Chapter XVI: Introduction: Bravery (10)

Badly wounded in the knee a little later, the sergeant took refuge in a shell-hole. Four German prisoners on their way to the rear were requisitioned as stretcher-bearers and carried him in on an improvised litter.

KNICKERBOCKER WAITER

“It was a trip which was not without incident. Every now and then we would hear the shriek of an approaching ‘coal-box,’ and then my prisoner stretcher-bearers and I would tumble in one indiscriminate heap into the nearest shell-hole. If we did that once, we did it a half-dozen times. After each dive, the four would patiently reorganize and arrange the improvised stretcher again, and we would proceed. Following every tumble, however, I would have to tighten my tourniquets, and despite all I could do the hemorrhage from my wound continued so profuse that I was beginning to feel very dizzy and weak. On the way in I sighted our regimental dressing station and signed to my four bearers to carry me toward it. The station was in an old German dugout. Major Gilday was at the door. He laughed when he saw me with my own special ambulance detail.

“‘Well, what do you want?’ he asked.

“‘Most of all,’ I said, ‘I think I want a drink of rum.’

“He produced it for me instantly.

“‘Now,’ said he, ‘my advice to you is to keep on traveling. You’ve got a fine special detail there to look after you. Make ’em carry you to Poizers. It’s only five miles, and you’ll make it all right. I’ve got this place loaded up full, no stretcher-bearers, no assistants, no adequate supply of bandages and medicines, and a lot of very bad cases. If you want to get out of here in a week, just keep right on going now.’

“As we continued toward the rear we were the targets for a number of humorous remarks from men coming up to go into the fight.

“‘Give my regards to Blighty, you lucky beggar,’ was the most frequent saying.

“‘Bli’ me,’ said one cockney Tommy, ‘there goes one o’ th’ Canadians with an escort from the Kaiser.’

“Another man stopped and asked about my wound.

“‘Good work,’ he said. ‘I’d like to have a nice clean one like that myself.’

“I noticed one of the prisoners grinning at some remark and asked him if he understood English. He hadn’t spoken to me, though he had shown the greatest readiness to help me.

“‘Certainly I understand English,’ he replied. ‘I used to be a waiter at the Knickerbocker Hotel in New York.’ That sounded like a voice from home, and I wanted to hug him. I didn’t. However, I can say for him he must have been a good waiter. He gave me good service.”

MISTRESS “RAZZLE DAZZLE”

A Rampageous, Self-Willed Old Thing Fondly Remembered by Her Non-Commander

Captain David Fallon is a young Irishman, but an old soldier. Before 1914 he had fought against the hillmen in India, and had won the Indian Field Medal. At the opening of the war he was physical instructor and bayonet drill master at the Royal Military College. So expert a teacher was he that the authorities decided to keep him at his post training new officers. Dave Fallon couldn’t “see it” that way. He remonstrated strenuously. There were other men—older men—professional soldiers, he insisted, just as capable of training men as he was. Anyway he couldn’t stay out of the “big fight.” He pointed to his long service record, his Frontier Medal. He would be more valuable at the front. The authorities finally gave in.

Fallon had no wild dreams of glory and distinction. “It is your amateur soldier,” he says, “who is most filled with such aspirations. Not that he hasn’t a right to entertain them, and try to act on them, for they have led many new-made soldiers into great and brave accomplishments. I don’t mean that such dreams are bad for a man. They are distinctly good. I only mean that with regulars soldiering is a cold, hard business and one isn’t given to enhancing it with romantic imaginings.”

Little did Fallon think when he was urging himself on the military authorities for active duty that when the war was over there would be few soldiers with adventures more thrilling and perilous than fell to his lot.

He went through the entire terrible campaign at Gallipoli. He was in numerous fierce trench battles. He served as an aerial observer, and fought enemy planes. On the road to Thiepval he had a shoulder smashed by shrapnel, but he remained in command of his men behind barricades made of the dead bodies around them in “No Man’s Land.” For twenty-two hours they kept the Germans off. Then reinforcements came. On scout duty he frequently penetrated German trenches and gun positions in the night. At last he was detected in the enemy trenches. A bomb duel ensued. He was frightfully injured but managed to escape.

_Photo, by International Film Service_

Sergeant Clyde Graham

In company with an American officer he manned a tank and charged two towns under heavy German fire. The tank scattered a German battery and accumulated seventy prisoners. In peace time he is a college professor.]

These incidents and many others Captain Fallon relates in his book _The Big Fight_ (W. J. Watt & Company). One of his most interesting chapters is devoted to his experience in command of a tank. It was an amazing adventure.

The Captain has fond memories of that good, old tank. “The dear girl was named ‘Razzle Dazzle,’” he says.

“She was very young, having been in service only three months, but rather portly. She weighed something over thirty tons. And in no way could you call the dear little woman pretty. She was a pallid gray and mud splashed when I got her and there was no grace in the bulging curves of her steel shape; or of her conical top; or her ponderous wheels.

“She showed every aspect of being a bad, scrappy, old dearie. The minute I saw her in her lovely ugliness I knew she would like trouble and lots of it. She carried a six hundred horsepower motor. And out of her gray steel hoods protruded eight guns.

