"I read somewhere in the papers that a large shipment of heavy cannon had left America for Russia," he said with dry humor, "in transit for us—for if they're consigned to the Russians, we'll have them sooner or later, I hope;" adding, with his habitual tense earnestness, "the Americans are something more than shrewd, hard-headed business men. Have they ever vividly pictured to themselves a German soldier smashed by an American shell, or bored through the heart by an American bullet? The grim realism of the battlefield—that should make also the business man thoughtful."

"Shall you go west when you have cleaned up here in the east?" I suggested.

"I can't betray military secrets which I don't know myself, even to interest the newspaper readers," he said. He gave me the impression, however, that, east or west, he would be found fighting for the Fatherland so long as the Fatherland needed him.

"Now it means work again. You must excuse me," he concluded, courteously. "You want to go to the front. Where should you like to go?"

"To Warsaw," I suggested, modestly.

"I, too," he laughed, "but today—ausgeschlossen, ('nothing doing,' in Americanese.) Still—that may be yet."

"May I come along, your Excellency?"

"Certainly, then you can see for yourself what sort of 'barbarians' we Germans are."

"Dropping in on Hindenburg" yields some unimportant but interesting by-products. The railroad Napoleon, as all the world knows, lives and works in a palace, but this palace doesn't overawe one who has beaten professionally at the closed portals of Fifth Avenue. It would be considered a modest country residence in Westchester County or on Long Island. Light in color and four stories high, including garret, it looks very much like those memorials which soap kings and sundry millionaires put up to themselves in their lifetime—the American college dormitory, the modern kind that is built around three sides of a small court. The palace is as simple as the man.

The main entrance, a big iron gateway, is flanked by two guardhouses painted with white and black stripes, the Prussian "colors," and two unbluffable Landsturm men mount guard, who will tell you to go around to the back door.

The orderly who opens the front door is a Sergeant in field gray uniform. You mount a flight of marble steps, and saunter down a marble hall, half a block long. It is the reception hall. It is furnished with magnificent hand-carved, high-backed chairs without upholstery, lounging not being apparently encouraged here. They are Gothic structures backed up against the walls. There is no Brussels or Axminster carpet on the cold marble floor—not even Turkish rugs. Through this palace hall, up by the ceiling, runs a thick cable containing the all-important telephone wires. The offices open off the hall, the doors labeled with neatly printed signs telling who and what is within. If you should come walking down the street outside at 3 A.M. you would probably see the lights in Hindenburg's office still burning, as I did. At 3:30 they went out, indicating that a Field Marshal's job is not a sinecure.



Feeling of the German People

Complete Confidence in Victory and Resentment Toward England

[By a Staff Correspondent of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

BERLIN, Feb. 12.—To the neutral American, intent only on finding out the truth, the most thought-provoking feature here (overlooked by foreign correspondents because of its very featureless obviousness) is the fact that Germany today is more confident of winning than at any time in the three months I have been here. This confidence must not be confused with cocksureness; it is rather the "looking forward with quiet confidence to ultimate victory," as General von Heeringen phrased it. Even more important is the corollary that, while the Germans have apparently never had any doubt that they would win out in the end, this "ultimate victory" does not seem so far off to them today as it did three months ago.

To one who has had an opportunity of personally sounding the undercurrents of German public opinion, this quiet optimism that has become noticeable only in the past few weeks (totally different in character from the enthusiasm that followed the declaration of war) has seemed particularly significant. Three months ago I was incessantly asked by Germans "how the situation looked to an American," and "how long I thought the war would last." When left to answer their own question, they almost invariably remarked: "It may last a long while yet." Today neutral opinion is no longer anxiously or even eagerly sought. The temporary need for this sort of moral support seems to have passed, and there are many indications that the well-informed layman expects 1915 to see the wind-up of the war, while I have talked with not a few professional men who have expressed the opinion that the war will be over by Summer—except against England.

This unanimous exception is significant because it indicates that to the German mind the war with Russia and France is, in prize-ring parlance, a twenty-round affair, which can and will be won on points, whereas with England it is a championship fight to a finish, to be settled only by a knockout. The idea is that Russia will be eliminated as a serious factor by late Spring at the latest, and then, Westward Ho! when France will not prolong the agony unduly, but will seize the first psychological moment that offers peace with honor, leaving Germany free to fight it out with the real enemy, England, though as to how, when, and where the end will come, there is less certainty and agreement. Some think that the knockout will be delivered in the shadow of the Pyramids; others, and probably the majority, believe that the winning blow must and will be delivered on English soil itself.

Time here is no factor, for the war against England is taking on increasingly an almost religious character; from the German point of view, it will soon be, not a war, but a crusade. I get one clue to this in the new phrase of leave-taking that has gained an astounding currency in the past few weeks. Instead of saying "Good-bye" or "Auf Wiedersehen," the German now says: "God punish England!" to which the equally fervent rejoinder is, "May He do so!" This new, polite formula for leave-taking originated among the officers and men in the field, but you hear it on all sides now, uttered with a sincerity and earnestness that is peculiarly impressive. The new style of saying "good-bye" has at least the merit of being no longer a perfunctory piece of rhetoric.

This optimism is no nation-wide attack of insanity, for the German, thorough even in forming his opinions, is the last person in the world to harbor delusions, and there is a perfect realization of the titanic task that still confronts Germany. Nor is this confidence in ultimate victory due to lack of information or to being kept in the dark by the "iron censorship," for the "iron censorship" is itself a myth. It is liberal, even judged by democratic standards, and surprisingly free from red tape. There is no embargo on the importation of foreign newspapers; even the anti-German journals of neutral countries have free entry and circulation, while at a number of well-known cosmopolitan cafes you can always read The London Times and The Daily Chronicle, only three days old, and for a small cash consideration the waiter will generally be able to produce from his pocket a Figaro, not much older. Not only English and French, but, even more, the Italian, Dutch, and Scandinavian papers are widely read and digested by Germans, while the German papers not only print prominently the French official communiques, the Russian communiques when available, and interesting chunks from the British "eyewitness" official reports, but most of their feature stories—the vivid, detailed war news—come from allied sources via correspondents in neutral countries. The German censor's task is here a relatively simple one, for German war correspondents never allow professional enthusiasm to run away with practical patriotism, and you note the—to an American—amusing and yet suggestive spectacle of war correspondents specializing in descriptions of sunsets and scenery.

The German was never much of a newspaper reader before the war, but now he can challenge the American commuter as an absorbent of the printed word. And not only has the German been suddenly educated into an avid newspaper reader, but he has developed a tendency to think for himself, to read between the lines, and interpret sentences. Thus, no German has any illusions about the military prowess of Austria; but her failure has caused no hard feelings. "The spirit is willing, but the leadership is weak," is the kindly verdict, with the hopeful assumption that the addition of a little German yeast will raise the standard of Austrian efficiency and improve the quality of leadership.

The Germans, being neither mad nor misinformed, why they face a world of foes with this new confidence becomes a question of importance to any one who wants to understand the real situation here. The answer is Hindenburg—not only the man himself, but all that he stands for, the personification of the German war spirit, the greatest moral asset of the empire today. He is idolized not only by the soldiers, but by the populace as well; not only by the Prussians, but by the Bavarians and even the Austrians. You cannot realize what a tremendous factor he has become until you discover personally the Carlylean hero worship of which he is the object.

Hindenburg woke up one morning to find himself famous; but his subsequent speedy apotheosis was probably not entirely spontaneous. In fact, there is reason to believe that he was carefully groomed for the role of a national hero at a critical time, the process being like the launching by American politicians of a Presidential or Gubernatorial boom at a time when a name to conjure with is badly needed. He is a striking answer to the Shakespearean question. His name alone is worth many army corps for its psychological effect on the people; it has a peculiarly heroic ring to the German ear, and part of the explanation of its magic lies probably in the fact that the last syllable, "burg," means fortress or castle. He inspires the most unbounded confidence in the German people; the Field Marshal looms larger than his Kaiser.

The cigarmakers were the first to recognize his claims to immortality and to confer it on him; but now almost every conceivable sort of merchandise except corsets is being trade marked Hindenburg. Babies, fishing boats, race horses, cafes, avenues and squares, a city of 60,000, a whole county, are being named after him, and minor poets are taking his name in vain daily, "Hindenburg Marches" are being composed in endless procession, a younger brother is about to publish his biography, and legends are already thickly clustering about his name. He laid the Russian bugaboo before it had a chance to make its debut; there is not today the slightest nervousness about the possible coming of the Cossacks, and there will not be, so long as the Commander in Chief of all the armies in the east continues to find time to give sittings to portrait painters, pose for the moving-picture artists, autograph photographs, appear on balconies while school children sing patriotic airs, answer the Kaiser's telegrams of congratulation, acknowledge decorations, receive interminable delegations, personages, and journalists, and perform all the other time-consuming duties incident to having greatness thrust upon you; for things obviously cannot be in a very bad way when the master strategist can thus take "time out" from strategizing. But the influence of "our Hindenburg," as he is often affectionately called, is wider than the east; the magic of his name stiffens the deadline in the west, and the man in the street, whose faith is great, feels sure that when he has fought his last great battle in the east the turn of the French and English will come.

