Chapter X: Part 10

We have, however, little time for reading. Our troubles at home give us plenty of occupation. The European population of Cairo is made up mainly of Germans, Italians, Greeks, French, and English. The French, to whose ranks are added Coptic, Armenian, and Levantine _protégés_ and sympathisers, greatly outnumber any of the other nationalities, and, with some noteworthy exceptions, are not very estimable representatives of their nation. To preserve peace and order among these excitable peoples, whose countrymen are all cutting one another’s throats at home, is no light task, and has, despite the precautions taken, occasionally proved too much for all the powers of diplomacy, even when backed by General Baker Pasha’s _gendarmerie_. On the first rumour of war Sir Evelyn Baring and his colleagues, fully appreciating the dangers of the situation, formed themselves, with some leading citizens, into an International Peace Committee, of which the Prime Minister is chairman, and agreed on various measures for the preservation of tranquillity in the community. The first of these measures (and subsequent events have shown its necessity) was the general prohibition to Arabs and Europeans alike, from carrying weapons of any kind (including walking-sticks or umbrellas) in the streets of Cairo or Alexandria. In 1882, between the time (11th June) of the Arab rising and the bombardment (11th July), a like prohibition did good service in Alexandria; but now, despite its rigorous enforcement, there have already been several fierce encounters between the hot-blooded French and Italians. The new French Consul-General, I am forced to say, has given no help to the Peace Committee, and has rather made it his business to frustrate their counsels and mar their plans.

A very clever French journal, _La Dernière Nouvelle_, published since the opening of the war, which daily prints marvellous accounts of British, German, and Italian defeats, is notoriously concocted in its entirety within the four walls of the French Legation. There are, indeed, no Frenchmen in the community outside of these walls capable of producing at once so witty and so scurrilous a sheet, or one so entirely dependent for its news on the imagination of its editors. Their reports are accepted by their own readers. None of the more accurate accounts from other sources are believed. But the arrogance and aggressive attitude of the French colony and Consul-General, the vicious blatherings of _La Dernière Nouvelle_, the nightly chanting by turbulent members of the French community outside Shepheard’s Hotel and the British Legation of ‘Malbrouque s’enfuit du Caire; On ne l’y verra plus,’ and kindred versions of old songs adapted to the requirements of the moment, together with the breaking of some dozens of English and Italian heads in dark byways and noisy taverns, are, after all, but minor matters, and very trivial as compared with the rumours of impending trouble that reach us from the southern frontier. Our news from the Nile outposts is grave.

The Khalifa Abdullah Taashi and the Emir Osman Khalid Zogal, who commands at Dongola, have long been in communication with Cairo. Indeed—since we are at war with France, it may as well be said—for years it has been known in well-informed circles here, that leading members of the French colony were in constant, though, thanks to General Grenfell’s vigilance, irregular, correspondence with the Khalifa’s officers. Thus there is no doubt that the Khalifa has been informed of the withdrawal of the English troops from Egypt, and of their replacement by Indian regiments. He has probably been assured that, owing to the general conflict in Europe, Egypt can in no event hope for further reinforcements from England. His opinion of the fighting value of Indian soldiers is presumably low. The only operations in which Indian troops have taken part in the Soudan were those near Suakim in March 1885 (M^cNeil’s Zareba and the Battle of Hasheen); and Osman Digna, in his written reports to the Mahdi, claimed these engagements as decided victories for the Ansar. The Khalifa, therefore, with some degree of reason, considers the moment opportune for a descent on Egypt in force, and for this descent he is making preparations on a large scale.

Colonel Wodehouse, who is at Wady Halfa, reports the existence at Ginnis of a new Mahdist camp, formed within the past month, which now numbers from six to seven thousand Tokuls. On the west bank, a smaller camp is being formed at Dal. The Arabs daily scout in numbers right up to Sarras and to the fort at Khor Moussa, on which they fire nightly. Saleh Bey, the Sheikh of the Abadeh tribe, whose duty it is to guard the eastern desert between Korosko and the Wells of Murat, has reported that last week, having news of preparations for a forward movement at Abu Hammid, he occupied Murat with a body of 250 men. He was attacked on the night of May 29th by a large force of horse and camel-men, and after a hot engagement, in which he had 57 men killed and lost 108 camels, he was forced to abandon the Wells to the enemy and retreat to the Bab-el-Korosko. The Murat Wells, he says, will not supply a force of 500 men for more than three days, and he, therefore, fears an advance on Ongat and Haimur. A small body of Kababish tribesmen, the remnant of that once powerful clan who, though for some time with the enemy, are still loyal, have reached Halfa from Dongola, where they say great preparations are being made for an advance. Daily small detachments of Jehadieh and considerable bodies of Ansar arrive at Dongola from Omdurman, and large supplies of provisions are being collected. Three nuggars, laden with dhurra, were wrecked, they say, less than a month ago, on the rocks near Barkhal. A good deal of doubt attaches to this statement, but if it be true, it indicates a very early rise of the Nile, for at this season, as a rule, the whole 140 miles of river from Abu Hammid to Barkhal is a veritable maze of rock-strewn passages, impassable by even the smallest boats. These tribesmen travelled by the west bank, and say that from Dongola to Dal, the route was like that to a fair.

