Chapter IX: Part 9

My French companion, M. Le Roux, spoke with Pétain. He had just come from Joffre and he told an interesting circumstance. Pétain listened. He said now and then "yes" or "no." Nothing more. Watching him narrowly you saw that occasionally his eyes twitched a little, the single sign of fatigue that the long strain of weeks of responsibility had brought.

It was hard to believe, looking at this quiet, calm, silent man, that you were in the presence of the soldier who had won the Battle of Champagne, the man whom the war had surprised in the last of his fifties, a Colonel, a teacher of war rather than a soldier, a professor like Foch.

No one of Napoleon's marshals had commanded as many men as obeyed this Frenchman, who was as lacking in the distinction of military circumstances as our own Grant. Napoleon had won all his famous victories with far fewer troops than were directed from the telephone on the table yonder.

Every impression of modern war that comes to one actually in touch with it is a destruction of illusion: this thing is a thing of mechanism rather than of brilliance; perhaps Pétain has led a regiment, a brigade, or a division to the charge. You knew instinctively in seeing the man that you would go or come, as he said, but there was neither dash nor fire, nothing of the suggestion of élan; rather there was the suggestion of the commander of a great ocean liner, the man responsible for the lives, this time of hundreds of thousands, not scores, for the safety of France, not of a ship, but the man of machinery and the master of the wisdom of the tides and the weather, not the Ney, or the Murat, not the Napoleon of Arcola. The impression was of a strong man whose life was a life beaten upon by storms; the man on the bridge, to keep to the rather ridiculously inadequate figure, but not by any chance the man on horseback.

VII--"MY TALK WITH THE GREAT FRENCH GENERAL"

My talk, our talk with Pétain was the matter of perhaps five minutes.... Once he had greeted us his face settled into that grim expression that never changed until he smiled his word of good wishes as we left. Yet I have since found that apart from one circumstance which I shall mention in a moment I have remembered those minutes most clearly of all of my Verdun experience. Just as the photograph does not reveal the face of the man, the word does not describe the sense of strength, of responsibility, that he gives.

In a childish sort of way, exactly as one thinks of war as a matter of dash and color and motion, one thinks of the French general as the leader of a cavalry charge or of a forlorn hope of infantry. And the French soldier of this war has not been the man of charge or of dash--not that he has not charged as well as ever in his history, a little more bravely, perhaps, for machine guns are new and something worse than other wars have had. What the French soldier has done has been to stand, to hold, to die not in the onrush but on the spot.

And Pétain in some curious way has fixed in my mind the impression of the new Frenchman, if there be a new one, or perhaps better of the French soldier of to-day, whether he wear the stars of the general or undecorated "horizon" blue of the Poilu. The look that I saw in his eyes, the calm, steady, utterly emotionless looking straight forward, I saw everywhere at the front and at the back of the front. It embodied for me an enduring impression of the spirit and the poise of the French soldier of the latest and most terrible of French struggles. And I confess that, more than all I saw and heard at the front and in Paris, the look of this man convinced me that Verdun would not fall, that France herself would not either weary or weaken.

In Paris, where one may hear anything, there are those that will tell you that Joffre's work is done and that France waits for the man who will complete the tasks; that the strain of the terrible months has wearied the general who won the Battle of the Marne and saved France. They will tell you, perhaps, that Pétain is the man; they will certainly tell you that they hope that the man has been found in Pétain. As to the truth of all this I do not pretend to know.

There was a Kitchener legend in Europe, and I do not think it survives save a little perhaps in corners of England. There was a legend of a man of ice and of iron, a man who made victory out of human material as a man makes a wall of mortar and stone, a man to whom his material was only mortar and stone, even though it were human. This legend has perished so far as Kitchener is concerned, gone with so much that England trusted and believed two years ago, but I find myself thinking now of Pétain as we all thought of Kitchener in his great day.

If I were an officer I should not like to come to the defender of Verdun with the confession of failure. I think I should rather meet the Bavarians in the first-line trenches, but I should like to know that when I was obeying orders I was carrying out a minor detail of something Pétain had planned; I should expect it to happen, the thing that he had arranged, and I should feel that those clear, steel-blue eyes had foreseen all that could occur, foreseen calmly and utterly, whether it entailed the death of one or a thousand men, of ten thousand men if necessary, and had willed that it should happen.