SHE GOES INTO ACTION

“The order had come to me about one in the morning, and it was nearly three when we started lumbering out toward the enemy trenches. We had about six hundred yards to cover. I knew little or nothing of her motor power or speed. My concern was with the efficiency of the guns. She pumped and swayed across ‘No Man’s Land’ at about four miles an hour. She groaned and tossed a great deal. And in fact, made such poor progress that my regiment, the Oxfords and Bucks, beat the old dearie to the enemy lines. Our men were among the barbed wire of the first line, fighting it, cutting it, knocking it down before the old ‘Razzle Dazzle’ got into action.

“But she ‘carried on’ just the same. And when she smote the barbed-wire obstacles, she murdered them. She crushed those barriers to what looked like messes of steel spaghetti.

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Sergeant William A. Hartman

_32nd Division, 107th Engineers, Company “F”_

He was a member of a patrol sent out from the battalion post of command August 4, 1918, to reconnoiter the Vesle River front near Fismes for the location of possible sites for pontoon bridges. The patrol separated, but he continued to work alone, starting the construction of the bridges without orders.]

“Instead of sinking into trenches as I feared she would, she crushed them and continued to move forward. Of course, we were letting go everything we had, and from my observation hole, I could see the Germans didn’t like it. They had put up something of a stand against the infantry. But against the tank they were quick to make their farewells. It was a still black night, but under the star-shells we could see them scurrying out of our way.

“This was very sensible of them because we were certainly making a clean sweep of everything in sight and had the earth ahead throwing up chocolate showers of spray as if the ground we rode was an angry sea of mud.

“Every man in the tank was shouting and yelling with the excitement of the thing and we were tossed up against each other like loosened peas in a pod.

“Suddenly out of a very clever camouflage of tree branches and shrubbery a German machine gun emplacement was revealed. The bullets stormed and rattled upon the tank. But they did themselves a bad turn by revealing their whereabouts, for we made straight for the camouflage and went over that battery of machine guns, crunching its concrete foundation as if it were chalk.

“Then we turned about and from our new position put the Germans under an enfilade fire that we kept up until every evidence was at hand that the Oxfords and Bucks and supporting battalions were holding the trenches.

“But this was only preliminary work cut out for the tank to do. I had special instructions and a main objective. This was a sugar refinery. It was a one-storied building of brick and wood with a tiled roof. It had been established as a sugar refinery by the Germans before the war and when this occasion arose blossomed as a fortress with a gun aimed out of every window.

“To allow it to remain standing in hostile hands would mean that the trenches we had won could be constantly battered. Its removal was most desirable. To send infantry against it would have involved huge losses in life. The tank was deemed the right weapon.

“It was.

“And largely because ‘Razzle Dazzle’ took matters into her own hands. The truth is she ran away.

“We rocked and ploughed out of the trenches and went swaying toward the refinery. I ordered the round-top sealed. And we beat the refinery to the attack with our guns. But they had seen us coming and every window facing our way developed a working gun. There were about sixteen such windows. They all blazed at us.

“My notion had been to circle the ‘sugar mill’ with ‘Razzle Dazzle’ and shoot it up from all sides. We were getting frightfully rapped by the enemy fire, but there was apparently nothing heavy enough to split the skin of the wild, old girl. Our own fire was effective. We knocked out all the windows and the red-tiled roof was sagging. As I say, my notion was to circle the ‘mill’ and I gave orders accordingly. But the ‘Razzle Dazzle’s’ chauffeur looked at me in distress.

“‘The steering gear’s off, sir,’ said he.

“‘Stop her then and we’ll let them have it from here,’ I ordered.

“He made several frantic motions with the mechanism and said:

“‘I can’t stop her, either.’

“And the ‘Razzle Dazzle’ carried out her own idea of attack. She banged head-on into the ‘mill.’ She went right through a wide doorway, making splinters of the door; she knocked against concrete pillars, supports and walls, smashing everything in her way and bowled out of the other side just as the roof crashed in and apparently crushed and smothered all the artillery men beneath it.

“On the way through, the big, powerful old girl bucked and rocked and reared until we men and the black cat inside her were thrown again and again into a jumble, the cat scratching us like a devil in her frenzy of fear.

“Closed up in the tank as we were, we could hear the roar and crash of the falling ‘mill,’ and from my observation port-hole I could observe that it was most complete. The place had been reduced to a mere heap. Not a shot came out of it at us.

SHE DEFIES CONTROL

“But still the ‘Razzle Dazzle’ was having her own way. Her motorist was signaling me that he had no control of her. This was cheerful intelligence because right ahead was a huge shell crater. She might slide into it and climb up the other side and out. I hoped so. But she didn’t. She hit the bottom of the pit, tried to push her way up and out, fell back, panted, pushed up again, fell back and then just stuck at the bottom of the well, throbbing and moaning and maybe penitent for her recklessness.

“Penitence wasn’t to do her any good. It wasn’t five minutes later when the Germans had the range of her and began smashing us with big shells. I ordered my men to abandon her and led them in a rush out of the crater and into small shell holes until the storm of fire was past.

“When it was, ‘Razzle Dazzle’ was a wreck. She was cracked, distorted and shapeless. But the runaway engine was still plainly to be heard throbbing. Finally a last big shell sailed into the doughty tank and there was a loud bang and a flare. Her oil reservoir shot up in an enormous blaze.