The Sirdar starts for the front to-night, and kindly permits me to accompany him. Colonel Kitchener expresses himself thoroughly confident that his own troops are strong enough to cope with any forces the enemy may bring to meet him; but a feeling of uneasiness in some high quarters here, coupled may be with the fact that troops at Halfa and Korosko have lately suffered severely from influenza, has caused some pressure to be brought on him, with the result that it has been decided that the 17th Bengal Native Infantry and the 29th Beloochees are to act under his orders and co-operate with the Egyptian forces if necessary. They were sent by train to Assiout yesterday afternoon, and have already started for Assouan, Mr. Cook having undertaken their transport in flat-bottomed barges, towed by steamers of four feet draught. My next letter will probably be from Wady Halfa.

FIERCE BATTLE NEAR WADY HALFA.

FULL DESCRIPTION OF THE FIGHT.

WADY HALFA, _June 14th_.

The 17th Bengal Regiment reached here last night in four barges towed by steamers, having made the distance in six days—without accidents—and is encamped on the west bank, opposite Halfa. The Beloochees, one of whose towing steamers ran aground near Derr, occasioning seven hours’ delay, will probably be here to-morrow. We are still in uncertainty as to the Arab plan of attack. The state of the river between Sarras and Semneh has prevented the use of the armed pinnace for reconnaissance purposes, and, although the Egyptian Camel Corps has repeatedly pushed forward along the west bank to within a few miles of Dal, their Commander has been able to gain very little insight into the enemy’s movements. It seems likely, however, that the Emir’s attack will be made on the east bank, but against what point between Sarras and Korosko it will be directed, there is as yet no sufficient indication.

Sheikh Mustapha Gibran, who, with 150 men, occupies the Selima Oasis in the western desert some sixty miles inland from Dal, reports that, with the exception of a party of some fifty camp followers who came out to Selima in the beginning of last week apparently to obtain salt, he has been unmolested. On the east bank an attempt was made three days ago, at a reconnaissance into the Batn-el-Hagar, or ‘Belly of Rock,’ which borders the river between Sarras and the wells at Ambigol, forming an almost impassable barrier to troops. The enterprise was near resulting in the annihilation of the reconnoitring party; for the rocks were found to be full of Arabs, who sprang up on every side to the attack. Fortunately their dash was made too early, and Captain Beech was able to retire in good order, but with a loss of four men. We expect, however, that a very few days more will discover the tactics of the Emirs.

WADY HALFA, _June 20th_, 6 A.M.

A decisive engagement was fought yesterday near this place, with the result that after five hours of hard—in some cases of desperate—fighting, during the course of which the issue was at times uncertain, this latest tide of invasion has been rolled back once more into the desert. The Arabs have suffered terrible loss. Our own casualties, of which I have not as yet full particulars, are, I regret to say, very considerable. The Arab attack was intended to be a surprise, but this plan was partially defeated by one of those simple accidents which occasionally upset the calculations of commanding officers.

Leaving aside Assouan and Korosko, the defending forces in and around Wady Halfa numbered, with details, medical staff, bearer companies, etc., about 6500 officers and men. This is without counting the navigating crews of the gunboats (armed with Krupp and machine guns), or the Indian regiment still on its way up the Nile.

Early the day before yesterday, Captain Beech, with a company of the Camel Corps, pushed forward on the west bank to within 200 yards of Dal without touching the enemy. He reported Dal abandoned by the fighting men (who had presumably crossed to the east bank), and occupied only by several thousand women and camp followers, who fled on his approach. The same evening the Colonel commanding at Korosko, telegraphed news of an attack in force on the Irregulars at the Bab-el-Korosko, to whose assistance he had sent the 5th Battalion Egyptian Infantry.

Almost coincident with the receipt of this news was the discovery of a large Arab force in the hills east of Halfa. A small body of Cavalry, under Lieutenant Abd-el-Azrak, scouting at the base of the hills, suddenly perceived two mounted men (on camels) appear on a height, while, at the same moment, a shot was fired. This was probably an accident, but it was evidently regarded as a signal, for immediately, with a great shout, men sprang up everywhere among the rocks. A heavy fire was opened upon the Egyptians, and a body of some hundred Arabs was seen to dash down a small scrub-clad khor towards the plain. Lieutenant Abd-el-Azrak, who, in the first fire, had suffered a loss of two horses killed and one trooper wounded, trotted back to Halfa (he was not pursued), where the noise of firing had already announced his discovery.

SOUDANESE ATTACK UPON A RECONNOITRING PARTY.
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The Sirdar at once made arrangements to meet the impending attack. Deberra was advised of the news by telephone. The 7th Battalion Egyptian Infantry was marched to Dabrosa to reinforce the half-battalion there; Sarras was warned to keep up steam on two engines, and hold the 11th Soudanese in readiness to entrain if required; and, at the same time a pilot engine, accompanied by half a squadron of Cavalry was sent forward to examine the line. The enemy was apparently not ready, and, though he would have had us at a disadvantage, delayed his attack.

All night long we could hear the noggaras beaten in the Arab bivouac, and the air was so still that even the voices of the Fikis and their congregations wailing in prayer were plainly audible.

In the grey of the dawn the Sirdar made a reconnaissance with all mounted troops, and found the base of the first low range of hills immediately opposite Halfa covered for a stretch of over a mile with the enemy, whose irregular lines were sometimes two or three, and sometimes a dozen or more, men deep. Behind them the heights were thickly crowned with _rayas_ (banners), which we estimated at near a hundred in number (we afterwards found they were eighty-seven). This implied that we had a force opposed to us of near 10,000 Jehadieh (regulars), and probably at least half as many Ansar.