While the German in the street, thanks largely to Hindenburg, regards the military situation with optimism, he sees no grounds for pessimism in the present political situation. Italy and Bulgaria are regarded as "safe."

How the Germans regard the economic, industrial, and financial situation is rather hard to estimate, because their practical patriotism keeps them from making any public parade of their business troubles and worries, if they have any. The oft-repeated platitude that you would never suspect here that a war was going on if you didn't read the papers is quite just. Conditions—on the surface—are so normal that there is even a lively operatic fight on in Munich, where the personal friction between Musical Director Walters and the star conductor, Otto Hess, has caused a crisis in the affairs of the Royal Munich Opera, rivaling in interest the fighting at the front.

There are certainly fewer "calamity howlers" here than on Broadway during boom times, and you see no outward evidence of hard times, no acute poverty, no misery, no derelicts, for the war-time social organization seems as perfect as the military. In the last three months only one beggar has stopped me on the streets and tried to touch my heart and pocketbook—a record that seems remarkable to an American who has run the nocturnal gauntlet of peace-time panhandlers on the Strand or the Embankment.

Business is most certainly not going on as usual. You note many shops and stores with few or no customers in them. About the only people who are making any money are army contractors and the shopkeepers who sell things available for "Liebesgaben" ("love gifts") for the troops in the field. Those businesses hardest hit by the war are in a state of suspended animation, embalmed by the credit of the State.

But, again, the influence of Hindenburg is wider than the east—and the west; it permeates the business world and stiffens the economic backbone of the nation. It is no exaggeration to say that the whole German people, barring the inevitable though small percentage of weaklings, is trying with terrific earnestness to live up to the homely Hindenburgian motto, "Durchhalten!" ("Hold out,") or, in more idiomatic American, "See the thing through."



Bombardment of the Dardanelles

First Allied Attack Described by an Onlooker

[From THE NEW YORK TIMES, March 8, 1915.]

Athens, Saturday, March 6, (Dispatch to The London Daily Chronicle.)—The bombardment of the Dardanelles forts, according to the latest news, proceeds with success and cautious thoroughness. It is now anticipated that before another two weeks are over the allied fleet will be in the Sea of Marmora, and Constantinople will quickly fall to the victorious Allies.

Two features of the operations make extreme caution necessary for the attacking battleships. In the first place, the number of mines laid in the strait has been found to be enormous. They must all be picked up, and the work takes considerable time, seeing that it must be done thoroughly.

In the second place, the larger batteries, against whom the allied fleet is contending, are very skillfully hidden.

I have had an interesting talk with a gentleman who has just arrived from Tenedos, where, from the height of Mount Ilios, he witnessed the bombardment. He tells me:

"The sight was most magnificent. At first the fleet was ranged in a semi-circle some miles out to sea from the entrance to the strait. It afforded an inspiring spectacle as the ships came along and took up position, and the picture became most awe-inspiring when the guns began to boom.

"The bombardment at first was slow, shells from the various ships screaming through the air at the rate of about one every two minutes. Their practice was excellent, and with strong glasses I could see huge masses of earth and stonework thrown high up into the air. The din, even at the distance, was terrific, and when the largest ship, with the biggest guns in the world, joined in the martial chorus, the air was rent with ear-splitting noise.

"The Turkish batteries, however, were not to be drawn, and, seeing this, the British Admiral sent one British ship and one French ship close inshore toward the Sedd-el-Bahr forts.

"It was a pretty sight to see the two battleships swing rapidly away toward the northern cape, spitting fire and smoke as they rode. They obscured the pure atmosphere with clouds of smoke from their funnels and guns; yet through it all I could see they were getting home with the shots they fired.

"As they went in they sped right under the guns of the shore batteries, which could no longer resist the temptation to see what they could do. Puffs of white smoke dotted the landscape on the far shore, and dull booms echoed over the placid water. Around the ships fountains of water sprang up into the air. The enemy had been drawn, but his marksmanship was obviously very bad. I think I am right in saying that not a single shot directed against the ships came within a hundred yards of either."



The French Battlefront

Account of First Extended View of the Intrenchments Defending France

[By a Special Correspondent of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

Paris, March 7.—I have just been permitted a sight of the French Army—the first accorded to any correspondent in so comprehensive a measure since the outbreak of the war. Under the escort of an officer of General Joffre's staff, I was allowed along a great section of the fighting line, into the trenches under fire, and also received scientific detailed information regarding this least known of European forces.

France has been so silent about her army and her Generals and so indifferent to the use of journalism in the war it is scarcely realized even in France that 450 of the 500 miles of fighting front are held by the French and only the remaining fifty by the British and Belgians. At the outbreak of the war no newspaper men were allowed with the army, and those who managed to get to the front, including myself, all returned to Paris under escort. Although we saw what a powerful machine it was and knew it was getting stronger every day, we were permitted to say very little about it—Germany, meanwhile, granting interviews, taking war correspondents to trenches and up in balloons in the campaign for neutral sympathy.

France, or, rather, General Joffre, for his is the first and last word on the subject of war correspondents, gradually decided to combat the German advertising.

Only he decided to go them one better, as I hope to show. There have been several trips, all tryouts. I was informed at the Foreign Office a month ago that when the representative of so important a paper as THE NEW YORK TIMES was to be taken to the front it would be for a more important trip than any up to that date—that I was to be saved up for such an occasion as I am now privileged to describe.

I propose to give as few names of places and Generals as possible, first, to meet the wishes of the personal censor, who is the same officer who escorted me throughout the trip, and, second, because I believe general facts relating to the morale of the French Army and their prospects in the Spring campaign will be of more interest than specific details concerning places where the lines have been established for the past six months.

From scores of letters received from America the first question which seems to arise in the minds of neutrals outside the war zone is, What are the prospects of the Germans taking Paris when the second great phase of the war is really under way? First, let me admit that a lurking fear that the Germans might penetrate the lines had caused me to make certain arrangements for the hasty exit of my family from Paris as soon as the Spring fighting began. I am now willing to cancel these arrangements, for I am convinced there is no danger to Paris.

The German Army, in my opinion, will never for a second time dictate terms of peace in Paris. I feel that I am in a position to make the statement, founded on an unusual knowledge of the facts, that should German ambition again fly that high they would need at least 3,000,000 men concentrated before the fortifications of Paris—these in addition to the enormous force to oppose the French and allied field armies.

The defenses of Paris since the city had its narrow escape before the battle of the Marne present one of the wonders of the world. Not only has Gallieni's army intrenched the surrounding country and barb-wired it until the idea of any forward advance seems preposterous, but every foot of ground is measured and the exact artillery ranges taken to every other foot of ground.

For instance, from every single trench which also contains an artillery observatory the exact distance is recorded to every other trench, to every house, hillock, tree, and shrub behind which the enemy might advance. In fact, the German organization which threatened to rule the world seems overtaken by French organization which became effective since the war began.

All through the trip it was this new spirit of organization that impressed me most. I have sent you many cables on the new spirit of the French, but never before dared to picture them in the role which to my mind they never before occupied—that of organizers. I started the trip to see the real French Army in the most open but unexpectant frame of mind. For weeks I had read only laconic official communiques that told me nothing. I saw well-fed officers in beautiful limousines rolling about Paris with an air that the war was a million miles away. The best way now to explain my enthusiasm is to give the words of a famous English correspondent, also just returned from a similar trip, (he is Frederic Villiers, who began war corresponding with Archibald Forbes at the battle of Plevna, and this is his seventeenth war,) who said:

"In all my life this trip is the biggest show I have ever had."

The first point on the trip where the French intelligence proved superior to the German was that I was allowed to pay my own expenses. With the exception of motor cars and a hundred courtesies extended by the scores of French officers, I paid my own railroad fare, hotel and food bills.

"This army has nothing to hide," said one of the greatest Generals to me. "You see what you like, go where you desire, and if you cannot get there, ask."

This General was de Maud'Huy, the man who with a handful of territorials stopped the Prussian Guard before Arras shortly after the battle of the Marne and who since then has never lost a single trench. His name is now scarcely known, even in France, but I venture the prophecy that when the French Army marches down the Champs Elysees after the war is over, when the vanguard passes under the Arch de Triomph, de Maud'Huy—a nervous little firebrand—will be right up in the front rank with Joffre.