“‘Razzle Dazzle’ was no more. But she had accounted for the ‘refinery.’ And our infantry had done the rest. The German position was ours.

“I was all enthusiasm for fighting ‘tanks.’ But my superiors squelched it. For when I asked for command of a sister of ‘Razzle Dazzle’ next day, a cold-eyed aide said to me:

“‘One tank, worth ten thousand pounds, is as much as any bally young officer may expect to be given to destroy during his lifetime. Good afternoon.’”

THE PAINTER SOLDIER

Though Exempt by Age the Love Art Deepened Bade Him Fight for France

Elsewhere in this volume is told how an American poet, Alan Seeger, gave his life for France. Here is the story of a French painter who, freely offering his life, gave what was even more precious to him than life. You may know the name Lemordant, and you may know the work signed by that name; if not, what pleasanter introduction to both than some words by Mary Fanton Roberts in the _Touchstone_? She says:

“Perhaps all unconsciously, this heroic French artist-soldier has found the truth about democracy, and he tells it to us with lightning strokes and splendid color. In all of his pictures he is a painter of the simple people: of the workmen, the peasants, the sailors, the fishermen, and women. And he paints them working joyously with strength and exhilaration and interest. He paints them running in the meadows and dancing on the shore and laughing into each other’s faces. He paints them as great workmen, great lovers. They seem, these men and women, in their bright-colored clothes and their vivid faces, as much a part of the essential beauty of life as white clouds racing over the blue sky on a windy day, as the amethyst water through which the women splash bringing in the nets; they are as genuine as the yellow shore where the brilliant fishing-boats lie, as the poppies in the field, and the tulips in the home-gardens.”

WOULD NOT REMAIN BEHIND

He was 37 years old when the war began, an age that entitled him to remain behind in the Home Defense Corps, but he chose to go to the front. Mr. Charles LeGoffic relates, in the _Touchstone_, the war experiences of painter Lemordant, the experiences of a veritable hero, hero exceptional. His first engagement of consequence was at Charleroi, where he was wounded and where he won a lieutenant’s commission.

One night during the battle of the Marne, on the outskirts of the forest of Guebarre, his attention was attracted by some suspicious movements on the right. He crawled out, revolver in hand, followed by four men of his section, to investigate.

© _Brown Bros._

Victor Chapman

Another American who gave his life as a flyer in the Lafayette Escadrille.]

© _Paul Thompson._

Norman Prince

One of the organizers of the Lafayette Escadrille, who was killed in action in France.]

“He was not mistaken; at that spot, between two companies, our line showed a slight opening, a ‘break’ which the Germans were trying to enter. Lemordant sent one of his men to alarm the nearest company, and was making a half-circle toward his own company when a huge Boche ruffian appeared in the darkness and fired at him pointblank. The bullet shaved his cheek; other bullets whistled about. The little troop had been winded, and there was only one way to get out of it, that was to reply by a general fire that would give the impression of an attack in force. The enemy would perhaps be impressed by it, and in any event this volley would put companies out on the alert. In fact, on both sides the firing became general, even the artillery took part in it; a seventy-seven burst near Lemordant, wounded him in his right side and threw him into the air with his full equipment. The wound was not serious, but Lemordant fell in such a way as to dislocate his hip-bones and to tear his muscles. Fainting, he was carried away to a field-hospital, where he remained until the ninth. The enemy was now in full retreat. On the eighth we had crossed Le Petit Morin, on the ninth we lay at Montmirail and at Champaubert, on the battlefields of the Napoleonic epic, and the birth of victory came to the armies of the Republic in the same cradle where the Imperial star had shed its last rays.

“Lemordant refused to be sent to a base hospital. He was not yet strong. He could scarcely walk, the two wooden splints which they had placed over his pelvis came out of position at each sudden movement; but the splendid conscience of a leader of men had awakened in this idealist, this dreamer who but yesterday was so highly prejudiced against the military profession. He knew that in war-time an officer only holds his men by his own example and moral authority.”

AN OFFICER’S OBLIGATION

“‘An officer,’ he said to me, ‘literally must give all his existence, all his life-blood to his country; he must not spare a drop; less than any other is he allowed to invoke the relief of the “slightly wounded,” which permits him to go to some luxurious hospital in the Côte d’Azur and there appeal to the tender hearts of the Sisters of Charity. Wounded, sick, limping, he must be able to say to his soldiers who are complaining, “But do I not march, too?” Then they will follow him.’

“On the morning of October 4, 1914, the 41st attacked near Monchy-le-Preux.... All went well at first. From time to time, whenever the ground was uneven, they rushed forward; a few unlucky ones are dropped out on the way. With the rest, Lemordant, although himself wounded in the hand, reached the enemy trench and carried it.

“A second bullet at this moment grazes his right temple; a third, a little while after, wounds him on the top of his skull. It is now broad day, but it is northern weather, gray, cheerless, dark, uncertain. In the four great stages of his military life this painter soldier knew different climates; he has run the tone-scale from the burning blue of Charleroi to the bottomless night of Craonnelle, with the clear starlit heaven of the Marne between.