One of these _rayas_ was pointed out by a deserter as the green banner of Ali Wad el Helu, while another was said to be that of the Emir of Emirs, Abd el Maula el Taashi himself. On a height near this banner the enemy had mounted a brass gun.

Everything being reported clear on the west bank, where for miles no trace of an Arab force was to be seen, the Bengal regiment was brought across the river at dawn in native boats, and half-an-hour later the 11th Soudanese arrived from Sarras. With the force thus at his disposal, in all some 4000 men, the Sirdar decided to draw the enemy to an attack.

The hills lie about four and a half miles east of Halfa, extending for some distance in a line parallel with the river bank. For about two miles, however, from the slopes, the ground is irregular, much broken, filled with deep pits and sudden ledges which would be as eminently suitable for the enemy’s favourite tactics as it were unfavourable for operations of troops. The Sirdar, from the position he had taken up at the beginning of this broken ground, ordered forward the two guns of the Horse Battery, which opened fire on the enemy’s position at 6.30 A.M. This soon had the desired effect; the Arabs—after endeavouring to reply with their gun, whose fire, owing to the long range and their defective ammunition, was quite ineffective—formed into two columns, preceded by a long straggling line of skirmishers, and advanced rapidly. The guns now retired a thousand yards, and the mounted troops having poured (dismounted) a couple of volleys into the advancing spearmen at 400 yards range, slowly retired, still firing, on the artillery. This manœuvre was twice repeated with every success, the well-directed fire of the guns doing considerable execution in the enemy’s advancing host, while the galling fire of the mounted troops irritated them to forgetfulness of prudence. The fire of the Arab riflemen posted on the first slopes of the hills and scattered in the broken ground at their base did us less damage than it caused the enemy’s advancing lines; but this did not appear to be noticed by the Arab commanders.

When the Horse Artillery had reached a point some 2000 yards from the fort at Halfa, the Sirdar ordered out the 1st Infantry Brigade, consisting of the Indian Regiment, the 12th Soudanese, and the half-battalion 9th Soudanese, together with the 1st and 2d Field Batteries (six guns in all).

The mounted troops were then ordered to make a _détour_ to the north to prevent any portion of the enemy avoiding the battle and advancing towards Deberra. At the same time, the 2d Brigade, consisting of the 11th Soudanese, the 7th Egyptian Infantry, and half-battalion of the 1st Egpytian Infantry, were ordered to advance from Dabrosa to check any movement towards the river in that direction. The guns of Halfa Fort were able to do good service in support of the 1st Brigade. Unfortunately the height of the river banks rendered the gunboats useless until the enemy should reach the Nile itself.

The Arabs were fighting for water. Their long _détour_ round the Batn-el-Hagar must have tried them severely, for though they had probably found some springs in the hills, these would be altogether insufficient for the wants of so large a force. When they saw the disposition of the Sirdar’s troops they did not hesitate for a moment. A force, roughly computed at about six thousand men, of whom some two thousand were riflemen, and the rest spear and swordsmen, dashed forward in a formation something like that of a Zulu impi upon the 1st Brigade, which was at once formed into a square, with the guns about 200 yards to its left rear. The Arabs made three attempts to rush the square; but there was no cover for them in the open plain, and, though in their second charge they succeeded in crushing in for a moment, by sheer weight of numbers, the right front corner, the half-battalion of the 9th Soudanese, which was in reserve, was able to fill the gap and repulse the heavy mass of spearmen. Their signal failure ultimately counselled them prudence. They did not as yet recognise their defeat, but drew off into the broken ground, where they maintained themselves for some time keeping up an incessant galling fire upon our ranks, despite our efforts to dislodge them, and making from time to time dashes in force upon any point in our lines that seemed weak. We had literally to hunt them from cover to cover in this broken ground, and, I fear, suffered severely in the process, as the advantages were with them. At length, however, after three hours’ desperate fighting, they drew off to a position behind the first low range of hills, and the brigade advancing poured volley after volley into their retreating numbers; while the artillery shelled their position, with, as we found afterwards, considerable effect. Meanwhile a second body of Arabs in two divisions had made for the river bank, just north of Dabrosa, at a point where, for a distance of some two miles, palm groves and plantations, some hundred yards deep, fringe the bank. While one division of spearmen hurled itself against the 2d Brigade, which had advanced rapidly to meet it, the other gained the plantation, from whose cover a heavy fire was poured both on the 2d Brigade and on Dabrosa village. This success was, however, only temporary. The gunboat _Abu Klea_ was able to bring its platform machine gun to bear on the plantation with murderous effect; while, when he had repulsed the division attacking him, which he did with great slaughter, Colonel Wodehouse, commanding the 2d Brigade, detached a regiment to rake the plantation from south to north; before whose fire some thousand Arabs, the remnant of those who had gained this cover, were speedily in hot retreat across the plain. These retreating stragglers the mounted troops now steadily drove southward to the hills.

