army corps would be sufficient to hold her down. Then they meant to swing their victorious troops to the eastern theatre of war, and overwhelm the Russians in the same way. Such was their calculation; but, like so many of their calculations, it went all wrong.

The Russians mobilized in sixteen days, and they had sufficient troops ready for the field on 3rd August, less than three days after the declaration of war. They could not send these troops against the western Polish front, because they were not strong enough in numbers, and they were then by no means sure that the Poles would not rise against them. They could, however, fling them into East Prussia, which was, as it were, on their doorstep. This they did, and though the invasion finally ended in defeat, it served a good purpose, for the Germans had to withdraw a number of their army corps from France and hurry them eastward to defend their beloved East Prussia. The Belgians by their gallant fight had upset the German programme; the withdrawal of these corps from the western front played further havoc with it, and no doubt did much to save France.

Russian Troops entraining for the Frontier. Photo, Record Press.

Now let us look for a moment at the province of Silesia, which, you will remember, Frederick the Great wickedly tore from Maria Theresa in the year 1741.[33] You will see from the map on page 38 of our first volume that Silesia forms a wedge between Bohemia and Hungary on the south, and Russian Poland on the east. Whoever holds Silesia can turn the line of the Oder, and pass behind the barrier fortresses which Germany has built upon her eastern front. He also holds the road northward to Berlin and southward to Vienna. At all costs the Germans must defend Silesia, not only because it is the key to Germany from the south-east, but because it is the German Lancashire, a great industrial province which supplies the empire with much of its cotton, linen, woollen, and metal manufactures. Should this province be captured, Germany would suffer a blow from which she could hardly recover.

There is another but a less important reason why Silesia must be held by the Germans. Silesia is, as it were, a wedge between the Slav peoples of the east and those of Bohemia. Should Russia conquer Silesia, she would be able to join hands with the Slavs of Bohemia, and it is possible that they might rise in her favour. These Czechs,[34] as they are called, formerly dwelt in the Carpathians, but were driven westward into Bohemia about 570 A.D. They number about eight millions, and they speak a Slavonic language. About 37 per cent. of the population of Bohemia consists of Germans, and between them and the Czechs there is a bitter race enmity, which has grown greatly in recent years.

CHAPTER IX.

VICTORY AND DEFEAT.

We must now learn something of the fighting that took place between the Russians and the Germans during the months of August and September.

Believing that the Russians would be unable to attack them for several weeks, the Germans had left but three army corps to defend East Prussia. Imagine their surprise when, as early as 3rd August, bands of Cossacks came spurring across the border, raiding the frontier posts, and driving off their garrisons. The inhabitants of the villages were terrified at the very name of Cossack, and fled at their approach. These Cossack raids heralded the approach of two Russian armies. On 7th August a swarm of aeroplanes flew across the border near Suwalki,[35] and soon afterwards General Rennenkampf's army set foot on German soil. Rennenkampf was a dashing soldier, who had made a reputation in the war against Japan, and his army was just as eager and enthusiastic as he was. In the ranks were large numbers of young volunteers belonging to the best families of Russia, and it is said that it included some women who had cut off their hair and had enlisted as men. Rennenkampf marched north-east to strike at the railway which you see on the map running from Kowno[36] to Königsberg. His first object was to reach Insterburg, the junction of all the railways in East Prussia. If this town could be captured, Königsberg itself might be besieged.

At the same time another Russian army, under General Samsonov, who had won renown as the commander of the Siberian Cossacks in the war with Japan, began to push into East Prussia from Mlava,[37] which you will find close to the border line, at the south of the Masurian Lake Region. He had a large force, probably consisting of five army corps, and his object was to march northward along the fringes of the lake district towards Königsberg. Now let us see how these two armies carried out their mission.

Rennenkampf first met the enemy in force at Gumbinnen, about fifteen miles to the east of Insterburg. All round the town there are great pine woods, between which are fields of rye, studded with windmills. The Germans had entrenched themselves near the town, and had cut down thousands of trees, which they had piled up in front of their trenches to form obstacles.

The battle began on Sunday morning, 16th August. Again and again the Russians charged the trenches, and again and again they were beaten back. A fierce artillery duel raged, and it was soon clear that the Russian guns and gunners could more than hold their own against the Germans. All day the white-tunicked infantry of the Tsar hammered at the German trenches in front, while their comrades were working steadily round the left flank. Towards sunset the Germans found themselves almost enveloped; they were forced to retreat, and began streaming back towards the town, with the Cossacks hard on their rear. The retreat soon became a rout, and many prisoners and machine guns were captured.