I do not believe Napoleon's Old Guard would have followed Pétain as they followed Ney. I cannot fancy him in the Imperial uniform, and yet, now that war is a thing of machines, of telephones, of indirect fire and destruction from unseen weapons at remote ranges, now that the whole manner and circumstances of conflict have changed, it is but natural that the general should change, too. Patently, Pétain is of the new, not the old, but no less patently he was the master of it.

VIII--TROOPS MARCHING TO THE SOUND OF THE GUNS

We left the little Mairie, entered our machines and slid out swiftly for the last miles, climbed and curved over the final hill and suddenly looked down on a deep, trenchlike valley marching from east to west and carrying the Paris-Verdun-Metz railroad, no longer available for traffic. And as we coasted down the hill we heard the guns ... not steadily, but only from time to time, a distant boom, a faint billowing up of musketry fire. Some three or four miles straight ahead there were the lines of fire, beyond the brown hills that flanked the valley.

At the bottom of the valley we turned east, moved on for a mile and stopped abruptly. The guns were sounding more clearly, and suddenly there was a sense not of soldiers, but of an army. On one side of the road a column was coming toward us, a column of men who were leaving the trenches for a rest, the men who for the recent days had held the first line. Wearily but steadily they streamed by; the mud of the trenches covered their tunics; here and there a man had lost his steel helmet and wore a handkerchief about his head, probably to conceal a slight wound that but for the helmet had killed him.

These men were smiling as they marched; they carried their full equipment and it rattled and tinkled; they carried their guns at all angles, they wore their uniforms in the strangest of disorders; they seemed almost like miners coming from the depths of the earth rather than soldiers returning from a decisive battle, from the hell of modern shell fire.

But it was the line on the other side of the road that held the eye. Here were the troops that were going toward the fire, toward the trenches, that were marching to the sound of the guns, and as one saw them the artillery rumble took on a new distinctness.

Involuntarily I searched the faces of these men as they passed. They were hardly ten feet from me. Platoon after platoon, company after company, whole regiments in columns of fours. And seeing the faces brought an instant shock; they all ... were in the thirties, not the twenties; men still in the prime of strength, of health, but the fathers of families, the men of full manhood.

Almost in a flash the fact came home. This was what all the graves along the road had meant. This was what the battlefields and the glories of the twenty months had spelled--France had sent her youth and it was spent; she was sending her manhood now.

In the line no man smiled and no man straggled; the ranks were closed up and there were neither commands nor any visible sign of authority. These men who were marching to the sound of the guns had been there before. They knew precisely what it meant. Yet you could not but feel that as they went a little wearily, sadly, they marched willingly. They would not have it otherwise. Their faces were the faces of men who had taken the full measure of their own fate.

IX--"THEY HAD WILLED TO DIE FOR FRANCE"

You had a sense of the loathing, the horror, above all the sadness that was in their hearts that this thing, this war, this destruction had to be. They had come here through all the waste of ruined villages and shell-torn hillsides; all the men that you saw would not measure the cost of a single hour of trench fighting if the real attack began. This these men knew, and the message of the artillery fire, which was only one of unknown terrors for you, was intelligible to the utmost to each of them.

And yet with the weariness there was a certain resignation, a certain patience, a certain sense of comprehending sacrifice that more than all else is France to-day, the true France. This, and not the empty forts, not even the busy guns, was the wall that defended France, this line of men. If it broke there would come thundering down again out of the north all the tornado of destruction that had turned Northeastern France into a waste place and wrecked so much of the world's store of the beautiful and the inspiring.

Somehow you felt that this was in the minds of all these men. They had willed to die that France might live. They were going to a death that sounded ever more clearly as they marched. This death had eaten up all that was young, most of what was young at the least, of France; it might yet consume France, and so these men marched to the sound of the guns.... Instinctively I thought of what Kipling had said to me in London:

"Somewhere over there," he had said, "the thing will suddenly grip your throat and your heart; it will take hold of you as nothing in your life has ever done or ever will." And I know that I never shall forget those lines of quiet, patient, middle-aged men marching to the sound of the guns, leaving at their backs the countless graves that hold the youth of France, the men who had known the Marne, the Yser, Champagne, who had known death for nearly two years, night and day, almost constantly. Yet during the fifteen minutes I watched there was not one order, not one straggler; there was a sense of the regularity with which the blood flows through the human arteries in this tide, and it was the blood of France.