It was 1 P.M. before the day could be said to be ours. By this time the whole plain was strewn with dead and wounded Arabs, many of them in chain armour, many more in the parti-coloured Mahdi uniform, not a few almost naked. When the Sirdar’s forces occupied the first range of hills, we captured no less than thirty-seven standards whose Emirs had presumably perished. All the afternoon deserters came in from the enemy to give themselves up. From some of these men we learned that the force was commanded by Abd-el-Maula himself, and that among the other high commanders were the Emir Ali Wad el Helu, the Emir Khalid Zogal (commandant of Dongola), and Wad Zubehr Rahama, the son of Zubehr, who escaped across the frontier last autumn. Many hundred rifles, swords, spears, and shields still litter the plain, where they are being collected; and in the camp behind the hill were found no fewer than fifty-nine noggaras or war drums.

THE FRANCO-GERMAN CAMPAIGN—RESCUE OF PARIS.

RETREAT OF THE GERMANS.

(_From a Correspondent in Paris._)

PARIS, _June 28_.

The situation is inexplicable. The foe is at the gates. The outposts have been driven in, and it said that two of the forts have been surrendered. All day long a great stream of vehicles, laden with every imaginable article of furniture, and accompanied by crowds of disconsolate citizens, has been pouring into Paris over every available bridge. The Bois de Boulogne is a huge camp, and every tree along the Boulevards serves as shelter to a suburban family. Yet the absence of excitement is extraordinary. There has been a good deal of murmuring at the interference of the Government with the Generals. Divided counsels, it is said, and a refusal to give General de Saussier a free hand, led to the defeats in Belgium. As usual, a mob assembled this morning in front of the Tuileries, crying out for the deposition of the President; and it is reported that a couple of Government clerks were somewhat maltreated. But the demonstration was insignificant, probably the work of German _provocateurs_, and the crowd of roughs and pickpockets dispersed with the utmost rapidity when two squadrons of Gardes Républiques were seen trotting down the Boulevard.

The execution of the seven Anarchist leaders three days ago has had a very salutary effect. I have just had an interview with M. de Freycinet’s private secretary. He has become positively bland at the sound of the German cannon, distinctly heard beyond the river. To my reflections on the gravity of the situation he replied, with a smile and a bow, that although New York and Philadelphia were once occupied by the enemy, yet the American Revolution was _un fait accompli_. As we were speaking the President’s carriage passed at a trot, and I had a good view of the cool-headed citizen who holds the anxious position of First Magistrate of the Republic. He certainly displayed no symptoms of anxiety, and I fancy the crowd that witnessed his progress found something magnetic in his easy smile. Never in the piping times of peace have I heard such plaudits as followed his equipage.

The same air of quiet confidence characterises all the members of the Government whom I have met to-day. Whether it is justified or not, only the future can reveal; but I may say that, notwithstanding the defeat at Machault, the rapid advance of the Germans on the capital, and the occupation of Rheims, the spirit of the French nation is untamed. My military friends own frankly that at Machault they were fairly beaten by superior numbers. The movement into Belgium, they say, was intended merely as a demonstration, and the commander exceeded his orders in fighting a pitched battle against great odds. As to the capture of Rheims, they preserve a discreet silence; and the report of the annihilation of two divisions near Bar-le-Duc is received with an incredulous smile. Even whilst admitting the fact that many wounded men have been abandoned to the care of the enemy, one of General de Saussier’s aides-de-camp shrugged his shoulders, and remarked that they would be none the worse for a short visit to the Rhine. _Nous verrons ce que nous verrons!_

_June 29_, 6 P.M.

The President’s smile seems to have had some reason. The rescue of Paris has been accomplished in as dramatic a fashion as that of Andromeda. General de Negrier is the Perseus. At 2 A.M. the quiet of the summer night was suddenly broken. Above the ceaseless rumble of the carts along the Boulevards were heard the unmistakable sounds of battle, and the eastern horizon was lit up as if by the northern lights. The weird streamers of the electric lanterns in the forts struck quivering through the darkness; and away beyond, the long rattle of musketry rose and fell. Mounting in hot haste, I rode down to the Porte St. Mandé, but could get no further. Very wisely, the road was kept clear for the troops, should they be compelled to retreat, and in any case the long train of ammunition tumbrils and ambulances left but little room for enterprising civilians. The high parapet of the old _enceinte_ was thronged with anxious crowds, a black, silent mass, gazing intently into the darkness out beyond. At one time the roar of battle appeared to be coming nearer. It may have been due perhaps to a change in the wind; but the suppressed exclamations and the sudden impulsive movement showed the pent-up excitement of the people. Then there was a lull; and then the muffled roar was heard again, but distinctly further away, and even as we listened, receding in the distance. It was at this moment that a faint echo of trumpets and rolling drums was borne upon the breeze, followed by the far-off sound of a mighty cry, the long shout of triumph of a victorious onset; and a deep sigh of relief burst from the close-packed thousands on the wall. It was not till day had dawned that a staff-officer was seen galloping towards the Porte St. Mandé from the battlefield; and we learned that the garrison of Paris had inflicted a decisive defeat on their over-confident foe, and that last year’s experiments in offensive operations by night around the capital had borne their full fruit. As I write, ambulance after ambulance full of wounded, and long columns of German prisoners, dirty, footsore, and begrimed with powder, attest the severity of the fighting and the completeness of the victory.

LATER.