The Cossacks vigorously followed up the flying foe, and swept all before them, cutting and thrusting at the little knots who vainly offered resistance, fighting their way through blazing villages, and keeping the beaten Germans on the run. Try as they might, the Germans could not stay the torrent of the Russian advance. They tried to rally at Insterburg, their next line of defence, but all in vain, and were obliged to fall back for safety on the fortress of Königsberg. As they retreated a new peril appeared, and their flight became so rapid that they were obliged to abandon food, stores, ammunition, and guns.

The Tsar and his Commander-in-Chief, the Grand Duke Nicholas.
Photo, Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd.

What was this new peril? While Rennenkampf was attacking the enemy, Samsonov's army had advanced northward with as much speed as the difficult nature of the ground would permit, and on 20th August his vanguard came upon the 20th German Corps strongly entrenched on a line about forty miles to the south-east of Königsberg. The Russians advanced as furiously and as doggedly as they had done at Gumbinnen, and, aided by their artillery, carried the German trenches with hand grenades[38] and the bayonet. About eleven next morning the German right was turned, and the left fled towards the south-west, while the remainder, hotly pursued by Cossacks, hurried towards Königsberg. When the news of this defeat reached the Germans who were retreating farther north, and they learnt that a new army was on their flank, they hastened with all speed towards Königsberg.

These two victories made the Russians masters of East Prussia. They occupied Tilsit, on the Niemen—where, you will remember, Napoleon and Alexander of Russia met on a raft in the river to make plans for dividing Europe between them[39]—and marched on Königsberg. There was great joy in Russia when these victories were reported, and on the 27th of August a sum of £20,000 was raised by the sale of flags in Petrograd,[40] to be given to the first Russian soldier who entered Berlin.

Now for the sequel. The loss of East Prussia was a bitter blow to the Kaiser and his nobility. The knowledge that this precious Prussian land was in the hands of the enemy could not be hidden from the German people, for there were crowds of refugees in the Berlin streets, bemoaning the loss of their farms and villages. Immediately the General Staff decided that East Prussia must be recovered at all costs. They had no need to look far for the general who was to undertake this task. There was only one soldier who could do it—von Hindenburg, a veteran of 1870, a tough, hardy man, although nearer seventy years of age than sixty. He had made a special study of East Prussia; it was his hobby, and he knew it like the palm of his hand. He had spent weeks for many years past in travelling over this wilderness of lake and marsh, sometimes on foot, sometimes in a motor car. He knew every road, every quagmire, and every bog-hole. He had tested every path by which an army could pass and every position where a gun could be brought to bear. There was not a charcoal burner or a forest ranger in the whole of East Prussia who knew the country so well as he. When it was proposed to drain the region and clear it of forests so that it might become a rich agricultural land, he went to the Kaiser and protested strongly. This eastern wilderness, he said, was worth many army corps and a dozen fortresses to Germany, for it was a great natural bulwark against Russia. The Kaiser listened to him, and the scheme was abandoned.

Von Hindenburg had on many occasions played the mimic game of war in East Prussia, for he had commanded the German armies during manoeuvres in this region. He used to divide his troops into two armies, the one wearing a white ribbon, the other a red ribbon. The "Reds" were the Russians; the "Whites" were the Germans. When the "Reds" knew that von Hindenburg was in command against them, they used to say, "To-day we shall have a bath." They knew that everything that they could do would be unavailing: whether they attacked from the left or from the right, whether they made a frontal attack, or whether they fell upon the "Whites" from the rear, whether they were few or many, the end was always the same. Von Hindenburg was sure to drive them into a place from which they could not extricate themselves. When the signal was given to break off the manoeuvres, the "Reds" were sure to be found standing up to the neck in water. No wonder the soldiers nicknamed him "Papa Coldbaths."

A new army was gathered at Danzig, composed of the troops which had retired south-west, of the troops in Königsberg who were carried to Danzig by sea, and of reinforcements picked up in various parts of Germany. Later on several army corps were withdrawn from the western theatre of war. Altogether, von Hindenburg had about 150,000 men with which to begin the reconquest of East Prussia. He pushed forward from the line of the Vistula by the three railways which you see marked on the map. Along these three lines he rushed men, guns, and ammunition with great speed.

Russian Infantry Officers saluting the Tsar. Photo, Record Press.

You know that after the battle of Gumbinnen, Rennenkampf had advanced towards Königsberg, which is a very strong fortress with an open channel to the sea. He was now waiting for his siege train to arrive before beginning to attack it. Meanwhile Samsonov seemed as if he were bent on seizing the crossings of the Vistula. In order to do this he marched his troops south towards the important railway junction of Osterode, which stands on the margin of the lake region. He had five army corps—that is, about 200,000 men—but they could not deploy owing to the lakes and swamps which lay between the roads. His columns could not, therefore, come to the assistance of each other in case of attack.