“Is it of that he thinks, if it be that, in such a moment, he can think of anything except the safety of his men?

“Confused movement on the plain—on his right frantic silhouettes which stand bolt upright, whirl about, collapse; another section of his company engaged on the same side is caught on the flank by machine guns set up in a sort of blockhouse behind a mound, in front of a pile of ruined huts. Without hesitating, with the firmness of decision which never abandons him in the most critical circumstances, Lemordant gets his men together, rallies the fugitives, and throws himself on the blockhouse—the battery of machine guns is put out of action. But Lemordant, climbing the slope, receives a bullet pointblank which goes through his right knee.

“It is his fourth wound of the day, and his men wish to carry him off; he refuses, feeling that his presence is more necessary than ever. In spite of the pain he merely had his leg set in splints, then, fortifying the positions on the side toward the enemy, he sends a runner to Major Bernard to keep him in touch with his advance and to call for supports. The man is killed on the way. Another meets the same fate, and in the interim the German counter-attack breaks loose.

“It is launched by a whole company, and it is terrifying to see this gray wave rolling over the plain, rising, sinking, rising again, and growing at each rush which brings it nearer the mound. Lemordant, by rigid demand, compels his men not to fire, to control their nerves. The charge gets within twenty meters of the mound, where it gathers itself up to come over in a single mass with the cry ‘_Vorwärts!_’

“‘... Rapid fire—fire at will!’ roars Lemordant.

“The charge vacillates, stops. Our men leap out of the trench to charge in turn. Lemordant, though wounded in the hand, in the forehead, on the head, and in the knee, charges with them, supported by a young soldier of his section. Chance brings him face to face with the _Oberst-leutnant_, who commands the counter-attack and whom he seizes by the throat; just then a fifth bullet strikes him over the right eye, breaking the frontal bone. It seems to him that his head has burst and that his eyes have spurted out into space. He falls heavily. It is all over!”

WHY THE NIGHT SO LONG

“How was he finally saved? He does not know yet. Wounded within the enemy’s lines, left for dead, he lay there four full days without care and for forty-eight hours he was unconscious. When he came to himself it was difficult to collect his thoughts. He did not know where he was. Around him was total darkness, and it did not pass away. He heard the groans, the death-rattle of the dying, the voices of the wounded who called to him. He dragged himself in their direction and asked them questions. Why did the night last so long? They answered that it was broad daylight—and he understood.

“‘... I had thought of everything,’ he said to me. ‘Of death, of the most horrible wounds, but not of that!

“‘... But as long as that too was necessary!’

“Yet his martyrdom was not finished, and the worst of all perhaps remains. How shall I tell of that fearful suffering in wretched lazarettos, in the dung-heaps where the Germans laid our wounded in the villages behind the front! Most of them stayed there forever. He, with greater vitality, was carried to Cambrai, and from there stage by stage was transported to a hospital in Bavaria.

“Melancholy journey! If he saw nothing, at least in the railway-stations he heard the yells of the mobs which crowded on the passage of the French wounded to gloat over their sufferings. Eventually his condition improved a little; his eyes, one pushed out of its socket, the other driven back in his head by the breaking of his frontal bone, had been put back in place; he began to see, he could even draw a few lines and make out large characters. But the idea of escape mastered him; two unsuccessful efforts had sent him to the guardhouse; on the third he was ordered to a reprisal camp; his departure was fixed for the next day. Calm and serene as ever, he wished before going to finish the series of addresses on the history of painting which he had undertaken for his fellow prisoners. In the course of the conference Lemordant wished to run over his notes; he could no longer make them out! A halo danced in front of him, obscuring everything! He had such a sense of anguish that he had to stop. But by a concentration of the will he mastered himself and improvised the rest of his address in a voice in which there was only the slightest trembling. At the end of the address the battalion chief leaped to the platform and took Lemordant in his arms.”

FOR THE LAST LOOK

“‘... What has happened to you?’ Then when he learned: ‘Ah, my poor friend, surely in your condition they can not send you to a reprisal camp; courage, you shall go to France!’

“The commander of the guardhouse himself, feeling a sense of pity when he learned what had happened, offered to telephone to the camp commander and ask for a cancellation of the order. Lemordant refused; he wished to owe nothing to the destroyers of his country. He started for the reprisal camp. But there his blindness classified him almost immediately among the severely wounded who were listed for exchange. Switzerland received him for a time. At last arrived the moment when he could cross the French frontier.

“He had waited for that moment with a sort of religious ecstasy. Blind, wounded in the back and side, with a broken knee, and a high fever, he hoped for a miracle, but expected one only from himself, from the power of his own will. He had asked the Red Cross nurses who had charge of him to tell him the moment when the train crossed the frontier. He would see it—see at least something belonging to it, no matter what—a hedge, a length of rail, a pebble, a tuft of grass. They did what he asked, took him to the door of the compartment, and there he exerted all his strength, all his will-power. It was not to be!

“The frontier was left behind; he fell back fainting—totally blind!”