I have had the opportunity of speaking to some of the German prisoners. One of them, a gentleman whom I have often met in Washington and Boston, says the troops were exhausted by the hard work of the previous days, and believing the French were thoroughly cowed, were utterly disconcerted by De Negrier’s sudden offensive. He blames the rashness of the leaders in pushing on to Paris with large armies still in the field on either flank of their communications. It appears that before the attack took place news had been received of a great disaster to the covering force of three Corps near Bar-le-Duc, and this was the Medusa’s head which paralysed the German power of resistance. ‘Oh, for one hour of Von Moltke,’ is the universal sentiment amongst the prisoners. Another officer, a Bavarian, was much surprised at the reports of great German successes in the East which have appeared in the English newspapers. He declares that the French movements were merely reconnaissances in force, in two instances pushed too far, and that the Germans suffered very heavily. The number of prisoners taken by the Germans has been very greatly exaggerated; the majority were severely wounded men, and are a great source of trouble to their captors. This officer appears to have little love for the Emperor, scoffs at his ‘divine mission,’ and hints that Bavaria, at least, is very weary of the Prussian hegemony.

4 P.M.

The Germans are in full retreat. The force that last night threatened the capital from the west has been heavily defeated by De Negrier. Paris is itself again. A member of the Government tells me that General de Saussier, acting on De Miribel’s advice, had resolved from the first to allow the rash offensive of the enemy to have free play; believing that the traditions of 1870 and the terrible strain of a double war on their meagre resources would impel them to make a rush on Paris, in the hope of finishing the war at a single blow. The Emperor seems to have expected much from internal dissensions in France. ‘But,’ says the Minister, ‘when the aristocrats condescended to become Republicans, France became once more a nation. In 1870 we had our Federals and Confederates, our Imperialists and our Radicals. To-day, political differences mean as little as in America.’

ADVANCE OF GENERAL DE GALLIFFET.

SIGHTING THE ENEMY.

(_From an American Correspondent with the French Army._)

CHAUMONT, _June 29_, 10 P.M.

At length the embargo placed on all letters since the 30th of May has been removed, and the correspondents are free to telegraph without restriction as to matter or quantity. Since May the 25th, until ten days ago, General de Galliffet’s magnificent army has been quiescent under shelter of the strong camps of Langres, Epinal, and Belfort. Even our cavalry has had little to do beyond sending out numerous officers’ patrols, north, east, and west. The General preferred trusting to a strong screen of infantry outposts; and on their side the Germans, though reported to be very strong in the neighbourhood of Bar-le-Duc, have remained inactive.

It is surprising with what patience the French soldiery endured this weary time of waiting; but the men have supreme confidence in the hero of Sedan, and their intelligence is of a very high order. However, your Frenchman is a restless being, and discipline was put to a severe test when rumour of a German advance on Paris filtered through the camps. But General de Galliffet, by most judicious orders of the day, exposing the errors of the Germans in advancing without first securing their communications, and enlarging on the strength of the fortifications of the capital, appealed to the soldierly intelligence of the army, and not in vain. Still, the fierce desire of the troops to meet their detested enemies had been curbed almost beyond bounds by the 20th of June, and I scarcely think, strong as the General is, that he would have dared to delay movement for another day.

Long before day had broken on the 20th the march began; and for nine days, over the magnificent roads which run through the rich pastoral country west of the Moselle, the long columns moved past in the blazing summer weather, their faces set northward, and their hearts longing for the battle so long deferred. The splendid marching powers of the French Infantry of to-day, as well as the high-training and experience of the Staff, make the movement of 200,000 men and more than 700 guns a matter of child’s play. The marches are long, and the dust stifling; but still order and regularity are the characteristics of the great exodus from the fortresses. The ambulances are empty, and, heavily weighted as they are, the little linesmen in their long blue capotes and wide red trousers swing steadily along, laughing and singing as the sun nears his setting even more cheerily than when the fields on either hand were fresh with the morning dew. Loud are the cheers that greeted the General, active as the youngest subaltern of Hussars in spite of his sixty odd years, as magnificently mounted, he rides slowly past the regiments, with cheery word of greeting and encouragement to his sturdy _fantassins_.

On the morning of yesterday reports came in from the cavalry, riding more than twenty miles to the front, that the Prussians were also advancing; and the same evening came the first presage of the storm: two or three ambulances—full this time—and half-a-dozen captured Uhlans. This sight stilled song and jest: a grim silence fell upon the columns, and an air of fierce determination took the place of the eager excitement which had hitherto lit up those mobile faces. The bivouacs that night were very quiet; the men gathered in little groups round the camp kettles, or sat apart in their shirt-sleeves, assiduously cleaning their rifles.

Late last night, as I was turning into my humble billet, shared by two officers of the Staff, in the Curé’s cottage at Maison d’Or, I received a message from the Major commanding a Chasseur battalion, who had for the past three days been moving forward with the cavalry, that he had obtained permission for me to accompany him on the morrow. It was unlikely, so my friends on the Staff informed me, that the armies would come into collision, and if I joined _les petites vitriers_ I would have an opportunity of seeing something of the cavalry fighting.

Before daybreak, therefore, I found myself in a tiny village consisting of a church and half-a-dozen farm-houses, with substantial granaries and gardens, and a single cabaret, in company with one of those battalions _d’elité_ of the army, the _Chasseurs à pied_, who boast that the cavalry can neither leave them behind nor do without them.

The village stands in the centre of a rolling valley nearly three miles broad, running east and west, with a long ridge to the south and another to the north, dotted with vineyards and potato-patches; but without hedge, or wall, or ditch.