Von Hindenburg chose his ground with all the local knowledge and skill which was expected of him. He extended his line from Soldau to the north-west of Allenstein, so that his front was barred by lakes and swamps, over which his artillery had a great sweep of fire. He made his front still stronger by a string of forts built of trees cut down in the forests. Then he stood on the defensive, and Samsonov began to attack him. Towards the end of August there was a great struggle, which is known by the Russians as the battle of Osterode, and by the Germans as the battle of Tannenberg, from the name of a little village on a fir-clad dune in the neighbourhood.

Von Hindenburg was in no hurry. He let the Russians wear themselves down by repeated attacks on his almost impregnable position, and then, when the right hour arrived, he counter-attacked. First, he forced back the Russian left, and cut it off from the one good road that led southwards to Russian Poland. Samsonov made a desperate effort to regain this road, and in order to do so was obliged to withdraw troops from his centre. He failed, and meanwhile his centre was pushed back into the terrible lake country to the east.

Von Hindenburg's attack on the Russian left was a feint to cover a great turning movement on the Russian right. All the time the fighting was proceeding on the left, the wily old general was busy preparing for another Sedan. Motor lorries, omnibuses, and taxi-cabs in large numbers had been collected from all parts of Germany, and these were filled with men, guns, and Maxims, and hurried north beyond Allenstein, in order to curve round the Russian right. The result was that Samsonov's right was pushed back into the almost roadless country where von Hindenburg had over and over again left the "Reds" of his manoeuvre days up to their necks in water.

I need not describe the battle in detail. By 28th and 29th August the bulk of the Russians were bundled into the mire of the swamps. As they retired, their guns sank up to the axle trees, and had to be abandoned. Horses struggled in the bogs, and whole regiments were driven into the lakes and drowned in the water or choked in the quagmires. Meanwhile the pitiless German guns were working terrible havoc on those who survived. The 31st of August was the final day of the battle. A bursting shell slew Samsonov and two of his corps commanders, while elsewhere several other Russian leaders were lying dead or wounded. The whole Russian army was smashed to ruin. Out of 200,000 men, no less than 140,000 were killed, wounded, or captured. The Germans took between 80,000 and 90,000 prisoners—about the same number which fell into their hands at Sedan. Not a Russian gun was saved, and the miserable remnants of the army crossed their own frontier as a mere rabble. Never was there a more complete and decisive victory. Von Hindenburg became the idol of the German people, and his triumph was well deserved. By his great skill and knowledge of the country he had hopelessly beaten a bigger force than his own.

Without losing a day, von Hindenburg pushed northwards in the attempt to cut off Rennenkampf's army. Rennenkampf, however, fell back steadily from Königsberg, and by rapid marching managed to reach the safety of the frontier forts.

So ends the tragic story of Russia's invasion of East Prussia. The whole campaign was a mistake. Russia was not yet ready for great adventures; she had tried to do too big a job with too small a force, and she had failed. Nevertheless she had not failed in vain; she had relieved the pressure on the Allies in the west, and had learned those lessons of bitter experience which were to serve her well in the future.

Now we must turn to the province of Galicia, which projects south of Russian Poland, just as East Prussia projects to the north. Early in August, while the Russians were conquering in East Prussia, the Austrians advanced two main armies, said to consist of more than a million men, into Russian Poland. The first of these armies pushed north-east, and met a smaller Russian army under General Ivanov, who gave way before it, and retired slowly eastwards towards the valley of the Bug. The 2nd Austrian Army, which was operating to the north and south of Lemberg, had, however, to meet two Russian armies—the more northerly one under General Ruzsky, the more southerly one under General Brussilov. These armies, each of which numbered about a quarter of a million men, came into touch with each other towards the end of August, and assailed the 2nd Austrian Army both from the north and from the east. Their object was to capture Lemberg, the key of the road and railway system of Eastern Galicia. Lemberg is not a fortress; its sole defence was the 2nd Austrian Army. During the last week of August Ruzsky's army fought its way across the Upper Bug, while Brussilov's army, after a fight which lasted nearly three days, stormed the Austrian trenches and entered the town of Tarnapol, where fierce hand-to-hand combats took place in the streets. Tarnapol was captured, and Brussilov, still fighting fiercely, crossed the Dneister and wheeled northwards to Lemberg.

Map showing the situation towards the end of August.
Solid black oblongs show Austrians; open oblongs, Russians. C, General Ivanov's army; D, General Ruzsky's army; E, General Brussilov's army; F, 2nd Austrian Army; G, 1st Austrian Army.