X--"I CAN NEVER FORGET THOSE FACES"

So many people have asked me, I had asked myself, the question before I went to France: "Are they not weary of it? Will the French not give up from sheer exhaustion of strength?" I do not think so, now that I have seen the faces of these hundreds of men as they marched to the trenches beyond Verdun. France may bleed to death, but I do not think that while there are men there will be an end of the sacrifice. No pen or voice can express the horror that these men, that all Frenchmen, have of this war, of all war, the weariness. They hate it; you cannot mistake this; but France marches to the frontier in the spirit that men manned the walls against the barbarians in the other days; there is no other way; it must be.

Over and over again there has come the invariable answer; it would have come from scores and hundreds of these men who passed so near me I could have touched their faded uniforms if I had asked--"It is for France, for civilization; it must be, for there is no other way; we shall die, but with us, with our sacrifice, perhaps this thing will end." You cannot put it in words quite, I do not think even any Frenchman has quite said it, but you can see it, you can feel it, you can understand it, when you see a regiment, a brigade, a division of these men of thirty, some perhaps of forty, going forward to the war they hate and will never quit until that which they love is safe or they and all their race are swallowed up.... Under the crumbling gate of the Verdun fortress ... as we entered a shell burst just behind us and the roar drowned out all else in its sudden and paralyzing crash. It had fallen, so we learned a little later, just where we had been watching the passing troops; it had fallen among them and killed. But an hour or two later, when we repassed the point where it fell, men were still marching by. Other regiments of men were still marching to the sound of the guns, and those who had passed were already over the hills and beyond the river, filing into the trenches in time, so it turned out, to meet the new attack that came with the later afternoon.

I went to Verdun to see the forts, the city, the hills and the topography of a great battle; I went in the hope of describing with a little of clarity what the operation meant as a military affair.... But I shall never be able to describe this thing which was the true Verdun for me--these men, their faces, seen as one heard the shell fire and the musketry rolling, not steadily but intermittently, the men who had marched over the roads that are lined with graves, through villages that are destroyed, who had come of their own will and in calm determination and marched unhurryingly and yet unshrinkingly, the men who were no longer young, who had left behind them all that men hold dear in life, home, wives, children, because they knew that there was no other way.

I can only say to all those who have asked me, "What of France?" this simple thing, that I do not believe the French will ever stop. I do not believe, as the Germans have said, that French courage is abating. I do not believe the Kaiser himself would think this if he had seen these men's faces as they marched _toward_ his guns. I think he would feel as I felt, as one must feel, that these men went willingly, hating war with their whole soul, destitute of passion or anger. I never heard a passionate word in France, because there had entered into their minds, into the mind and heart of a whole race, the belief that what was at stake was the thing that for two thousand years of history has been France.

UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES--WITH AMERICAN ARMY IN FRANCE

_Stories of American Troops on Road to Front_

_Told by Lincoln Eyre, with Pershing's Army_

It was one of the most dramatic scenes in the world's history when on
that twenty-seventh day of June, 1917, the first American Army that
ever crossed the seas to Europe stepped foot on the soil of France to
join its allies in the war to "make the world safe for democracy."
America at last was repaying the debt which it owed France when she
crossed the Atlantic to fight with Washington's Army in the American
Revolution. The historic scenes are described by Lincoln Eyre, who
was attached to the Joffre commission on its tour of triumph in the
United States. He is now with the American Army as war correspondent
for the _New York World_, with whose permission this record is made.
Copyright, 1917, by Press Publishing Company.

I--STORY OF ARRIVAL OF GENERAL PERSHING ON FRENCH SOIL

Boulogne, France, June 13, 1917.

Cheering thousands, moved to tears, welcomed General John J. Pershing on his arrival here to-day. The tall, soldierly-appearing figure of Pershing, garbed in the business-like khaki of the American army, was acclaimed as France has seldom acclaimed another in all her history. Frenzied crowds packed the streets to shout their joy and wave the Tricolor of France with the same three colors of the Star Spangled Banner. Gen. Pershing was welcomed at the dock by Gen. Pelletier, representing the French Government and General Headquarters; Commandant Hue, representing the Minister of War; Gen. Lucas, commanding the northern region; Col. Daru, Governor of Lille; the Prefect of the Somme and other public officials.

Pershing arrived at 9:40 o'clock this morning. He was deeply moved by the greeting he received.