In the tower of the church, where I found a convenient loft and a narrow window, I could see, through the morning mist, little bodies of cavalry well to the front; and behind the village three regiments of Dragoons were standing, dismounted beside their horses. Away to the north one would hear at long intervals a shot or two, and messengers came riding rapidly back to the brigade in rear. One thing struck me as curious; although I was in the midst of the village, scarcely a Chasseur was to be seen; and it was not for some time that I descried blue uniforms lying behind the orchard walls, and now and then a _kepi_ was to be seen at the windows looking on to the single broad street.

BRISK CAVALRY ENGAGEMENT.

As the sunbeams gained more power, I saw that the open slopes of the opposite ridge, more than a mile and a half away, were covered with little groups of horsemen, moving steadily forward, and apparently pressing back our scouts. Even the isolated squadrons to the front began to give back at a walk, when by the corner of a wood on the sky-line, a sudden appearance of dark groups of men and horses, with white electric-looking flashes, betokened the advent of a battery. The explosion of the first shells awakes our cavalry brigade to action. A couple of batteries disengage themselves from the mass of horsemen in rear, and from a knoll to the left of the village our guns are soon replying to the enemy’s challenge. Shrilly the trumpets sound. The dragoons mount, and with jingling scabbards and tossing plumes trot away to where a deep fold in the ground affords them better cover. This movement is not unobserved by the German scouts; I can see them racing back over the hill, and in a few moments, it seems, a dark mass of horsemen appears against the northern horizon, the serried lances standing out clearly against the cloudless sky. Again the shrill blast of the trumpet, and our eighteen hundred dragoons are moving out to meet the foe. With a rush and rattle the rear regiments take ground to either flank, and the long sabres flash from their scabbards. The hussars are retiring rapidly, away to the left of the guns, and the field is left clear for the shock of the opposing masses. My blood tingles with excitement. The sun glints bravely on the brass helmets of the Frenchmen; the dark blue mass a mile away is gathering pace like the mighty breaker of a stormy sea. The lances drop as if by magic, the long line changes its direction, and then wheels inward. I can see the officers turning in their saddles, far in front of their squadrons, signalling with gleaming swords; a hundred seconds will bring them together, when suddenly, to my horror and disappointment, the French slacken speed, and, before I can realise the fact, have turned rein and are riding past the village as if for their lives. Squadrons to the right, squadrons to the left, and a troop or so clattering madly down the ill-paved street. Far above the crash of iron hoofs and the rush of flying squadrons I can hear the hoarse cry of triumph of the foe. Down they come, heads and lances low, racing in pursuit. A last salvo, which sends a score of horses stumbling in their tracks, breaks for a moment the symmetry of that magnificent line, and hurls an officer helpless beneath the thundering hoofs, and our batteries have limbered up and dash frantically, with gunners plying whip and spur, across the plain.

They are lost, they are lost, so fast follows the foe, riding in furious haste to gather the trophies of the fight. A great cloud of dust rises before them, but I can see the faces of the men as the squadrons diverge to pass the village, and note the laughter and the shouts of those fair-haired troopers with the scales upon their shoulders. Suddenly the leader, riding like Scarlett at Balaclava, twenty lengths in front, leans back in his stirrups, checks his charger in his headlong career, and throws his hand high above his head. The trumpeter beside him raises the trumpet to his lips, but ere the notes ring out they are drowned in a loud roar of musketry. I had forgotten the Chasseurs in the orchards; the Germans had never suspected their presence. The surprise is complete; the disaster overwhelming. Magazine after magazine is unloaded, and thousands of bullets find an easy target in the seething, struggling mass, just now advancing so magnificently in all the pride of order and victory. Round the village the scene is indescribable. The slaughter is terrible, and in a few moments the squadrons that had passed unscathed on either side come flying back in the utmost disorder, pursued on one side by dragoons, on the other by hussars. The valley is covered to right and left with a dense crowd of horsemen, galloping in all the excitement of the flight and the pursuit, whilst the German batteries on the bridge pour shell after shell into the surging crowd, regardless whether their mark is friend or foe. I have little time to reflect on the skill with which the trap had been set and baited. My friend the Commandant calls me from my eyrie, and before I had time even to note the trace of the stirring events I had seen passing before me, the Chasseurs are retreating from the village at a pace which puts my Rosinante to the trot. Very soon we hear the jingle of the cavalry in rear. The dragoons are retiring also, and as I look back across the valley I can see the long screen of scouts falling back slowly across the valley, so still and peaceful but an hour agone, and now strewn with the awful _débris_ of the conflict. Such was the first phase of the battle of the 29th of June. ‘_C’est un apéritif_,’ remarks the Commandant.

GREAT VICTORY OF THE FRENCH.

FULL DESCRIPTION OF THE BATTLE.

The curtain is not long in drawing up for the second act, and on our side at least the actors are ready for their cue. From the crest of the ridge which we have now reached a brilliant scene is visible. A broad expanse of verdant pasture stretches away to the placid river which runs between the willows, past the white houses of the little town. Here and there is a patch of woodland, a few stately poplars, and here and there a vineyard. The white high road, with its leafy avenue of spreading trees, now turned into telegraph poles, runs direct to the bridge. On either side, in squares and oblongs, bright with blue and crimson, with flashing bayonet and brazen helmet, rests an enormous army, and still the never-ending columns of men and guns and waggons are forming up for battle for miles away on every side. On the ridge which hides this huge array from the advancing enemy are three batteries, filling the air with uproar, and attracting volley after volley of Prussian shells. One can hear the shrill whizz of the shrapnel, and turning again to the front, we see that on the slopes below us the cavalry skirmishers, kneeling amongst the climbing vines, are in action all along the line. The Chasseurs have scattered along the crest, but there are no other infantry visible. I cannot believe De Galliffet is napping. Above the town rises a great yellow globe, swaying gracefully with every breath of air, and I know that the General has a penchant for observing his enemy from the vantage-point of the balloon. If he is really poised up there, in the bright morning air, he must see those long sombre lines of skirmishers moving slowly across the plain; those heavier masses doubling rapidly over the opposite crest and moving down the slopes. He must know that there are at least six batteries in action against us, and that there are men bleeding to death beneath the tendrils of the vines.