The battle of Lemberg began on the 1st of September, and lasted two days. Brussilov struck hard on the Austrian right, while Ruzsky's right came sweeping round to the north of the city and drove in the Austrian left. So far bent back were the Austrian wings that the general decided to abandon the city and fall back through the wooded country that lay between him and the Carpathians. The Russians pursued him: the Cossacks did great execution on the rearguard, and the big guns played remorselessly on the retreating enemy. Soon the retreat became very hurried; immense numbers of prisoners and scores of guns were captured. Wherever the Austrians made a stand, they cut down tall trees and piled them up to form platforms for their machine guns, which were fixed between the branches. The Russians swept upon these obstacles with the bayonet, and the Austrians fled so quickly that they had no time to get the guns out of the trees. Scores of them, with their supplies of ammunition, fell into the hands of the Russians, and were immediately turned on the flying foe.

Russian Attack on Lemberg, September 1-2.

At half-past ten on the morning of the 3rd of September the Russian flag was hoisted above the town hall of Lemberg. Most of the inhabitants of this city are Slavs, and they greeted the victors with loud shouts of joy. In the city the Russians found huge stores of every kind, and I am glad to say there was no such looting and destruction as disgraced the Germans in Belgium. The Russians behaved admirably, and the Grand Duke Nicholas issued a proclamation to the Slavs of Austria-Hungary, telling them that the Russians had come as their deliverers, and that thenceforward they were to live in peace and union with their brothers in blood.

"It was a glorious victory." The Russians had captured over 100,000 prisoners and more than 2,500 guns. The Austrians said that they had been defeated because the Slavs in their army had played them false; but the real reason was that the Austrian generals had calculated on the slowness of the Russian mobilization, and had advanced too far into Russia in separate armies which did not work together. The Russian generals showed great skill, especially Ruzsky, when he pushed in between the two Austrian armies, and thus divided them and threatened the flanks of both. The Russian soldiers showed wonderful spirit and endurance during the fighting. They made long and trying marches, and held out for days in their trenches with but little food. So eager were they that they could hardly be kept back from charging with the bayonet at the first sight of the enemy.

By 14th September Brussilov had sent his left wing into the Carpathian passes, and his centre and right advanced along the railway towards Przemysl. The Russians were now masters of a large part of Eastern Galicia. The Poles of Galicia received the conquerors with open arms, and all the Slav races in Austria-Hungary began to take heart of grace.

Meanwhile what had happened to the 1st Austrian Army, now completely cut off from the routed 2nd Army? You will remember that Ivanov's army had retired before the 1st Austrian Army to the river Bug. Against the centre of this army the 1st Austrian Army, strongly reinforced, made an attack about the 4th of September. The attack failed, and then the Russians advanced with such effect that the Austrians were taken in flank and forced to flee southward in utter confusion. Thus you see that while the invasion of Eastern Prussia had ended so disastrously, the campaigns in Galicia were crowned with complete success.

We must not forget that Serbia is also included in the eastern theatre of war. Though this chapter is already long, I must find space to tell you in a few words how these gallant peasant soldiers were faring. You will remember that the great war began with the quarrel between Austria and Serbia, and that on 29th July the Austrians began to bombard Belgrade.[41]

The Serbians were not ready for war, and were obliged to withdraw from their capital and transfer the seat of government to Nish.[42] Their troops took up a strong position on the hills to the south of Belgrade, and the Austrians massed their armies along the north bank of the Danube just below Belgrade, and on the line of the river Save. Other Austrian forces were stationed on the Bosnian frontier, along the line of the Drina.[43]

When Russia made Serbia's cause her own the Austrians were faced, like the Germans, with war on two frontiers. In order to meet the bigger and more powerful enemy, they were obliged to draw off many of their best troops and attempt to hold the Serbians with about 100,000 men. When the Austrians tried to cross the Danube east of Belgrade they were beaten back by the Serbians with great loss, one regiment being almost entirely wiped out. There were numerous other small fights, and in all of them the Serbians held their own.

In the middle of August the Serbians and Montenegrins advanced on Bosnia, in the attempt to reach Sarajevo, the capital; but the most serious fighting took place along the line of the Lower Save, where, on the 17th, the Austrians were badly beaten, and lost many guns and prisoners. Shortly afterwards the Austrian army of Bosnia also suffered defeat, and was driven over the Drina after a battle which lasted four days. By the end of August the Serbians were able to claim that they had cleared the Austrians out of their country, and that they were slowly advancing into Bosnia.

CHAPTER X.

STORIES OF RUSSIAN SOLDIERS.