"I consider this one of the most important moments in American history," he said. "Our arrival on French soil, constituting as we do the advance guard of an American army, makes us realize to the fullest the importance of America's participation. Our reception has moved us deeply. I can only reaffirm that America has entered the war with the intention of performing her full share--however great or small the future will dictate. Our Allies can depend upon that absolutely."

A small French boy who edged forward in the crowds that greeted the American general was noticed by Pershing. He wanted something and Pershing wanted to know what it was. He came forward and shyly shook hands with the big, smiling American and then asked him to sign an autograph album, proudly displaying the signatures which he had already obtained in it from Marshal Joffre and Field Marshal Haig. Gen. Pershing stopped right there and signed the book.

While Pershing and the commissioned officers of his staff disembarked and were immediately taken away in automobiles, non-commissioned officers and privates--orderlies and attachés to the American General's entourage--swarmed off the vessel and mixed joyously with the crowd at the railway station. There were British Tommies there to welcome their new brothers in arms--and French poilus as well. Hundreds of handshakings--and embraces--marked the meeting of these representatives of three great armies, now pledged to a common purpose.

Boulogne harbor was alive early in the morning awaiting the arrival of the American General and his staff. The first notice that the ship was finally arriving came with the roar of salutes from French patrol boats in the outer harbor. Then the British troopships hastily shifted their anchorage to allow the boat with its all-important cargo to dock at the principal wharf. There a huge American flag was flung to the breeze from the topmost part of the landing stage, while on the dock itself a brilliant, colorful assembly awaited, cheering so that their welcome must have been heard far out over the waters as the boat slowly nosed her way between the whistle-shrieking and gun-barking craft in between.

On the dock were British, French and Belgian officers, formally drawn up in rigid salute as Gen. Pershing first put his foot on French soil and gave evidence in the flesh of America's determination to fight. Rene Besnard, Under Secretary of War, was the Governmental representative at this notable scene. He arrived from Paris and shook hands with the American commander as he stepped ashore. French Government officials formally welcomed Gen. Pershing and his staff in the name of the nation and the Americans were taken to a special train en route for Paris.

II--SCENES WHEN PERSHING ARRIVED IN PARIS

Paris, June 13, 1917.

Paris, frantic with enthusiasm, streets massed with throngs waving the American and French flags, greeted Major-Gen. John J. Pershing and his staff here at 6:30 o'clock this evening. Marshal Joffre, former Premier Viviani, Minister of War Painleve, American Ambassador Sharp and a score of other dignitaries greeted the American commander and his officers at the Gare du Nord.

"The living symbol of America's help in the war for civilization."

"The man who will lead the American armies!"

Such were the tumultuous salutes.

Hundreds of thousands thronged the sidewalks from the railway station, the Gare du Nord, to the Hotel Crillon, where Gen. Pershing made his headquarters. From the moment the automobile, in which he rode with Minister of War Painleve and Gen. Pelletier, designated as his honorary aide, moved slowly into the boulevard outside the railway station, until he arrived at his hotel, the cheering was continuous and, if possible, increased in volume, and the crowds fairly smothered the Americans with flowers.

As Gen. Pershing stepped on the railway platform he found awaiting him M. Viviani, Minister Painleve, Marshal Joffre, Gen. Foch, Gen. Dubail, Military Governor of Paris; M. Mithouard, President of the Municipal Council of Paris, and American Ambassador Sharp. M. Mithouard spoke a few words of welcome. A company of infantry was lined up as a guard of honor, and the Republican Guard Band played "The Star Spangled Banner." Gen. Pershing shook hands in the most cordial fashion with M. Viviani and Marshal Joffre and remarked, with a smile:

"It does not seem long since we saw you in Washington."

Then he was escorted to the Painleve automobile. Ahead of it was that occupied by M. Viviani and Ambassador Sharp, and behind one bearing Marshal Joffre and Rene Besnard who had accompanied Gen. Pershing from Boulogne.

From windows the Stars and Stripes were waved by men, women and children. French girls, with flowers bought from their savings, fought for a chance to hurl their offerings into the laps of the astonished Americans. The ride to the Hotel Crillon, in which suites for the General and his chief officers had been reserved, lay through many of the principal streets, and the motors were driven slowly to afford the crowds a good look at the Americans.

Paris, June 14, 1917.

This was Pershing Day in Paris. The cheers which greeted the American general's entry into the city yesterday were re-echoed wherever he appeared to-day. All gloom which has pervaded the city for months seemed to dissipate wherever the tall figure of the American appeared.