Still not a sign. A couple of Staff officers stand near those three poplars on the hill; one of our batteries falls back, leaving a gun behind. The cavalry begin to creep further up the hill, but not an infantryman moves. The enemy has halted more than 1200 yards away. They are lying in long rows athwart the valley, and the incessant movement of the rifles, even more than the deafening rattle, tell us that they are pouring in a heavy fusillade. Another battery to the rear, and yet another; horses falling wounded in the traces: and then, as if at a given signal, the long German lines press forward. Their heaviest masses are away over yonder on our left, where that thick wood, with scarped, quarried slopes below, terminates the ridge whereon we stand; and over to the right, where a marshy brook, its stunted willows still shrouded in mist, breaks through the ridge to join the river, we can see shadowy columns moving in the far distance.

Another ten minutes, perhaps five, if the Chasseurs give way, and the enemy will overlook the valley, the town, and the bridges—the bridges, the most important of all. But even as apprehension gathers it is dispelled. Turn your back for a moment and look to the south. The earth is in motion. Long lines of guns are dashing forward at a gallop, breasting the gentle slope, and driving the dust behind them in swirling clouds.

Long lines of Infantry are already near the crest, and heavy columns are rapidly moving up in rear. The unsuspecting Germans are little more than a thousand paces distant when all along the brow, bare and solitary just now, two hundred field-pieces come into action almost at the same moment.

In a moment more the air is literally shaken by the rush and scream of a hurtling storm of heavy metal; and, lying down in the intervals between the groups of guns, the infantry sweeps the plain with volley after volley. The cavalry has retired behind the hill; the vineyards are no longer tenanted, and the vine leaves, cut by the sheet of bullets, fly in the air as if blown upwards by the wind.

FRENCH CAVALRY CHARGING THE PRUSSIAN INFANTRY.
]

The Prussians stagger beneath the shock. Lines shake and waver; here give back, and there lie still and motionless; columns, though far away, break and dissolve under the shrapnel, and then deploy in haste and confusion; and, above all, the bright sun shines down without a wreath of smoke to sully his radiance, or to hide his target from the rifleman. Vainly the supporting lines of the Prussians are hurried to the front. Impotently the cavalry ride forward. Their guns are already silenced. The squadrons are checked by an inextricable tangle of falling men and horses. The long line of infantry is no longer intact. Men are hastening to the rear, not singly, but in groups. Officers stand out in front for a moment, and then are seen no more save in shapeless huddled forms on the dewy grass. The volleys of the French became more regular and machine-like every moment. A mounted group reaches the hill. It is the General, his Staff beside him, his _fanion_ at his side. They are too far off to hear, but I can see De Galliffet pointing to the front, and the infantry are already moving forward, swooping down upon their prey. He must be an enemy of more than mortal courage who, decimated and outnumbered, can withstand the swift yet steady onset of these trim, regular lines of blue and red. And look, behind—there, in the interval! A long array of tossing heads and nodding plumes. The Cuirassiers of France! Let the infantry shake them; brave horsemen, your time is coming! ‘_N’oubliez pas Reichshoffen!_’ yells a wounded corporal by my side, and the mighty mass breaks into a trot, and across the plain they dash, the horse artillery racing in their wake, whilst _viva_ after _viva_ speeds their onset. The German cavalry, what is left of it, comes gallantly forward to meet their antagonists, and, if possible, to save their infantry. But it is too late. In a few moments the plain is covered with a broken crowd of soldiers. Groups rallying round their officers are swept away by flying horsemen or serried squadrons; thousands are now struggling for the ridge; in the centre the Cuirassiers are bearing all before them in the frenzy of the charge, and on the flanks the infantry, with rattling volleys, sweep away the _débris_ of the battle as leaves before the gale.

Before the French reached the ridge beyond, long after the cavalry had retired to re-form, it appears that they met fresh masses of infantry hurrying forward to the assistance of their comrades; but the impetus of victory was too great to be withstood. The fresh troops became involved in the disaster of their advanced guard, and long ere mid-day De Galliffet was in secure possession of the second ridge, across which at daybreak I had seen the Germans advance.

About the noontide hour both armies seemed, as it were by consent, to allow a breathing space. It was as if some invisible Marshal of the Lists had thrown down his baton. So here, behind the ridge, whilst the blazing sun passed over the meridian, lay the columns of the French. Over against them, in the rolling and open valley, but out of range, were the faint, blue, wavy lines which marked their enemy’s position.