While our party did all the spectacular stunts the Germans have offered the correspondents in such profusion, such as visiting the trenches, where in our case a German shell burst thirty feet from us, splattering us with mud, also where snipers sent rifle balls hissing only a few feet away, almost our greatest treats were the scientific daily discourses given by our Captain concerning the entire history of the first campaign, explaining each event leading up to the present position of the two armies. He gave the exact location of every French and allied army corps on the entire front.

On the opposite side of the line he demonstrated the efficiency of the French secret service by detailing the position and name of every German regiment, also the date and the position it now holds. Thus, we were able to know during the journey that it was the crack Prussian Guard that was stopped by de Maud'Huy's Territorials and that the English section under General French was opposed by Saxons.

Our Captain by these lectures gave us an insight into the second great German blunder after the failure to occupy Paris, which was the failure immediately to swing a line across Northern France, thus cutting off Calais and Boulogne, where they could really have leveled a pistol at England's head. He explained that it was the superiority of the French cavalry that dictated that the line should instead run straight north through the edge of Belgium to the sea. His explanations went further than this, for he refuted many military arguments to the effect that cavalry became obsolete with the advent of aeroplanes.

Cavalry formerly was used to screen the infantry advance and also for shock purposes in the charges. Now that the lines are established, it is mostly used with the infantry in the trenches; but in the great race after the Marne to turn the western flanks it was the cavalry's ability to outstrip the infantry that kept the Germans from practically all of Northern France. In other words, the French chausseurs, more brilliant than the Uhlans, kept that northern line straight until the infantry corps had time to take up position.

My introduction to the real French Army was made at the point of junction with the English troops, so I was thus able to make some comparison between the types of the Allies. I did not see the Germans except as prisoners, although on this trip I was sometimes within a few yards of their lines. With all consideration for the statement that they are the greatest fighting machine the world has ever seen, all I can say is that the greatest fighting machine I have even seen is the French Army.

To me they seem invincible from the standpoints of power, intelligence, and humanity. This latter quality specially impressed me. I do not believe any army with such high ideals can easily be beaten, and I judge not only from Generals in command, but the men in the trenches. One morning I was going through the trenches near the most important point where the line was continually under fire.

Passing from the second line to a point less than a hundred yards from the German rifles I came face to face with a General of division. He was sauntering along for the morning's stroll he chose to take in the trenches with his men rather than on the safer roads at the rear. He smoked a cigarette and seemed careless of danger. He continually patted his soldiers on the back as he passed and called them "his little braves."

I could not help wondering whether the German General opposite was setting his men the same splendid example. I inquired the French General's name; he was General Fayolle, conceded by all the armies to be the greatest artillery expert in the world. Comradeship between officers and men always is well known in the French Army, but I never before realized how the officers were so willing to accept quite the same fate.

In Paris the popular appellation for a German is "boche." Not once at the front did I hear this word used by officers or men. They deplore it, just as they deplore many things that happen in Paris. Every officer I talked to declared the Germans were a brave, strong enemy; they waste no time calling them names.

"They are wonderful, but we will beat them," was the way one officer summed up the general feeling.

Another illustration of the French officer at the front: The City of Vermelles of 10,000 inhabitants was captured from the Germans after fifty-four days' fighting. It was taken literally from house to house, the French engineers sapping and mining the Germans out of every stronghold, destroying every single house, incidentally forever upsetting my own one-time idea that the French are a frivolous people. So determined were they to retake this town that they fought in the streets with artillery at a distance of twenty-one feet, probably the shortest range artillery duel in the history of the world.

The Germans before the final evacuation buried hundreds of their own dead. Every yard in the city was filled with little crosses—the ground was so trampled that the mounds of graves were crushed down level with the ground—and on the crosses are printed the names with the number of the German regiments. At the base of every cross there rests either a crucifix or a statue of the Virgin or a wreath of artificial flowers, all looted from the French graveyard.

With the German graves are French graves made afterward. I walked through this ruined city where, aside from the soldiery, the only sign of life I saw was a gaunt, prowling cat. With me past these hundreds of graves walked half a dozen French officers. They did not pause to read inscriptions; they did not comment on the loot and pillage of the graveyard; they scarcely looked even at the graves, but they kept constantly raising their hands to their caps in salute regardless of whether the cross numbered a French or a German life destroyed.

We were driving along back of the advance lines. On the road before us was a company of territorial infantry who had been eight days in the trenches and were now to have two days of repose at the rear. Plodding along the same road was a refugee mother and several little children in a donkey cart; behind the cart, attached by a rope, trundled a baby buggy with the youngest child inside. The buggy suddenly struck a rut in the road and overturned, spilling the baby into the mud. Terrible wails arose, and the soldiers stiffened to attention. Then, seeing the accident, the entire company broke ranks and rescued the infant. They wiped the dirt from its face and restored it to its mother in the cart.

So engrossing was the spectacle our motor halted, and our Captain from Great General Headquarters in his gorgeous blue uniform climbed from the car, discussing with the mother the safety of a baby buggy riding behind a donkey cart, at the same time congratulating the soldier who rescued the child.

Our trip throughout moved with that clockwork precision usually associated only with the Germans. The schedule throughout the week never varied from the arrangements made before we left Paris. When we arrived at certain towns we were handed slips of paper bearing our names and the hotel number of our room.

Amazing meals appeared at most amazing places, all the menus carefully thought out days before. Imagine fresh trout served you with other famous French delicacies in a little house in the battle zone, where only a few hundred yards of barbed wire and a few feet more of air separated you from the German trenches. During the German advance, also after the battle of the Marne, there were many towns in the districts where it was impossible to obtain tobacco, spirits, or food staples. This condition has entirely abated, and the commissariat is now so well supplied that soldiers have sufficient tobacco even in the trenches.

It was my privilege to take a brief ride at the front in an antebellum motor bus of glorious memory—there being nothing left in Paris but the subway. Buses are now used to carry fresh meat, although they have been used in transporting troops and also ammunition. We trundled quite merrily along a little country road in Northern France, the snow-white fields on either side in strange contrast to the scenery when last I rode in that bus. I am sure I rode in the same bus before the war in my daily trips to the Paris office of THE NEW YORK TIMES. Its sides are bullet riddled now, but the soldier conductor still jingles the bell to the motorman, although he carries a revolver where he used to wear the register for fares.

Trench life was one of the most interesting surprises of the trip. Every night since the war began I have heard pitying remarks about "the boys in the trenches," especially if the nights were cold. I was, therefore, prepared to find the men standing in water to the knees, shivering, wretched, sick, and unhappy. I found just the contrary—the trenches were clean, large, and sanitary, although, of course, mud is mud. I found the bottoms of the trenches in every instance corduroy-lined with modern drains, which allowed the feet to keep perfectly dry, and also the large dugouts where the men, except those doing sentry duty, sleep comfortably on dry straw. There are special dugouts for officers and artillery observers.

I also visited a large, perfectly equipped Red Cross First Aid camp, all built underground, extending from one line of trenches to another. All trenches, communication traverses, and observatory dugouts have received names which are printed on shingles affixed to the trenches on little upright posts. For instance, we entered one section of the trenches through Boyau d'Espagne, we traversed Avenue de Bois, Avenues Wagram and Friedland, and others commemorating Napoleonic victories. The dugouts of officers and observers were all called villas—Villa Chambery, Villa Montmorency being examples. It all seemed like cozy camp life underground except that three times the morning of our visit it was necessary to flatten ourselves against the mud sidewalls while dead men on crossed rifles were carried out, every head in that particular bit of trench being bared as the sad procession disappeared.

Although the maps show the lines of fighting to be rather wavy, one must go to the front really to appreciate the irregular zigzag, snakelike line that it really is. The particular bit of trenches we visited cover a front of twelve miles, but so irregular is the line, so intricate and vast the system of intrenchments, that they measure 200 miles on that particular twelve-mile fighting front.

When one leaves the trenches at the rear of the communication boyaux, it is astonishing how little of the war can be seen. Ten feet after we left our trenches we could not see even the entrance. We stood in a beautiful open field having our pictures taken, and a few hundred yards away our motor waited behind some trees. Suddenly we heard a "zip zip" over our heads. German snipers were taking shots at us.

In addition to the enormous force of men constantly in the trenches along the entire line there is an equal size reserve line directly behind them in case of sudden attack. The artillery is posted considerably further to the rear along with revictualing stations, aeroplane hangars, and headquarters of the Generals, but through all this enormous mass of men which we passed daily going to and from our front observation posts never once did we get the impression of parade. Three were just troops, troops, troops everywhere, every hamlet, every village filled with them, every crossroads with their sentries. All of them, hardened by Winter and turns in the trenches, are in splendid condition, and as opposed to the Germans, at least to the German prisoners I have seen, each French soldier has a clear and definite knowledge of what the war is all about. The greatest event of his day is when the Paris newspapers arrive.