When the General appeared on the Place de la Concorde this morning he was wildly cheered by thousands who lined the streets. He was escorted to the Palace of the Elysée with military honors and was presented to President Poincaré, after which he was entertained at breakfast. Other guests were Premier Ribot, Gen. Painleve, Marshal Joffre, Minister Viviani, Ambassador Sharp and many prominent statesmen.

In the afternoon he was escorted to the Chamber of Deputies by Ambassador Sharp. The unexpected appearance of Gen. Pershing in the diplomatic gallery turned a commonplace meeting of the Deputies into a great ovation for the American General.

Premier Ribot, who had been discussing the Greek situation, recognized Gen. Pershing and switched from his speech, saying:

"We are confronted afresh by beholding the United States coming to the rendezvous of the representatives of a free people."

As the Deputies leaped to their feet in honor of the American General, the Premier continued:

"The people of Paris are so sure of themselves that in their acclamation of Gen. Pershing they are writing the first chapter in the history of the constitution of a society of nations."

The Chamber turned with one accord to where Gen. Pershing stood. He bowed his acknowledgments of the Parliamentary greeting. Following Premier Ribot, Foreign Minister Viviani said that "neither pen nor note could do justice to the reception which he and Gen. Joffre were accorded in the United States."

M. Viviani referred to President Wilson as "that great, calm figure in whose untrembling hands there rests, with Washington and Lincoln, all the grandeur of American history."

A tremendous outburst of applause filled the auditorium when M. Viviani told of how at Chicago, once the center of pro-Germanism, he had been promised that the last American and the last American dollar would be given by the United States that France might restore Alsace-Lorraine.

This morning Gen. Pershing stood with uncovered head at the tomb of Napoleon and paid tribute to one of the world's greatest commanders. With his staff he was received at the Hotel des Invalides by Gen. Niox, the commander, and Gen. Malterre. As the American party entered the spacious grounds leading to the building they encountered a number of veterans. A grizzled soldier of the Crimea saluted. Gen. Pershing stopped and extended his hand, saying:

"It is a great honor for a young soldier like myself to press the hand of an old soldier like yourself who has seen such glorious service."

Gen. Niox conducted the American commander within the vast rotunda, with its walls hung with battle flags, and thence the party proceeded below to the crypt where the sarcophagus of Napoleon reposes. Entrance to the crypt is rigorously limited, and it is seldom that any one is admitted except crowned heads or a former ruler, as in the case of ex-President Roosevelt when he visited Paris.

Gen. Pershing was then conducted to the Artillery Museum, where precious relics of Napoleon are preserved. He was particularly interested in Napoleon's sword and Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor. An hour was spent in the building.

To-night Gen. Painleve gave a dinner in honor of Gen. Pershing. Among the guests were famous French soldiers, Allied diplomats, residents in Paris, and French statesmen.

III--STORY OF ARRIVAL OF FIRST AMERICAN TROOPS IN FRANCE

Paris, July 1, 1917.

Paris was overwhelmed with joy this morning at the first published announcements that all of the first contingent of United States troops had landed safely in France. It was not long, either, until the city got a sight of American sailors, marines and even a few regulars--soldiers assigned to duty with various officers who have come immediately to Paris from the port of landing.

Already the French are stirred to exultation and a realization of the victory which they feel sure to come, now that America has its fighting men so near the front. The fraternization of the Americans with the English, Canadians, Australians and French is remarkable, and the new arrivals are being received everywhere with open arms and open hearts. Last month nearly all the British troops not having near relatives in the British Isles have been coming to Paris on leave, and so the newly landed Americans find plenty of comrades able to speak their common language.

The Yankees warmed up particularly to the Canadians, among whom are many Americans, but the greatest surprise came at the way the French officers and poilus fraternize with their new allies. The appearance of American naval officers in white duck summer uniforms in the smart Paris restaurants causes gasps of astonished delight.

The French press has extended an enthusiastic greeting to the American troops. The _Temps_ dwells upon their youth, vigor, and military aspect, and the completeness of their equipment.