EDITH CAVELL—MARTYR-HEROINE

The English Nurse Whose Tragic Heroism and Secret Execution Made Germany’s Defeat More Certain

The penitence of generations cannot suffice to erase from the world’s judgment of German character the black stigma of the infamies perpetrated in Belgium. The implacable, brutal wantonness with which they were committed makes those crimes unforgettable. Ever conspicuous among them will be the conscienceless execution of Edith Cavell, the ministering angel, the merciful nurse murdered by military order,—with the subsequent deliberate approval of Imperial Germany. A military technicality was invoked in the attempted justification of the execution of this brave and devoted woman, who was secretly tried, by a German court-martial, on the charge of having aided English, French and German soldiers to escape from Belgium, and hurriedly done to death. The savagery of the event, which occurred in Brussels, Oct. 12, 1915, sent a wave of horror and resentment throughout the civilized world equaled only by the universal indignation aroused by the sinking of the _Lusitania_.

Miss Cavell was the daughter of an English clergyman, the Rev. Frederick Cavell, for forty years vicar of Swardeston, Norfolk. In 1896 she entered the London Hospital to qualify as a trained nurse and later became staff nurse. In 1900 she went to Brussels on the invitation of Dr. Depage, a distinguished physician who had established in a suburb of Brussels a training school for Belgian nurses. Miss Cavell entered into the work so enthusiastically and furthered the plans of Dr. Depage with such success that the institution, whose influence was felt throughout Belgium, became the center of a large nursing organization of scientifically trained nurses. She had won the confidence of Dr. Depage so entirely that when, on the outbreak of the war, he was called to military service, she was left to continue the work in Brussels. All who came in contact with her agree that she was a woman of fine character and a capable leader, worthy of a high place in the list of great nurses of whom Florence Nightingale was the first.

When the Germans occupied Brussels in 1914 Miss Cavell was permitted to remain in the service to which she was so single-heartedly devoted, and it is a memorable fact, the more honorable to her for the ingratitude that rewarded her benevolent disinterestedness, that she and her assistants nursed with equal care and fidelity the wounded German soldiers and the Belgian victims of war. Her mission was one of beneficence to the maimed, the sick and the unfortunate, a humanitarian work that discriminated against none whose needs demanded her sympathy and aid.

HER DUTY TO HER COUNTRY

In the retreat of the French and British armies in late summer of 1914 a number of English and French soldiers cut off from their companies hid themselves in the woods, in trenches and in deserted houses, hoping to escape capture. Many were caught, and some of them were summarily shot. Others were sheltered and protected by farmers who provided them with civilian clothes and gave them employment until they could find means of escape into Holland. Similarly Belgian soldiers were given the chance to evade the Germans; but those who were captured were, in many instances if not usually, shot. It was because of this severity in the treatment of captured men that Miss Cavell the more readily yielded to her natural inclinations to aid the unfortunate who sought her help. That was her statement to the military court before which she was arraigned. She was asked why she had helped English soldiers to escape; she replied firmly that it was because she believed that if she had not done so the Germans would have shot them and that she thought she only did her duty to her country in trying to save men’s lives. Her prominence and her fame as nurse and comforter to the wounded attracted the soldiers to her as a sympathetic woman disposed to help, and it is not denied that she did help many. The Germans charged that she had assisted one hundred and thirty to get out of Belgium.

MISS CAVELL A PRISONER

Suspicion having been directed against her,—how is not clearly known—she was subjected to espionage and in consequence she was arrested August 15, 1915, and thrown into prison at St. Giles. This did not cause her any apprehension as she anticipated no more than a short imprisonment. She did not imagine, in fact, no one dreamed that the German authorities would with premeditation shoot a woman for pitying and showing mercy to the helpless.

Mr. Brand Whitlock, the American Minister to Belgium, who at that time represented (and until the United States entered the war continued to represent) British interests in Belgium, felt an intense sympathy with Miss Cavell and at once took up the matter of securing for her a fair and proper trial. He wrote a letter to Baron von der Lancken, the German Civil Governor of Belgium, stating that he had been urged by telegraph to take charge of the defense and requested that Mr. de Leval, councilor for the American Embassy, be allowed to see and confer with Miss Cavell. This letter was not answered. Mr. Whitlock again wrote more urgently. None too promptly the German Civil Governor finally made reply, refusing to permit anyone to see Miss Cavell as the Department of the Governor General “as a matter of principle does not allow an accused person to have any interviews whatever,” stating also that Miss Cavell had confessed her guilt and that her defense would be conducted by Mr. Braun.

THE GERMAN WAY

For some reason not ascertained, Braun could not undertake the defense, and it was turned over to Mr. Kirschen, a Rumanian, practising law in Brussels. Mr. de Leval thereupon wrote to Mr. Kirschen, as he stated in his narrative later:

“I put myself in communication with Mr. Kirschen, who told me that Miss Cavell was prosecuted for having helped soldiers to cross the frontier. I asked him whether he had seen Miss Cavell and whether she had made any statement to him, and to my surprise found that the lawyers defending prisoners before the German Military Court were not allowed to see their clients before the trial, and were not shown any document of the prosecution. This, Mr. Kirschen said, was in accordance with the German military rules. He added that the hearing of the trial of such cases was carried out very carefully, and that in his opinion, although it was not possible to see the client before the trial, in fact the trial itself developed so carefully and so slowly, that it was generally possible to have a fair knowledge of all the facts and to present a good defense for the prisoner. This would especially be the case for Miss Cavell, because the trial would be rather long, as she was prosecuted with thirty-four other prisoners.