What impressed me greatly was that in all the officers' quarters were copies of the French "Yellow Book," the English "White Paper" and German documents attempting to prove their innocence in causing the conflict. It is not sufficient for French Generals or officers just to go to war; they must know why they go to war, down to the last papers in the case. In six months the French privates have acquired one habit from the British Tommies—that is drinking tea. Back of every section of trenches I found huge tea canteens, where thousands of cups are served daily to the soldiers who have decided for the first time in their life they really like such stuff. There one sees more soldiers at the same time than at any other place in the fighting zone; there they sit and discuss the future calmly and confidently, there being a distinct feeling that the war is likely to be over next Summer.

No one knows what the Spring tactics of General Joffre will be. Along the section of the front I visited the officers are all satisfied that the Commander in Chief's "nibbling tactics" have forced the Germans to retire on the average of two to three miles all along the line. The very name of that great man is spoken with reverence, almost with awe, by his "children at the front."

I, therefore, from the facilities given me, can only make one assertion in summing up my opinion of the French grand army of 1915, that it is strong, courageous, scientifically intelligent, and well trained as a champion pugilist after months of preparation for the greatest struggle of his career. The French Army waits eager and ready for the gong.



Dodging Shells

[From The London Morning Post, Feb. 1, 1915.]

The Echo de Paris has published today a letter that throws a considerable amount of light upon the psychology of the French soldier, and that shows how he behaves himself when subjected to very trying fire and compelled to act on his own initiative. It is written by the man to his wife, and is as follows:

I am acting as guard to a convoy, and am comfortably installed, with no work to do, in the house of an old woman who has lent me a candle and writing materials. I shan't be suffering from the cold in the way I have done on previous nights, as I have a roof over me and a fire. What luxury! It's been freezing for several nights, and you feel the frost when you are sleeping in the open. But that is nothing to the three days we passed in the village of ——. We were stationed in the mairie. In front of us in the clock tower an artillery Captain was taking observations. On the road between the church and the mairie a Sergeant and four artillerymen were sending orders to the battery behind us. Suddenly a shell struck. We saw the artillerymen on the ground and the Sergeant alone left standing.

The fire was so thick that no one could think of going out. But suddenly one of the men moved, so I got up to find out about it, taking care to put on my knapsack. When I was among them I found that one had been hit right in the heart; two others were dying, one with his head in a pulp and the other with his thigh broken and the calf of his leg torn to a jelly. I helped the Sergeant to mend the telephone wire that had been broken by the shell, and all the time we were having shells and bits of brick breaking around us.

Then I went back to the mairie, and asked for some one who would not be frightened to come with me. Two of us went off to the village for a stretcher. I found one at the old ambulance, and was just leaving it when I heard the scream of a shell, and took cover in the chimney—just in time. A big black brute smashed half the house in. My comrade and I hurried off after the wounded man. Our pals were watching us from the mairie, wondering if we should ever get back. Old Gerome, (that's me,) they said, will get back all right, and when back at the mairie I began to give the wounded man first aid. Another shell came along, and the place shook, window panes rained upon us, and dust blinded us, but at last it cleared.

Left alone with my wounded man I went on dressing him, and when the others got back I got them to help me take him to the schoolhouse near by. I got congratulated by my comrades and the senior Sergeant, but the Colonel and Lieutenant said nothing, though later I heard they were pleased with me, but suddenly the Colonel said: "We can't stop here. Go and see if there's room in the cellars of the castle for four officers and thirty men. If there is don't come back, as we will follow you."

We got there at last, two of us, but the owner took a long time opening. Meanwhile scraps of roofs and walls were raining on us, but with our knapsacks on our heads we were a bit protected. At last our knocks were answered, and we learned that there was room for four officers, but not for thirty men! The Colonel and the men had to be warned, so my comrade started running back and I followed about fifteen yards behind.

We passed a gap in the houses, with no cover, nothing but gardens. A shell came along. I dropped, while the other man hid in a doorway. The bits of it sang about our ears. I then sang out: "As you are nearly there, go on, and I'll see if there is room in the farm near by." I reached the houses and waited to see that he got through, because if he'd fallen I should have had to go back to warn the rest. As he was going two shells burst in the courtyard of the mairie, and I thought of the Colonel and the rest, but at last my comrade; reached the place and went in, and I was free to try for the farm.



On my way I met a friend and asked him to join me. At the time I was thinking of you all, and it was not till later that I got frightened. There were five horses at the gate of the farm. I shifted them and showed my friend the entrance to the cellar. It was narrow, and he lost time through his knapsack, and these are the occasions when your life depends on seconds. I heard the scream that I know only too well, and guessed where the beast would lodge, and called out to him "That's for us." I shrank back with my knapsack over my head and tried to bury myself in the corner among the coal.

I had no time, though. The shell reached, smashed down part of the house, and burst in the basement a couple of yards from me. I heard no more, but stone, plaster, and bricks fell all around me on the coal heap. I was gasping, but found myself untouched. I got up and saw the poultry struggling and the horses struck down. I ran to the cellar, with the same luck as my friend.

My knapsack caught me. A shell screamed a second time again for us, and it struck, wallop, on the gable, while the ruins fell around my head. I pulled at my knapsack so vigorously that I fell into the cellar, and some of our men who were there called "Here's a poor brute done in." Not a bit of it. I was not touched then either.... At last the bombardment stopped, and we all got out. I noticed about forty hens. Some were pulped. Others had had their heads and legs cut off. In the muddle three horses lay dead. Their saddles were in ribbons. Equipment, revolvers, swords, all that had been left above the cellar had vanished, but there were bits of them to be seen on the roof. My rifle, which had been torn from my hands, was in fragments, and I was stupefied at not having been hit. I noticed, however, that my wrappings that were rolled around my knapsack had been pierced by a splinter of shell that had stuck an it. Later in the evening when I started cutting at my bread the knife stuck. I broke the bread open and found another bit of shell in it. I don't yet know why I was not made mincemeat of that day. There were fifty chances to one against me.

The two following days I stopped in the cellar, hearing nothing but their big shells, while the farm and the buildings near it were smashed in. Now it is all over. I am all right and bored to death mounting guard over wagons ten miles from the firing line, with a crowd of countrymen who have been commandeered with their wagons.

I ought to tell you that the two shells I saw fall on the mairie when my comrade was going there unfortunately killed one and wounded five. It was a bit of luck for me, as I always used to be hanging about the courtyard. That's the sad side of it, but we have an amusing time all the same. [The writer goes on to explain how he and his friends dressed up some men of straw in uniform and induced the Germans to shoot at them, and finally to charge them, while they fired at the Germans and brought several of them down. He continues.]

But that's nothing to what they'll get, and their villages will get, and their mairies, chateaux, and farms, and cellars, when we get there. I will respect old men, women, and children, but let their fighting men look out. I don't mind sacrificing my life to do my duty, and to defend those I love and who love me, but if I've got to lose my skin I want to lose it in Boche-land. I want the joy of getting into their dirty Prussia to avenge our beautiful land. Bandits! Let them and their choucroute factories look out! If you saw the countryside we are recovering—there's nothing left but ruins. Everything burned and smashed to bits. Cattle, more dead than alive, are bolting in all directions, and as for our poor women, when I see them I would destroy everything.

Our officers say: "We'll never be able to hold our men when we get into their country." But I say that I want to go there all the same, and yet when I say that I had a German prisoner to guard at the mairie. I gave him half my bread and knocked walnuts off the trees for him. All the time I saw five or more villages in flames around. Well, it all proves that a soldier should never say what he will do tomorrow. My job is to protect the flag, and the Boches can come on. Before they get it they'll have to get me.... Vive la France!



Somali Volunteers

[From The London Times, Nov. 10, 1914.]

We have received from a correspondent a copy of a petition signed by the principal Somali chiefs in Jubaland, praying that they may be allowed to fight for England. The terms of this interesting document are as follows:

To His Highness the Governor, Through the Hakim of Jubaland: Salaams, yea, many salaams, with God's mercy, blessing, and peace. After salaams,

We, the Somali of Jubaland, both Herti and Ogaden, comprising all the tribes and including the Maghavbul, but not including the Tulamuya Ogaden, who live in Biskaya and Tanaland and the Marehan, desire humbly to address you.

In former days the Somali have fought against the Government. Even lately the Marehan have fought against the Government. Now we have heard that the German Government have declared war on the English Government. Behold, our "fitna" against the English Government is finished. As the monsoon wind drives the sandhills of our coast into new forms, so does this news of German evildoing drive our hearts and spears into the service of the English Government. The Jubaland Somali are with the English Government. Daily in our mosques we pray for the success of the English armies. Day is as night and night is as day with us until we hear that the English are victorious. God knows the right. He will help the right. We have heard that Indian askaris have been sent to fight for us in Europe. Humbly we ask why should not the Somali fight for England also? We beg the Government to allow our warriors to show their loyalty. In former days the Somali tribes made fitna against each other. Even now it is so; it is our custom; yet, with the Government against the Germans, we are as one, ourselves, our warriors, our women, and our children. By God it is so. By God it is so. By God it is so.