The _Journal des Debats_ says: "The grand democracy of the New World does nothing by halves. It entered this vast conflict in full consciousness of the ends to be attained and with full resolution to neglect nothing in attaining those ends. What we witness to-day in the arrival of the Americans on French soil is magnificent proof of this fact. Two months and a half after the Americans entered the war their hardy troops arrive in solid lines upon the European front, and it is not a modest advance guard. On the contrary, the forces which have just landed on our shore surpass anything which could reasonably have been expected within so short a time. When we recall the length of time it took England to move her forces to South Africa, and, similarly, the length of time it took us to move our troops to Salonica this remarkable accomplishment by the Americans is seen in its full significance. The material they bring is on the same abundant scale as their troops. Those who have been doubtful whether the American concourse would come in time have failed to estimate at its just value the tremendous moral and material American power that German brutality has mobilized against itself. And what we see to-day is only the commencement. Each day henceforth will increase the weight of that formidable sword thrown into the balance by the great Republic of America. Who can, even in Germany, be blind to the inevitable consequences of the events we are now witnessing?"

IV--AMERICAN SOLDIERS CELEBRATE FOURTH OF JULY IN PARIS

Paris, July 4, 1917.

All France celebrated the Fourth of July. Paris turned out a crowd that no American city ever surpassed for size, enthusiasm and profusion of Stars and Stripes. A battalion of the first American expeditionary force about to leave for training behind the battle front had its first official review in France and was the centre of the celebration. Everywhere the American flag was flying from public buildings, hotels and residences and from automobiles, cabs and carts, horses' bridles--even the lapels of pedestrians' coats displayed it.

The crowds began early to gather at vantage points. Rue de Varenne was choked long before 8 o'clock this morning, when the Republican Guards Band carried out a field reveille under Gen. Pershing's windows. All routes toward the Hotel des Invalides were thronged even before Pershing's men turned out. About the Court of Honor where the Americans were drawn up with a detachment of French Territorials, the buildings overflowed with crowded humanity to the roofs. All around the khaki-clad men from the United States were trophies and souvenirs of war--German cannon, airplanes, machine guns and many appliances for burning suffocating gas. Behind them in the chapel separating the Court of Honor from Napoleon's tomb were German battle flags, trophies of the Marne and Alsace, beside Prussian banners of 1870.

In the chapel before the tomb of Napoleon, Gen. Pershing received American flags and banners from the hands of President Poincaré. Almost the entire history of the struggles of the French against the Germans looked down upon the scene from paintings portraying heroic incidents in French battles from Charlemagne to Napoleon. There was a sharp contrast between the khaki and plain wide brimmed hats of Pershing's men and the gay dress of d'Artagnan's plumed musketeers and Napoleon's grenadiers.

The enthusiasm of the vast crowd reached its highest pitch when Gen. Pershing, escorted by President Poincaré, Marshal Joffre and other high French dignitaries, passed along reviewing the lines of the Americans drawn up in square formations. Cheering broke out anew when the American band struck up "The Marseillaise," and again when the French band played "The Star-Spangled Banner" and Pershing received the flags from the President.

"Vive les Americains!" "Vive Pershing!" "Vive les Etats-Unis!" shouted over and over by the crowd greeted the American standard bearers as they advanced.

The crowd that had waited three hours to witness the ceremony that was over in fifteen minutes, surged toward the exit cheering frantically after the departing Americans and trying to break through a cordon of police troops. Outside a greater crowd that covered the entire Esplanade des Invalides took up the cheers as Pershing's men marched away. The crowd in the Court of Honor tried to follow the soldiers, but the throng outside was so dense, and the exits so small that it was half an hour before the people could get out. The Cours de la Reine from Alexander Bridge to the Place de la Concorde was black with people all of whom seemed to want to rush up to the men and embrace them as they marched by. When the last man had passed great crowds surged from both sides to the middle of the street, breaking through the police military guards and blocking traffic for a long time behind the marching column.

More people were massed in the Tuileries Gardens than on the Esplanade des Invalides. Few of them could get a glimpse of the parade but all joined in a tremendous outburst of cheering when music from the Republican Guard Band announced the approach of the troops, and the cheering did not diminish in volume until the last man in the line had disappeared from view of the Gardens down the Rue de Rivoli.