It was not till after two o’clock that I saw General de Galliffet—who had been standing alone, looking intently towards the enemy and impatiently beating his foot upon the ground—make a gesture of relief, and turning sharp to his orderly dragoon bid him bring up his horse. At the same moment the German infantry began to move. The artillery had been for some time in action. A perfect hail of shells tore up the level surface of the ridge, and our batteries were one by one retiring. Our present line of infantry is several hundred yards behind the hill, down in the valley, cooking their soup undisturbed by the shrapnel, and only a few are called up now to assist the guns against hostile skirmishers. On come the Prussians, but it is soon evident that the main attack is not against our centre. Away to the left there, where General Jamont, the trusted Commander of the 5th Corps d’Armée, holds watch and ward, the sky is red with dust, and the thunder of the guns and the rattle of musketry is threefold heavier than with us. I can see our troops moving in the valley below, from centre to left, linesmen and guns, hurrying to the point of contact. I am on the point of riding in the same direction, when one of M. de Galliffet’s aides-de-camp suggests that I have already a place in the stalls. ‘Down below,’ he says, pointing to the valley, ‘will be played the last agony of Prussia.’

The suspense is terrible. The volleys rise and fall, the roar of the cannon swells and dies way. The minutes drag by on leaden wings. The troops in our front are not advancing, even the Artillery seems lazy this afternoon, and there, even there, where the red dust-clouds hang over a hell of slaughter, the fate of a nation is being decided. It is in vain I endeavour to imitate the imperturbability of the General, our ‘lance of iron,’ as the soldiers have learned to call him. A messenger or two rides up, and is dismissed. There is not a sign on that impassive countenance. Here is another, galloping at speed, grey with dust, and horse foaming with haste. At last! The General straightens himself up. He raises his hand to his _kepi_ with the golden leaves, as if he were saluting a superior. Is it France or Fortune!

The Staff, throwing away their cigarettes, are all animation now. Officers and orderlies gallop recklessly down the hill at break-neck speed. There is a stir amongst those sleeping columns below. Men spring to their arms. I can hear the harsh words of command, and note the tricolours with their golden fringes given to the breeze. The long lines ascend the hill. What has happened? The enemy in front is moving to the attack: we shall hold the second ridge as we held the first. But no, it is more than this. This time, as our guns come into action all along the crest, our infantry do not halt beside them. There is no pause now. Straight down the slopes they go, the shells screaming overhead, and the little groups of tirailleurs halting alternately to deliver their biting volleys. Here, sheltered by a friendly poplar, I can look down upon the scene. ‘What worthy enemies!’ cries a little surgeon who has joined me. ‘What a struggle of heroes!’ And so it was—while life lasts I shall never forget De Galliffet’s charge. Sixty thousand men, line after line, were hurled against the German centre. And how bravely those Germans fought! And now, looking back in cold blood, how needlessly were they butchered! Exactly opposite where I stood, their infantry moved forward with even more than the precision of a parade; in little squads, but shoulder to shoulder, with all the rigidity of a birthday review. I could even see the officers halting and actually correcting the alignment. Needless to say, these living targets were riddled through and through in the very moment of their pedantic folly. In the rear, too, came lines of men, gallantly moving forward to beat of drum, with that extraordinary, high-stepping pace which excites the ridicule of the Transatlantic visitor in Berlin. How the veterans of our Civil War would have scoffed at this slave-driver’s discipline! But even the veterans of the Wilderness and Gettysburg would have admired the bravery of those devoted Teutons. At 400 yards from each other the two lines came to a standstill. Very irregular is the front; here the French are giving back, and here the German officers are driving up their stragglers; all are standing, there is no cover on that open plain; the French volleys have dissolved into fierce individual fire, and the masses sway backwards and forwards in that infernal din. Of a sudden, behind me, sounds the blare of trumpets and the roll of many a score of drums. De Galliffet’s reserve is coming up to decide the conflict, and as the serried lines crowned the ridge, the Germans, battling fiercely in the valley below, began to break. And then, whilst the setting sun, pouring his red rays athwart the opposing hosts and striking radiance from the golden eagles of the tricolours, sank slowly on that awful Aceldama, the French army moved onward to its triumph. Wild and exulting were the shouts that rent the air; far above the roar of battle and the clang of drum and trumpet pealed the maddening cry for vengeance, and like a tornado—with irresistible strength and order—the young soldiers of the Republic swept down to obliterate the sorrow and the shame of 1870. Not for a moment was the issue in doubt. With all the hereditary courage of their caste, the German officers died in their tracks, disdaining to give back a single foot; but the Cuirassiers were once more let loose, the General himself directing their onslaught, and before darkness fell not a single sound man in the German army but was far upon the road to Metz. Our victory is complete; as I write, the cavalry is still pushing the pursuit.

THE GENERAL SITUATION.

THE LIBERATION OF POLAND.

LONDON.

Since the great battles took place which ended in the falling back of the Russian forces, events have followed in that region which have been of the utmost importance, though the mere details from day to day have not been of sufficient interest to chronicle. The Russian army in the field, unable after its severe losses to oppose the far out-numbering forces of its enemies, has adopted its traditional policy. It has retreated into the interior of the country, leaving large garrisons in Warsaw and Ivangorod. Germany has undertaken the siege of Warsaw, Austria that of Ivangorod. The German and Austrian cavalry, which have now asserted their absolute superiority over the Cossacks, have followed up the retreating Russians far enough to completely separate the Russian forces to the south of the great marsh region which stretches out behind the great fortress of Brest-Litewsk from those in the north. A German army is laying siege to Brest-Litewsk. The single line of railway which connects that fortress across the marsh has been utterly destroyed for an immense distance.