A few days ago many troops of the military left this country to eat up the Germans who have invaded our country in Africa. May God prosper them. Yet, O Hakim, with all humbleness we desire to beg of the Government to allow our sons and warriors to take part in this great war against the German evildoers. They are ready. They are eager. Grant them the boon. God and Mohammed are with us all.

If Government wish to take away all the troops and police from Jubaland, it is good. We pledge ourselves to act as true Government askaris until they return.

We humbly beg that this our letter may be placed at the feet of our King and Emperor, who lives in England, in token of our loyalty and our prayers.

[Here follow the signatures of all the principal Somali chiefs and elders living in Jubaland.]



When King Peter Re-Entered Belgrade

[From The New York Evening Post, Feb. 15, 1915.]

PARIS, Jan. 29.

So King Peter himself became priest; and the great cathedral was filled with the sobbing of his people.

Everybody knows the story of the deliverance of Belgrade; how the little Serbian Army fell back for strategic reasons as the Austrians entered the city, but finally, after seventeen days of fighting without rest, (for the Serbian Army has had no reserves since the Turkish war,) knit its forces together, marched 100 miles in three days, and drove the Austrians headlong out of the capital.

King Peter rode at the head of his army. Shrapnel from the Austrian guns was still bursting over the city. But the people were too much overjoyed to mind. They lined the sidewalks and threw flowers as the troops passed. The soldiers marched in close formation; the sprays clung to them, and they became a moving flower garden. The scream of an occasional shell was drowned in the cheers.

They are emotional people, these Serbians. And something told them that, even with death and desolation all about them, they had reason to be elated. A few hours before, the Austrians had been established in Belgrade, confident that they were there to stay for months, if not for years. Now they were fleeing headlong over the River Save, their commissariat jammed at the bridge, their fighting men in a rout.

So King Peter rode through the streets of the capital with his army, and came to the cathedral. The great church was locked, because the priests had left the city on errands of mercy. But a soldier went through a window and undid the portals. The King and his officers and some of the soldiers and as many of the people as could get in crowded into the cathedral. And, lacking some one to say mass, the King became a priest—which is an ancient function of Kings—and, as he knelt, the officers and soldiers and people knelt. There was a vast silence for a moment; and then, in every part of the church, a sobbing.

This account is a free translation of a woman's letter, in Serbian, received in this city a few days ago by Miss Helen Losanich, who is here with Mme. Slavko Grouitch to interest Americans in helping her countrymen back to their devastated farms. Mme. Grouitch is an American by birth; but Miss Losanich is a Serbian, with the black hair and burning black eyes of the Slavs, and boasting twenty years perhaps. Her sister, Mme. Marincovich, is wife of the Serbian Minister of Commerce and Agriculture. It was Mme. Marincovich who had written the letter.

"I've just had this letter from my sister in Serbia," cried Miss Losanich, when a friend called, and she waved in one hand a dozen sheets closely written in a script that resembled Russian. "I've hardly had time to read it myself. But we will sit down and translate it into English, if you say.

"She says here that, when the Austrians had to leave Belgrade, they took 1,200 people as hostages—non-combatants, you know. When they came into the city first they gave assurances that all non-combatants would be safe; but for the last few days before they left, no non-combatant could walk on the street without being taken up as a hostage.

"Just imagine, it says here that they even took a little boy. He can fight when he is older, they say. You know, the Turks used to do that. They came and took our boys of nine and ten years, and trained them as soldiers in their janissaries; and when they had forgotten their own country they sent them back to fight against it. It is terrible, isn't it!

"The Austrians took the furniture from our people's houses and carried it across the River Save to the Semlin. They behaved frightfully, my sister says; brought all kinds of people with them, including women from the very lowest class; broke into the houses and stole the ladies' toilettes. One lady with many beautiful dresses found them all cut to ribbons when she got back to Belgrade.

"The Austrians brought lots of tea and crackers and conserves with them. Some soldiers had taken a lady's evening gown and pinned strawberries from strawberry-jam all over it, in appropriate places, and laid the gown out for the lady to see."

A merry smile illuminated Miss Losanich's face as she read this part of the letter.

"Our brother," she went on, "entered Belgrade with the army. He came back to Nish on leave about Christmas, the Serbian Christmas, which is about thirteen days later than yours. Nish is the temporary capital; and my sister is there. He told them all about Belgrade. He had been to his house; the whole house was upset, drawers forced, old letters opened and thrown on the floor, papers strewn about, King Peter's picture (autographed by the King) thrown on the floor, and King Ferdinand's picture stamped on.

"Brother went to a private sanitarium that our uncle has in Belgrade. The Austrians had seized this, and had begun making it over for a hospital. They wanted the Bulgarian Red Cross installed. They had brought quantities of biscuits and tea and conserves. But they had to leave in such a hurry they couldn't take the things with them. 'And now,' my sister says, 'we are eating them!'

"Across the street four of our cousins live—young men. They are all at the front now"—Miss Losanich laughed outright as she read this part—"their house was entered and all their clothes taken; dress suits, smoking jackets, linen, and all those things. It makes me laugh; it's naughty, I know. But they used to go out a good deal. I have seen them in those clothes so often. One of them wanted to marry me. He used to go out a great deal"—this with another merry peal of laughter.

"Mme. Grouitch's house was undisturbed; and ours. We used to know the Austrian attache before the war. He was rather a nice fellow. Played tennis with us a good deal, and so on. He came into Belgrade with his army, and he came around to our house. The servants recognized him, because, you see, they knew him. The servants had stayed behind. He seemed to think he would like to make my sister's house his quarters, but after he had thought about it a while he went away.

"She says that she would like to go back to Belgrade, but the railroad has been destroyed—a big viaduct of stone at Ralya, about 17 kilometers from Belgrade; and they have to go from Ralya to Belgrade by carriage. There are so many wagons of the commissariat on the road—so many carriages have been seized by the Government—it is impossible for private citizens to get through.

"A gibbet was put up in the square after the Austrians came into the city and a man was hanged the first morning, in spite of the fact that the Austrians had promised safety to the non-combatants. Dr. Edward Ryan, the head of the American Red Cross in Belgrade, protested, and the gibbet was taken down. But my sister says that eighteen more people were hanged in the fortress down by the Save—she hears—where they wouldn't be seen.

"Mr. Bisserce, a Belgian, is director of the electric lighting plant in Belgrade. He is a nice man, and, being a Belgian, he does not like the Austrians. He wouldn't light the town until they made him, and he wouldn't give them a map of the system at all. He was bound in ropes and taken away as a hostage, and they haven't heard from him since.

"The most touching thing was the entrance of King Peter—" whereupon Miss Losanich told the story related above.

"Rubbish, straw, and dead horses were strewn through all the streets when the King and the army came in. The shooting was still going on. There was a jam of commissariat wagons at the bridge—you know there is a bridge across the Save. The Austrians couldn't get across fast enough, there was so much confusion—too many wanting to get over at one time. The Serbian artillery was shooting at them all the time. Presently the middle of the bridge went down. The men and the horses and the carriages and the wagons all went down together. They were pinned down by the masses of stone, but there were so many of them that they filled up the river and stuck up above the water. It was so bad that our people couldn't clear it up—so there is an awful odor all over the town.

"She says that the Austrians brought 17,000 wounded, thinking that they were going to stay for months—and perhaps for ever. They turned over quantities of them to Dr. Ryan at the American Red Cross Hospital.

"General Franck, the Austrian commander, made a remark—and he must have made it to Dr. Ryan, although my sister doesn't say so. General Franck said: 'If the Russians had fought the way the Serbians have, there wouldn't be an Austrian soldier left!'

"That's a good deal for the head of the Austrians to say, isn't it? We always expected victory; but even the most optimistic of us were surprised at what our peasant soldiers did.

"In the flight, the Austrians could not take care of their wounded, she says, and sent them back to Belgrade, many of them, as prisoners. Many must have died during the flight, too, for they got a jolting that wounded men can't stand.

"Our brother, who was a professor of chemistry, is a Sergeant now in charge of two German Krupp guns, which were captured from Turkey in the other war. He is at Banovo Brdo, a residence section outside Belgrade, on a hill. All the villas have been destroyed by the Austrian artillery fire.

"And," continued Miss Losanich, "she says that the toys sent by the Americans were received in Nish and distributed to the poor children for Christmas, and that the feeling of cordiality toward the Americans is growing fast."



THE DRAGON'S TEETH

BY CAROLINE DUER

Oh, sunny, quiet, fruitful fields of France, Golden and green a month ago, Through you the great red tides of war's advance Sweep raging to and fro. For patient toil of years, Blood, fire and tears Reward you now!