WITH THE SERBIAN STOICS IN EXILE--UNDER THE GERMAN YOKE

_Experiences in the Flight to Albania_

_Told by Gordon Gordon-Smith, with the Serbian Army_

Gordon-Smith was with the armies of King Peter in the flight into
Albania. He stood beside the forlorn king as he fled with his people
before the German-Austrian-Bulgarian hordes. His accounts of the
hardships and heroism of the Serbs is the first to reach the world.
He tells about the tragic exodus through the mountain passes--men,
women and children; the babes and the feeble on the procession of
bullock carts; the wolves howling through the night and gnawing at
the bodies of the dead along the road. A few of these stories are
told here by permission of the _New York Tribune_, for whom he acted
as special correspondent in the Balkans.

I--HOW I FLED WITH KING PETER'S TROOPS

The headquarters of the Serbian Army left Krusevatz for Rashka, as the German advance menaced its retreat from the former town if longer delayed. With my colleague of the _Petit Parisien_ I determined to push forward to join the Second Army, which was opposing the enemy's advance in the valley of the Morava.

The roads were in a frightful condition. They were, for the most part, mere cart tracks and perfect seas of mud. The carriage half the time was ploughing through two feet of tenacious clay. Twice it stuck fast up to the axles in mud, and was only extricated with the friendly aid of a passing bullock team. Good horses are no longer to be had in Serbia; they have all been requisitioned for the army.

One of our horses, a giraffe-like chestnut, is an ex-cavalry horse of the Austrian army and bears the mark of a wound from a shell splinter. It is named Julius. Its partner (which I have named Cæsar) is a flea-bitten gray, somewhat short in the wind. Both regard Serbian mud and the effort it entails on them with profound disapproval.

Just at the point where the road from Krusevatz joins the main road running to Stalatz I came across half a dozen British soldiers belonging to the heavy battery which defended Belgrade. They were seated at the roadside preparing the inevitable pot of tea without which Tommy Atkins's happiness is not complete.

They told me their battery was en route for Nish and that the guns had already been entrained at Stalatz. They were covering the intervening sixty kilometres in a couple of bullock carts. They were profoundly ignorant of what was happening in Serbia or the outside world, but were correspondingly cheerful.

They insisted on us sharing their tea, and produced a pot of the equally inevitable marmalade, which they proudly declared was one of the few objects which had survived the bombardment of Belgrade. I left them loading up their wagon and giving orders to their drivers in weird but apparently effective Serbian.

It was dark when we reached Chichivatz, the first stage on our journey. The problem was to find quarters and food. Every village behind the front is filled to overflowing with the fugitive population from the country held by the Germans. Every public edifice is crammed; people sleep on straw, twenty in a room, in every available house. At the village inn the food supply resolved itself into the inevitable "Schnitzel," which in the present instance was a badly burnt piece of pork. We were, however, fortunate enough to find the local station-master at the inn, who hospitably offered us a bedroom in the railway station.

When we got there we noticed that he had already begun to pack up ready to leave. With him was a young official of the Ministry of Commerce, who had been sent to destroy the stores and rolling stock....

As fast as the Germans advance in the north and the Bulgarians in the south the locomotives and rolling stock are accumulated on the only section of the line now in Serbian hands; that is the 80 kilometres between Chichivatz and Nish.

When everything is lost on this section the Serbian authorities fill the whole track with rolling stock from one end to the other and blow up all the bridges, so as to render the line unworkable. The new American engines, which were only delivered this year, have been placed in a long tunnel on a side line, and each end of the tunnel blown up, so as to entomb them undamaged....

Seven Serbian divisions opposing eighteen German divisions were odds that not even the bravery of King Peter's army could withstand. Train after train rolled through the station loaded with military stores and packed with fleeing peasants.

II--"WE SADDLED OUR HORSES TO RIDE TO THE FRONT"

Next morning the station master roused me at 7:30 o'clock with the words, "The Germans are coming!" From his tone one could have supposed the cavalry were at the outskirts.

The real reason, I soon discovered, was his desire that I should evacuate my sleeping quarters, as an ox wagon was already at the door to transport the furniture to a place of safety.

We determined to leave the carriage to ride to the front, as a carriage, in a sudden retreat, is apt to be cumbersome. We accordingly saddled the horses and rode to Parachine, twenty kilometers distant.

Parachine we found in a state of considerable excitement. The thunder of the guns drawing nearer and nearer gave evidence of the approach of the enemy. The battle was raging about four miles outside the town. The Second Army held the heights on both sides of the valley, opposed to a force of nearly double its strength....