“I informed Mr. Kirschen of my intention to be present at the trial so as to watch the case. He immediately dissuaded me from taking such attitude, which he said would cause a great prejudice to the prisoner, because the German judges would resent it and feel it almost as an affront if I was appearing to exercise a kind of supervision on the trial. He thought that if the Germans would admit my presence, which was very doubtful, it would in any case cause prejudice to Miss Cavell.

“Mr. Kirschen assured me over and over again that the Military Court of Brussels was always perfectly fair, and that there was not the slightest danger of any miscarriage of justice. He promised that he would keep me posted on all the developments which the case would take and would report to me the exact charges that were brought against Miss Cavell and the facts concerning her that would be disclosed at the trial, so as to allow me to judge by myself about the merits of the case. He insisted that, of course, he would do all that was humanly possible to defend Miss Cavell to the best of his ability.”

The trial began Thursday, Oct. 7. Some opinion of the value of Mr. Kirschen’s assurance made “over and over again that the military court of Brussels was always perfectly fair,” etc., may be formed from the facts that Miss Cavell was not allowed to have a defender of her friends’ choosing, that she had no record of the evidence, oral or documentary, to study in preparation for her defense, that she was kept in solitary confinement for over nine weeks without opportunity to consult even with her legal advisers, during which time she was subjected to repeated cross examinations, and statements said to have been made by her confessing guilt were transmitted by the German authorities to the lawyer who subsequently was to defend her.

The trial was conducted in German, a language she did not understand and which had to be interpreted to her. As a commentator said, “It obviously was impossible to place any adequate scheme of defense with a lawyer whom she saw for the first time when the trial began, a lawyer who had had no opportunity of studying the documents of the prosecution. That Mr. Kirschen did the best he could under the conditions is possible, though his subsequent conduct did not give assurance of the devotion and profound interest to be expected of a conscientious lawyer charged with an obligation that appealed at once to his humanity and his chivalry.”

SENTENCED TO DEATH

The fullest account of the trial was that given in M. de Leval’s report to Mr. Whitlock. It was as follows:

“Miss Cavell was prosecuted for having helped English and French soldiers, as well as Belgian young men, to cross the frontier and to go over to England. She had admitted by signing a statement before the day of the trial, and by public acknowledgment in Court, in the presence of all the other prisoners and the lawyers, that she was guilty of the charges brought against her, and she had acknowledged not only that she had helped these soldiers to cross the frontier, but also that some of them had thanked her in writing when arriving in England. This last admission made her case so much the more serious, because if it only had been proved against her that she had helped the soldiers to traverse the Dutch frontier, and no proof was produced that these soldiers had reached a country at war with Germany, she could only have been sentenced for an attempt to commit the ‘crime’ and not for the ‘crime’ being duly accomplished. As the case stood the sentence fixed by the German military law was a sentence of death.

“Paragraph 58 of the German Military Code says:

“‘Will be sentenced to death for treason any person who, with the intention of helping the hostile Power, or of causing harm to the German or allied troops, is guilty of one of the crimes of paragraph 90 of the German Penal Code.’

“The case referred to in above said paragraph 90 consists in—

“... conducting soldiers to the enemy....’

“The penalties above set forth apply, according to paragraph 160 of the German Code, in case of war, to foreigners as well as to Germans.

“In her oral statement before the Court Miss Cavell disclosed almost all the facts of the whole prosecution. She was questioned in German, an interpreter translating all the questions in French, with which language Miss Cavell was well acquainted. She spoke without trembling and showed a clear mind. Often she added some greater precision to her previous depositions.

“When she was asked why she helped these soldiers to go to England, she replied that she thought that if she had not done so they would have been shot by the Germans, and that therefore she thought she only did her duty to her country in saving their lives.

“The Military Public Prosecutor said that argument might be good for English soldiers, but did not apply to Belgian young men whom she induced to cross the frontier, and who would have been perfectly free to remain in the country without danger to their lives.

“Mr. Kirschen made a very good plea for Miss Cavell, using all arguments that could be brought in her favor before the Court.

“The Military Public Prosecutor, however, asked the Court to pass a death sentence on Miss Cavell and eight other prisoners among the thirty-five. The Court did not seem to agree, and the judgment was postponed.”

WHITLOCK ATTEMPTS TO SAVE HER

The duplicity of the German authorities was later demonstrated. The political departments of the Governor-General of Belgium had given the American Legation positive assurance that it would be fully informed of developments in the case. As late as 6.30 o’clock on Monday evening, three days after the trial, the Legation was positively informed by Conrad, of the political department, in answer to direct inquiries, that sentence had not been pronounced. Conrad renewed his previous assurances that he would not fail to inform the American officials as soon as there was any news. _At this time sentence of death already had been pronounced._

© _Underwood & Underwood._

Mr. Brand Whitlock,

American Ambassador to Belgium during the war.]

At 8 o’clock that evening M. de Leval learned through private but reliable sources that Miss Cavell had been sentenced to death at 5 o’clock that afternoon, and that she would be shot at 2 o’clock the next morning. Thus the fact of her sentence was kept as secret as possible, the officials denying it, and her accusers were evidently so fearful that even at the eleventh hour a plea for mercy might prevail that they had her shot, in the night, within nine hours of her conviction.