The dragon's teeth are sown, and in a night There springs to life the armed host! And men leap forth bewildered to the fight, Legion for legion lost! "Toll for my tale of sons," Roar out the guns, "Cost what it cost!"

This is a "holy war"! A holy war? With thousand millions maimed and dead! To show one Power dares more than others dare— That higher rears one Head! How will you count your gain, Lord of the slain, When all is said?

The dragon's teeth are sown, and in a night There springs to life the armed host! And men leap forth bewildered to the fight, Legion for legion lost! "Toll for my tale of sons," Roar out the guns, "Cost what it cost!"

Oh, tragedy of Nations! Who may see The outcome, or foretell the end? Hark men and weeping women, misery That none may mend. Ruin in peaceful marts, Dazed commerce, stricken arts. God, to the ravaged hearts Some mercy send!

The dragon's teeth are sown, and in a night There springs to life the armed host! And men leap forth bewildered to the fight, Legion for legion lost! "Toll for my tale of sons," Roar out the guns, "Cost what it cost!"

Copyright, 1914, by The New York Times Company.



The Greatest of Campaigns

The French Official Account

The Associated Press received in London on March 5, 1915, an official French historical review of the operations in the western theatre of war from its beginning up to the end of January, the first six months, which in terseness and dramatic power will rank among the world's most important military documents. The first chapter of the review was released for publication by The Associated Press on March 16 and appears below. It is one of those documents, rare in military annals, that frankly confesses a succession of initial reverses and official incompetence, only retrieved by exercise of the utmost skill in retreat.

CHAPTER I.

THE FRENCH SETBACKS IN AUGUST.

The first month of the campaign began with successes and finished with defeats for the French troops. Under what circumstances did these come about?

Our plan of concentration had foreseen the possibility of two principal actions, one on the right between the Vosges and the Moselle, the other on the left to the north of Verdun-Toul line, this double possibility involving the eventual variation of our transport. On Aug. 2, owing to the Germans passing through Belgium, our concentration was substantially modified by General Joffre in order that our principal effort might be directed to the north.

From the first week in August it was apparent that the length of time required for the British Army to begin to move would delay our action in connection with it. This delay is one of the reasons which explain our failures at the end of August.

Awaiting the moment when the operations in the north could begin, and to prepare for it by retaining in Alsace the greatest possible number of German forces, the General in Chief ordered our troops to occupy Mulhouse, (Muelhousen,) to cut the bridges of the Rhine at Huningue and below, and then to flank the attack of our troops, operating in Lorraine.

This operation was badly carried out by a leader who was at once relieved of his command. Our troops, after having carried Mulhouse, lost it and were thrown back on Belfort. The work had, therefore, to be recommenced afresh, and this was done from Aug. 14 under a new command.

Mulhouse was taken on the 19th, after a brilliant fight at Dornach. Twenty-four guns were captured from the enemy. On the 20th we held the approaches to Colmar, both by the plain and by the Vosges. The enemy had undergone enormous losses and abandoned great stores of shells and forage, but from this moment what was happening in Lorraine and on our left prevented us from carrying our successes further, for our troops in Alsace were needed elsewhere. On Aug. 28 the Alsace army was broken up, only a small part remaining to hold the region of Thann and the Vosges.

THE OPERATIONS IN LORRAINE.

The purpose of the operations in Alsace was, namely, to retain a large part of the enemy's forces far from the northern theatre of operations. It was for our offensive in Lorraine to pursue still more directly by holding before it the German army corps operating to the south of Metz.

This offensive began brilliantly on Aug. 14. On the 19th we had reached the region of Saarburg and that of the Etangs, (lakes,) and we held Dieuze, Morhange, Delme, and Chateau Salins.

On the 20th our success was stopped. The cause is to be found in the strong organization of the region, in the power of the enemy's artillery, operating over ground which had been minutely surveyed, and, finally, in the default of certain units.

On the 22d, in spite of the splendid behavior of several of our army corps, notably that of Nancy, our troops were brought back on to the Grand Couronne, while on the 23d and 24th the Germans concentrated reinforcements—three army corps, at least—in the region of Luneville and forced us to retire to the south.

This retreat, however, was only momentary. On the 25th, after two vigorous counter-attacks, one from south to north and the other from west to east, the enemy had to fall back. From that time a sort of balance was established on this terrain between the Germans and ourselves. Maintained for fifteen days, it was afterward, as will be seen, modified to our advantage.

OPERATIONS IN BELGIAN LUXEMBOURG.

There remained the principal business, the battle of the north—postponed owing to the necessity of waiting for the British Army. On Aug. 20 the concentration of our lines was finished and the General in Chief gave orders for our centre and our left to take the offensive. Our centre comprised two armies. Our left consisted of a third army, reinforced to the extent of two army corps, a corps of cavalry, the reserve divisions, the British Army, and the Belgian Army, which had already been engaged for the previous three weeks at Liege, Namur, and Louvain.

]

The German plan on that date was as follows: From seven to eight army corps and four cavalry divisions were endeavoring to pass between Givet and Brussels, and even to prolong their movements more to the west. Our object was, therefore, in the first place, to hold and dispose of the enemy's centre and afterward to throw ourselves with all available forces on the left flank of the German grouping of troops in the north.

On Aug. 21 our offensive in the centre began with ten army corps. On Aug. 22 it failed, and this reverse appeared serious.

The reasons for it are complex. There were in this affair individual and collective failures, imprudences committed under the fire of the enemy, divisions ill-engaged, rash deployments, precipitate retreats, a premature waste of men, and, finally, the inadequacy of certain of our troops and their leaders, both as regards the use of infantry and artillery.

In consequence of these lapses the enemy, turning to account the difficult terrain, was able to secure the maximum of profit from the advantages which the superiority of his subaltern complements gave him.

OPERATIONS SOUTH OF SAMBRE.

In spite of this defeat our manoeuvre had still a chance of success, if our left and the British Army obtained a decisive result. This was unfortunately not the case. On Aug. 22, at the cost of great losses, the enemy succeeded in crossing the Sambre and our left army fell back on the 24th upon Beaumont-Givet, being perturbed by the belief that the enemy was threatening its right.

On the same day, (the 24th,) the British Army fell back after a German attack upon the Maubeuge-Valenciennes line. On the 25th and 26th its retreat became more hurried. After Landrecies and Le Cateau it fell back southward by forced marches. It could not from this time keep its hold until after crossing the Marne.

The rapid retreat of the English, coinciding with the defeat sustained in Belgian Luxembourg, allowed the enemy to cross the Meuse and to accelerate, by fortifying it, the action of his right.

The situation at this moment may be thus summed up: Either our frontier had to be defended on the spot under conditions which the British retreat rendered extremely perilous, or we had to execute a strategic retirement which, while delivering up to the enemy a part of the national soil, would permit us, on the other hand, to resume the offensive at our own time with a favorable disposition of troops, still intact, which we had at our command. The General in Chief determined on the second alternative.

PREPARATION OF THE OFFENSIVE.

Henceforward the French command devoted its efforts to preparing the offensive. To this end three conditions had to be fulfilled:

1. The retreat had to be carried out in order under a succession of counter-attacks which would keep the enemy busy.

2. The extreme point of this retreat must be fixed in such a way that the different armies should reach it simultaneously, ready at the moment of occupying it to resume the offensive all together.

3. Every circumstance permitting of a resumption of the offensive before this point should be reached must be utilized by the whole of our forces and the British forces.

THE FRENCH COUNTER-ATTACK.

The counter-attacks, executed during the retreat, were brilliant and often fruitful. On Aug. 20 we successfully attacked St. Quentin to disengage the British Army. Two other corps and a reserve division engaged the Prussian Guard and the Tenth German Army Corps, which was debouching from Guise. By the end of the day, after various fluctuations, the enemy was thrown back on the Oise and the British front was freed.

On Aug. 27 we had also succeeded in throwing back upon the Meuse the enemy, who was endeavoring to gain a foothold on the left bank. Our successes continued on the 28th in the woods of Marfee and of Jaulnay. Thanks to them we were able, in accordance with the orders of the General in Chief, to fall back on the Buzancy-Le Chesne-Bouvellemont line.

Further to the right another army took part in the same movement and carried out successful attacks on Aug. 25 on the Othain and in the region of Spincourt.

On the 26th these different units recrossed the Meuse without being disturbed and were able to join in the action of our centre. Our armies were, therefore, again intact and available for the offensive.

On Aug. 26 a new army composed of two army corps, five reserve divisions, and a Moorish brigade was constituted. This army was to assemble in the region of Amiens between Aug. 27 and Sept. 1 and take the offensive against the German right, uniting its action with that of the British Army, operating on the line of Ham-Bray-sur-Somme.

CONTINUATION OF THE RETREAT.

The hope of resuming the offensive was from this moment rendered vain by the rapidity of the march of the German right wing. This rapidity had two consequences, which we had to parry before thinking of advancing. On the one hand, our new army had not time to complete its detraining, and, on the other hand, the British Army, forced back further by the enemy, uncovered on Aug. 31 our left flank. Our line, thus modified, contained waves which had to be redressed before we could pass to the offensive.

To understand this it is sufficient to consider the situation created by the quick advance of the enemy on the evening of Sept. 2.

A corps of cavalry had crossed the Oise and advanced as far as Chateau Thierry. The First Army, (General von Kluck,) comprising four active army corps and a reserve corps, had passed Compiegne.

The Second Army, (General von Buelow,) with three active army corps and two reserve corps, was reaching the Laon region.

The Third Army, (General von Hausen,) with two active army corps and a reserve corps, had crossed the Aisne between the Chateau Porcien and Attigny.

More to the east the Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Armies, namely, twelve army corps, four reserve corps, and numerous Ersatz formations, were in contact with our troops, the Fourth and Fifth Armies between Vouziers and Verdun and the others in the positions which have been indicated above, from Verdun to the Vosges.

It will, therefore, be seen that our left, if we accepted battle, might be in great peril through the British forces and the new French Army, operating more to the westward, having given way.

A defeat in these conditions would have cut off our armies from Paris and from the British forces and at the same time from the new army which had been constituted to the left of the English. We should thus be running the risk of losing by a single stroke the advantage of the assistance which Russia later on was to furnish.

General Joffre chose resolutely for the solution which disposed of these risks, that is to say, for postponing the offensive and the continuance of the retreat. In this way he remained on ground which he had chosen. He waited only until he could engage in better conditions.

In consequence, on Sept. 1, he fixed as an extreme limit for the movement of retreat, which was still going on, the line of Bray-sur-Seine, Nogent-sur-Seine, Arcis-sur-Aube, Vitry-le-Francois, and the region to the north of Bar-le-Duc. This line might be reached if the troops were compelled to go back so far. They would attack before reaching it, as soon as there was a possibility of bringing about an offensive disposition, permitting the co-operation of the whole of our forces.

THE EVE OF THE OFFENSIVE.

On Sept. 5 it appeared that this desired situation existed.

The First Germany Army, carrying audacity to temerity, had continued its endeavor to envelop our left, had crossed the Grand Morin, and reached the region of Chauffry, to the south of Rebaix and of Esternay. It aimed then at cutting our armies off from Paris, in order to begin the investment of the capital.

The Second Army had its head on the line Champaubert, Etoges, Bergeres, and Vertus.

The Third and Fourth Armies reached to Chalons-sur-Marne and Bussy-le-Repos. The Fifth Army was advancing on one side and the other from the Argonne as far as Triacourt-les-Islettes and Juivecourt. The Sixth and Seventh Armies were attacking more to the east.

But—and here is a capital difference between the situation of Sept. 5 and that of Sept. 2—the envelopment of our left was no longer possible.

In the first place, our left army had been able to occupy the line of Sezanne, Villers-St. Georges and Courchamps. Furthermore, the British forces, gathered between the Seine and the Marne, flanked on their left by the newly created army, were closely connected with the rest of our forces.

This was precisely the disposition which the General in Chief had wished to see achieved. On the 4th he decided to take advantage of it, and ordered all the armies to hold themselves ready. He had taken from his right two new army corps, two divisions of infantry, and two divisions of cavalry, which were distributed between his left and his centre.

On the evening of the 5th he addressed to all the commanders of armies a message ordering them to attack.

"The hour has come," he wrote, "to advance at all costs, and to die where you stand rather than give way."

(To be continued in the next issue.)



BY THE NORTH SEA.

By W.L. COURTNEY.

[From King Albert's Book.]

Death and Sorrow and Sleep: Here where the slow waves creep, This is the chant I hear, The chant of the measureless deep.

What was sorrow to me Then, when the young life free Thirsted for joys of earth Far from the desolate sea?

What was Sleep but a rest, Giving to youth the best Dreams from the ivory gate, Visions of God manifest?

What was Death but a tale Told to faces grown pale, Worn and wasted with years— A meaningless thing to the bale?

Death and Sorrow and Sleep: Now their sad message I keep, Tossed on the wet wind's breath, The chant of the measureless deep.



When Marthe Chenal Sang the "Marseillaise"

By Wythe Williams

[From THE NEW YORK TIMES, Feb. 14, 1915.]

I went to the Opera Comique the other day to hear Marthe Chenal sing the "Marseillaise." For several weeks previous I had heard a story going the rounds of what is left of Paris life to the effect that if one wanted a regular old-fashioned thrill he really should go to the Opera Comique on a day when Mlle. Chenal closed the performance by singing the French national hymn. I was told there would be difficulty in securing a seat.

I was rather skeptical. I also considered that I had had sufficient thrills since the beginning of the war, both old fashioned and new. I believed also that I had already heard the "Marseillaise" sung under the best possible circumstances to produce thrills. One of the first nights after mobilization 10,000 Frenchmen filled the street beneath the windows of THE NEW YORK TIMES office, where I was at work. They sang the "Marseillaise" for two hours, with a solemn hatred of their national enemy sounding in every note. The solemnity changed to a wild passion as the night wore on. Finally, cuirassiers of the guard rode through the street to disperse the mob. It was a terrific scene.

So I was willing to admit that the "Marseillaise" is probably the most thrilling and most martial national song ever written, but I was just not keen on the subject of thrills.

Then one day a sedate friend went to the Opera Comique and came away in a raving condition. It was a week before his ardor subsided. He declared that this rendition of a song was something that will be referred to in future years. "Why," he said, "when the war is over the French will talk about it in the way Americans still talk concerning Jenny Lind at Castle Garden, or De Wolf Hopper reciting 'Casey at the Bat.'"

This induced me to go. I was convinced that whether I got a thrill or not the singing of the "Marseillaise" by Chenal had become a distinct feature of Paris life during the war.

I never want to go again. To go again might deepen my impression—might better register the thrill. But then it might not be just the same. I would be keyed to such expectancy that I might be disappointed. Persons in the seats behind me might whisper. And just as Chenal got to the "Amour sacre de la patrie" some one might cough. I am confident that something of the sort would surely happen. I want always to remember that ten minutes while Chenal was on the stage just as I remember it now. So I will not go again.

The first part of the performance was Donizetti's "Daughter of the Regiment," beautifully sung by members of the regular company. But somehow the spectacle of a fat soprano nearing forty in the role of the twelve-year-old vivandiere, although impressive, was not sublime. A third of the audience were soldiers. In the front row of the top balcony were a number of wounded. Their bandaged heads rested against the rail. Several of them yawned.

After the operetta came a "Ballet of the Nations." The "nations," of course, represented the Allies. We had the delectable vision of the Russian ballerina dancing with arms entwined about several maids of Japan. The Scotch lassies wore violent blue jackets. The Belgian girls carried large pitchers and rather wept and watered their way about the stage. There were no thrills.

After the intermission there was not even available standing space. The majority of the women were in black—the prevailing color in these days. The only touches of brightness and light were in the uniforms of the officers liberally sprinkled through the orchestra and boxes.

Then came "Le Chant du Depart," the famous song of the revolution. The scene was a little country village. The principals were the officer, the soldier, the wife, the mother, the daughter, and the drummer boy. There was a magnificent soldier chorus and the fanfare of drums and trumpets. The audience then became honestly enthusiastic. I concluded that the best Chenal could do with the "Marseillaise," which was next on the programme, would be an anti-climax.

The orchestra played the opening bars of the martial music. With the first notes the vast audience rose. I looked up at the row of wounded leaning heavily against the rail, their eyes fixed and staring on the curtain. I noticed the officers in the boxes, their eyes glistening. I heard a convulsive catch in the throats of persons about me. Then the curtain lifted.

I do not remember what was the stage setting. I do not believe I saw it. All I remember was Chenal standing at the top of a short flight of steps, in the centre near the back drop. I indistinctly remember that the rest of the stage was filled with the soldier chorus and that near the footlights on either side were clusters of little children.

"Up, sons of France, the call of glory"——

Chenal swept down to the footlights. The words of the song swept over the audience like a bugle call. The singer wore a white silk gown draped in perfect Grecian folds. She wore the large black Alsatian head dress, in one corner of which was pinned a small tri-colored cockade. She has often been called the most beautiful woman in Paris. The description was too limited. With the next lines she threw her arms apart, drawing out the folds of the gown into the tricolor of France—heavy folds of red silk draped over one arm and blue over the other. Her head was thrown back. Her tall, slender figure simply vibrated with the feeling of the words that poured forth from her lips. She was noble. She was glorious. She was sublime. With the "March on, March on" of the chorus, her voice arose high and fine over the full orchestra, and even above her voice could be sensed the surging emotions of the audience that seemed to sweep over the house in waves.