When, at 8 o’clock, M. de Leval was informed of the sentence and impending execution, there remained but six hours in which to attempt to save Miss Cavell’s life. He hurried to Mr. Whitlock, who was ill, unable to leave the house, but who wrote an impassioned note to Baron von der Lancken, the Civil Governor:

My dear Baron:—I am too ill to present my request to you in person, but I appeal to the generosity of your heart to support it and save this unfortunate woman from death. Have pity on her.

Yours sincerely,
BRAND WHITLOCK.

THE LAST PLEA FAILS

With this letter and a plea for clemency addressed to the Governor-General, M. de Leval and Mr. Hugh Gibson, First Secretary of the Legation, went to the Marquis de Villalobar, the Spanish Minister, to beg his coöperation. He most heartily joined them and the three went to the house of the Civil Governor. Mr. Gibson reported the interview and its negative results to the American Minister:

“Baron von der Lancken and all the members of his staff were absent for the evening. We sent a messenger to ask that he return at once to see us in regard to a matter of utmost urgency. A little after 10 o’clock he arrived, followed shortly after by Count Harrach and Herr von Falkenhausen, members of his staff. The circumstances of the case were explained to him and your note presented, and he read it aloud in our presence. He expressed disbelief in the report that sentence had actually been passed, and manifested some surprise that we should give credence to any report not emanating from official sources. He was quite insistent on knowing the exact source of our information, but this I did not feel at liberty to communicate to him. Baron von der Lancken stated that it was quite improbable that sentence had been pronounced, that even if so, it would not be executed within so short a time, and that in any event it would be quite impossible to take any action before morning. It was, of course, pointed out to him that if the facts were as we believed them to be, action would be useless unless taken at once. We urged him to ascertain the facts immediately, and this, after some hesitancy, he agreed to do.

“He telephoned to the presiding judge of the court-martial and returned in a short time to say that the facts were as we had represented them, and that it was intended to carry out the sentence before morning. We then presented, as earnestly as possible, your plea for delay. So far as I am able to judge, we neglected to present no phase of the matter which might have had any effect, emphasizing the horror of executing a woman, no matter what her offense, pointing out that the death sentence had heretofore been imposed only for actual cases of espionage and that Miss Cavell was not even accused by the German authorities of anything so serious. I further called attention to the failure to comply with Mr. Conrad’s promise to inform the Legation of the sentence. I urged that inasmuch as the offences charged against Miss Cavell were long since accomplished, and that as she had been for some weeks in prison, a delay in carrying out the sentence could entail no danger to the German cause. I even went so far as to point out the fearful effect of a summary execution of this sort upon public opinion, both here and abroad, and, although I had no authority for doing so, called attention to the possibility that it might bring about reprisals.

THERE COULD BE NO APPEAL

“The Spanish Minister forcibly supported all our representations and made an earnest plea for clemency.

“Baron von der Lancken stated that the Military Governor was the supreme authority (‘Gerichtsherr’) in matters of this sort; that appeal from his decision could be carried only to the Emperor, the Governor-General having no authority to intervene in such cases. He added that under the provisions of German martial law the Military Governor had discretionary power to accept or to refuse acceptance of an appeal for clemency. After some discussion he agreed to call the Military Governor on the telephone and learn whether he had already ratified the sentence, and whether there was any chance for clemency. He returned in about half an hour, and stated that he had been to confer personally with the Military Governor, who said that he had acted in the case of Miss Cavell only after mature deliberation; that the circumstances in her case were of such a character that he considered the infliction of the death penalty imperative; and that in view of the circumstances of this case he must decline to accept your plea for clemency or any representation in regard to the matter.

“Even after Baron von der Lancken’s very positive and definite statement that there was no hope, and that under the circumstances ‘even the Emperor himself could not intervene,’ we continued to appeal to every sentiment to secure delay, and the Spanish Minister even led Baron von der Lancken aside in order to say very forcibly a number of things which he would have felt hesitancy in saying in the presence of the younger officers and of M. de Leval, a Belgian subject.

“His Excellency talked very earnestly with Baron von der Lancken for about a quarter of an hour. During this time M. de Leval and I presented to the younger officers every argument we could think of. I reminded them of our untiring efforts on behalf of German subjects at the outbreak of war and during the siege of Antwerp. I pointed out that, while our services had been rendered gladly and without any thought of future favors, they should certainly entitle you to some consideration for the only request of this sort you had made since the beginning of the war. Unfortunately, our efforts were unavailing. We persevered until it was only too clear that there was no hope of securing any consideration for the case.”

© _Underwood & Underwood._

The Final Tribute to Edith Cavell

The funeral procession entering Westminster Abbey before being taken to the Cathedral in Norwich for interment.]

EDITH CAVELL’S LAST HOURS

M. de Leval had made application on Sunday evening that he and the British chaplain, the Rev. H. Sterling Gahan, might be permitted to see Miss Cavell in jail. This was at first refused, but on Monday evening, after the sentence of death had been passed, Mr. Gahan was allowed to visit her. Mr. Gahan subsequently wrote a simple and moving statement of what took place:

“To my astonishment and relief I found my friend perfectly calm and resigned. But this could not lessen the tenderness and intensity of feeling on either part during that last interview of almost an hour.