I looked up at the row of wounded. One man held his bandaged head between his hands and was crying. An officer in a box, wearing the gorgeous uniform of the headquarters staff, held a handkerchief over his eyes.

Through the second verse the audience alternately cheered and stamped their feet and wept. Then came the wonderful "Amour sacre de la patrie"—sacred love of home and country—verse. The crashing of the orchestra ceased, dying away almost to a whisper. Chenal drew the folds of the tricolor cloak about her. Then she bent her head and, drawing the flag to her lips, kissed it reverently. The first words came like a sob from her soul. From then until the end of the verse, when her voice again rang out over the renewed efforts of the orchestra, one seemed to live through all the glorious history of France. At the very end, when Chenal drew a short jeweled sword from the folds of her gown and stood, silent and superb, with the folds of the flag draped about her, while the curtain rang slowly down, she seemed to typify both Empire and Republic throughout all time. All the best of the past seemed concentrated there as that glorious woman, with head raised high, looked into the future.

And as I came out of the theatre with the silent audience I said to myself that a nation with a song and a patriotism such as I had just witnessed could not vanish from the earth—nor again be vanquished.



A War of Commerce to Follow

By Sir William Ramsay

That commerce in Germany is regarded as war, that the "powerful mass of the German State" is projected into methods meant to kill off the trade of other nations, and that after the war between the nations the German war with British trade will be resumed, is the burden of this address. Sir William Ramsay delivered it in Manchester on Jan. 22, 1915, before representatives of British associations of employers and of leading industrial concerns in many parts of the United Kingdom, making up the Employers' Parliamentary Association. Sir William is one of the world's great chemists.

I suppose that among my audience some are convinced free traders, while some believe that our commercial interests would be better served by a measure of protection. This is neither the time nor the place, nor have I the knowledge and ability for a discussion of this much-debated question. Nor will I reveal my own private views, except in so far as to say that I agree with the majority. But, as the question cannot be ignored, I should like to say that I hold firmly the conviction that all trade should be carried on for the mutual advantage of the parties engaged. The old fable of AEsop may be quoted, which relates to a quarrel between the different members of the body. Every one of us can be, and should be, helpful to every other, independent of nation, country, and creed. That is, I am sure, what lies on the conscience of each one of us, as an ultimate end to be struggled for, although perhaps by many considered unattainable.

For the same kind of reason, it appears to me that we all think that peace is a blessing, and war a curse. For under peace commerce and industry prosper; science and the arts flourish; friendships are made and adorn the amenities of life. Moreover, our religious traditions in all Christian countries, and in some non-Christian ones like China, influence us to believe that war is wrong, indefensible, and, in the present year of our Lord, an anachronism.

We imagined, perhaps not most, but many of us, that no important European nation thought differently. Your leading Liberal paper, The Manchester Guardian, on July 22, 1908, wrote, "Germany, though the most military of nations, is probably the least warlike"; and this doubtless represented the views of the majority of Englishmen. Some of us knew better. I have, or had, many German friends; we have lived for many years on a footing of mutual kindliness; but it was impossible to disregard the signs of the times. The reason of this war is at bottom, as we have now discovered, the existence of a wholly different ideal in the Germanic mind from that which lies at the base of the Latin, Anglo-Saxon, Dutch, or Scandinavian nations. Such a statement as this is sweeping; it can be illustrated by a trivial tale. In 1912 an international scientific congress met at Berlin; I was a member. Although the conventional language was German, in compliment to our hosts, it turned out that in the long run all discussions were conducted in French. After such a sitting, the members separated, the German committee remaining behind for business purposes. The question of language was raised, I think by a Dutchman, in the corridor. Of the representatives of the fourteen or fifteen nations present, all were agreed on this—that they were not going to be compelled to publish in German; some chose English; some French; Spanish was suggested as a simple and easily understood language; but there was no love lost between the "foreign" and the German representatives, and this not the least on personal, but purely on national grounds. Acknowledging to the full the existence of high-minded German gentlemen, it is a sad fact that the character of the individuals of the nation is not acceptable to individuals of other nations. Listen to a quotation from a letter I have received from a very distinguished Swiss: "Une chose me frappait aussi, dans les tendances allemandes, une incroyable inconscience. Accaparer le bien d'autrui leur paraissait si naturel qu'ils ne comprenaient meme pas que l'on eut quelque desir de se defendre. Le monde entier etait fait pour constituer le champ d'exploitation de l'Allemagne, et celui qui s'opposait a l'accomplissement de cette destinee etait, pour tout allemand, l'objet d'une surprise." [Translation: "One thing has also struck me in German tendencies; that is an unbelievable want of conscience. To grab the belongings of others appeared to them so natural, that they did not understand that one had some wish to defend himself. The whole world was made for the field of German operations, and whoever placed himself in opposition to the accomplishment of this destiny was for every German the object of surprise."] The view is not new; the feeling of surprise at opposition was expressed wittily by a French poet in the words:

Cet animal est tres mechant; Lorsqu'on l'attaque, il se defend.

This animal is full of spite; If you attack him, he will bite.

Well, gentlemen, this war has opened the eyes of some of us, and has confirmed the fears of others. Not one of us wanted to fight. Our hand was forced, so that we could not have abstained without national and personal dishonor.

Now, I do not think it is even yet realized that Germany's methods in trade have been, and are, as far as possible identical, with her methods in war. Let me rub this in. As long ago as 1903, at a meeting of the Society of Chemical Industry, under the Presidency of your fellow-citizen, Mr. Levinstein, I pointed out that under the German State there was a trade council, the object of which was to secure and keep trade for Germany. This council had practical control of duties, bounties, and freights; its members were representative of the different commercial interests of the empire; and they acted, as a rule, without control from the Reichstag. You can read what I said for yourselves, if you think it worth while, in The Journal of the Society of Chemical Industry for 1903.

Let me give you a simple case of the operations of that trade council. Ex uno disce omnes. A certain firm had a fairly profitable monopoly in a chemical product which it had maintained for many years. It was not a patented article, but one for which the firm had discovered a good process of manufacture. About six years ago this firm found that its Liverpool custom was being transferred to German makers. On inquiry, it transpired that the freight on this particular article from Hamburg to Liverpool had been lowered. The firm considered its position, and by introducing economies it found that it could still compete at a profit. A year later German manufacturers lowered the price substantially, so that the English firm could not sell without making a dead loss. It transpired that the lowering of price was due to a heavy export bounty being paid to the German manufacturers by the German State.

It is the bringing of the heavy machinery of State to bear on the minutiae of commerce which makes it impossible to compete with such methods. One article after another is attacked, as opportunity offers; British manufacture is killed; and Germany acquires a monopoly. No trade is safe; its turn may not have come.

Much has been said about British manufacture of dyestuffs, and much nonsense has been written about the lack of young British chemists to help in their manufacture. There is no lack of able inventive young British chemists. Owing to the unfairness of German competition by methods just exemplified, a manufacturer, as a rule, does not care to risk capital in the payment of a number of chemists for making "fine chemicals." He finds "heavy chemicals" simpler. I do not wonder at his decision, though I lament it. There are also other reasons. The duty on methyl alcohol (for which no rebate is given) makes it impossible to introduce economically methyl groups into dyes; the restrictions incident on the use of duty-free alcohol do not commend themselves to manufacturers; these constitute other obstacles in the way of the British color maker. Lastly, our patent regulations are even yet not what they might be, although an attempt has recently been made to improve them. The British manufacturer is thus trebly handicapped.

Besides, the English competitor is at a disadvantage owing to what may be termed systematic and fraudulent attacks, for which no redress has been obtainable. Thus the manufacturers of Sheffield still complain, I suppose justly, that German articles for foreign consumption bear the words "Sheffield steel" stamped upon them. I myself have been approached by a German swindler with the proposition that I should assist his firm in infringing patents; he was surprised and pained to learn that I did not consider his proposal an honorable one.

Nor are methods like these confined to business or manufacture; they have greatly affected British shipping. Our shipping companies, in good faith, have associated themselves with others in "conferences," apparently for the mutual advantage of all, forgetting that behind the German companies lay the powerful mass of the German State. Tramp steamers, and with them cheap freights to the East, have been eliminated. The Royal Commission on Shipping Rings, which met some years ago, referring to the system obtaining in Germany, and fostered by the German Government, on charging through rates on goods from towns in the interior to the port of destination, observed in its report: "Such rates constitute a direct subsidy to the export trade of German manufacturers, and an indirect subsidy to those German lines by whom alone they are available. And as they are only rendered possible by the action of the German Government, it appears to us that the British lines can in no way be held responsible for the preferences which these rates afford to German goods." Now, our Government pays large mail subsidies to many of our shipping companies. Could these not be so utilized that it would become impossible for Germans to capture our trade by indirect state bounties?