“Her first words to me were upon a matter concerning herself personally, but the solemn asseveration which accompanied them was made expressly in the light of God and eternity. She then added that she wished all her friends to know that she willingly gave her life for her country, and said: ‘I have no fear nor shrinking; I have seen death so often that it is not strange or fearful to me.’ She further said: ‘I thank God for this ten weeks’ quiet before the end.’ ‘Life has always been hurried and full of difficulty.’ ‘This time of rest has been a great mercy.’ ‘They have all been very kind to me here. But this I would say, standing as I do in view of God and eternity, I realize that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone.’

“We partook of the Holy Communion together, and she received the Gospel message of consolation with all her heart. At the close of the little service I began to repeat the words ‘Abide with me,’ and she joined softly in the end.

“We sat quietly talking until it was time for me to go. She gave me parting messages for relations and friends. She spoke of her soul’s needs at the moment and she received the assurance of God’s Word as only the Christian can do.

“Then I said ‘Good-bye,’ and she smiled and said, ‘We shall meet again.’

“The German military chaplain was with her at the end and afterwards gave her Christian burial.

“He told me: ‘She was brave and bright to the last. She professed her Christian faith and that she was glad to die for her country.’ ‘She died like a heroine.’”

VON BISSING’S DEFENSE

It is not surprising that the secrecy, the precipitate haste and the early morning hour of the execution gave rise to many sensational reports, among others that Miss Cavell fainted on the way, and was shot to death by the commanding officer as she lay unconscious. But it seems to be certain that the execution was carried out in the usual military way and without any aggravating incident. It was, however, quite in keeping with the brutal and conscienceless procedure throughout that the place of burial was kept secret, so that none of the friends of the martyred nurse could pay even the tribute of a tear at her grave. One needs but to look at the photographed face of von Bissing, the German Governor-General of Belgium responsible for the vindictive killing of Miss Cavell, to see the outward signs of a despicable soul. The only charitable thought with which one can review his acts is that his mind was already diseased and corrupted by the illness that not long after sent him to the final accounting for his Belgian infamies which—with the exception of Germany—roused the whole world to execration.

It is worthy of note in this connection that in a talk with Mr. Karl Kitchen, a writer for the New York _World_, Von Bissing expressed great astonishment that an American newspaper man thought it worth while paying a visit to Brussels over “such an affair.” He was unable to understand “why the world is interested in the case. When thousands of innocent people have died in the war, why should anyone become hysterical over the death of one guilty woman?” And he admitted in the talk that the authorities had hurried on the execution not because Miss Cavell had helped fugitives to escape, but because they wanted to make her an example to awe the Belgians. He said:

“A few years in prison is not sufficient punishment for an offense of this kind. For punishment in a case of this nature is meted out to deter others from committing the same offense. If the Cavell woman had been sent to prison she would have been released in two or three years—at the end of the war. Amnesty is usually granted to all prisoners convicted of offenses of this nature, espionage, and so forth, when peace is made.

“The Cavell woman was not charged with espionage. The charge of aiding the enemy’s soldiers to escape which was made against her was sufficiently serious. Her death was deplorable—but I do not see why it should occasion such hysteria in America.”

That was von Bissing’s self-justification. Baron von der Lancken’s plea was more _naïve_. As the execution was purely a military affair, he, the Civil Governor, did not interfere. “It would have been a breach of etiquette if he had done so!” It counted nothing with these official exponents of Kultur that Miss Cavell had been the compassionate and skillful nurse of numbers of wounded German soldiers in the Brussels hospitals. That offered them no reason for treating her with leniency.

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

1st Lieut. George W. Puryear

The first American officer to escape from a German prison. While making his escape he was shot at six times, but by running directly at the guard who was shooting at him, and thus confusing his aim, he avoided being hit. He was captured July 26, 1918, and reached Switzerland, after swimming the Rhine.]

© _Underwood and Underwood._

Memorial in Norwich, England, Dedicated to Edith Cavell]

It was the worse for Germany that etiquette and native savagery put clemency aside in this case. As the London _Times_ declared, “The late Miss Cavell’s death came like a trumpet call to the British nation. It showed once again the real character of the enemy this country is fighting. To the soldiers in Flanders it gave a fresh battle-cry and to civilians at home it served to re-emphasize the need of greater effort and great sacrifice. Before leaping for the trenches for a charge the soldiers shouted: ‘For Miss Cavell.’”

The King and Queen of England wrote to the aged mother of Miss Cavell expressing their sympathy with her and their horror of the deed that took her daughter from her. There was a great memorial service in St. Paul’s, the church itself and the churchyard around it being crowded by every class. The nation was thrilled. The French also made the cause their own. From Allies and neutrals the world over came messages of sympathy and indignation. Nowhere, perhaps, was the emotion deeper than in the United States. The American people were aroused in many ways. Their national dignity was offended, because their representatives had been slighted when attempting to save the Englishwoman. But this resentment counted for little as compared with the genuine wrath at an act of barbarous inhumanity to a woman.