As the staff of the Second Army was expected to arrive in the town that evening we determined to remain over night at Parachine. With thirty thousand refugees in a town of twelve thousand inhabitants it was no easy matter to find a room, but the Mayor kindly had a deserted house broken open for us, and also, which was even more important, found food and stabling for our horses. Next morning the people of the next-door house awakened us with the news that the Germans were attacking the town, and that infantry fire was clearly audible.

When we got out we found the Serbian baggage train pouring through the town--a clear sign that the retreat had begun. The town was in wild excitement for two reasons--firstly, on account of the approach of the Germans, and, secondly, because orders had been given to distribute to the inhabitants everything in the military stores to prevent them falling into the hands of the enemy. As a result I saw hundreds of people going about carrying a dozen pairs of boots, uniforms, under-clothing, bread, biscuits, etc.

At midday the provision and munition columns, having safely cleared the town, General Stephanovitch and his staff, after placing a strong rear guard to delay the German advance as long as possible, left for Rajan, a town about twenty miles distant.

The wildest reports were current. But it is no use arguing with panic-stricken people. In spite of my assurances, they went on loading carts and wagons in feverish haste and, in spite of the pouring rain, went off in the darkness. The curious thing is that not one in ten knew where they were going. The Germans were coming from the north, therefore they fled south.

III--"I MET HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF REFUGEES"

For a month past I have met hundreds of thousands of such refugees, who wander on aimlessly from town to town, driving flocks and herds before them, always trying to keep a couple of days march in advance of the invader.

It goes without saying that they add enormously to the difficulties of the military situation. They block the roads and overcrowd towns and villages. When their food supplies run down they are face to face with starvation. And when one remembers that a similar exodus is going on from the south before the Bulgarian invader the horror of the situation may be imagined....

The whole of Old Serbia, the Serbia of King Milan, is in the hands of the Germans, while the Bulgarians are masters of nearly the whole of Serbian Macedonia.

* * * * *

I had hardly been asleep half an hour when I was aroused by a tremendous explosion, followed a quarter of an hour later by a succession of minor explosions. These were caused by the blowing up of the ammunition wagons. The crimson glare announced that the scores of cars on the railway siding were ablaze.

At the same time an engine just opposite my windows began whistling stridently. Downstairs in the courtyard I found the whole population, male and female, old and young, busy looting the carriages and trucks not yet a prey to the flames.

Half a dozen wagons filled with boots for the Rumanian army, which had been lying in the siding for three months, were being plundered. Two other wagons filled with 50,000 francs' worth of cigarette papers, wagons filled with Serbian wine, French champagne, liqueurs and perfumery, were also given over to plunder. Thousands of bags of flour, boxes of biscuits, tinned meats and sardines covered the ground on all sides, while the inhabitants of the village were loading carts and handbarrows.

These people were not worrying much about the approach of the Germans. As they had determined to be taken prisoners, they regarded the advance of the invaders philosophically.

My chief worry was Varvarian, which I could see only four miles away. It had been occupied at dawn by the German cavalry, and, of course, they might risk a sudden dash for Chichivatz, and perhaps even Salatz, down the line.

We therefore determined to return at once for Krusevatz. The press of vehicles on the road was so great that we saw we could proceed quicker on foot, so we left the carriage to follow and started to cover the intervening twenty kilometres.

When we reached Krusevatz, late in the afternoon, we found the town apparently in high festival. Everybody seemed in the best of humor and gaiety reigned everywhere.

We soon discovered the cause. The whole town, men, women and children, had been drinking unlimited quantities of French champagne, a trainful of which was lying in the station. When the capture of the town was seen to be inevitable orders were given there, as elsewhere, to let the population plunder everything in sight, and the order had been faithfully obeyed.

I doubt, however, if this had the effect of preventing the goods falling into the hands of the Germans. The latter would not be long in hearing of what had happened. They would simply post up a notice to the inhabitants telling them to bring back all the plunder to the "Kommandatur," twelve bullets being provided for any one who should fail to do so. This, plus the threat of a house-to-house search to discover those who had failed to obey, would probably rake in nine-tenths of the goods.

The great retreat of the Serbian army across the mountains had now begun. With their 300,000 bayonets, in spite of the fact that the Teutons were, as far as physique went, the most miserable material it was ever my lot to see, they continually outflanked the 150,000 men the Serbians were able to oppose to them.

The Serbian armies, except the division which was opposing the Bulgarians in the south, were forced back on the mountain range, which at this point runs transversely across Serbia, and behind which lies the old Turkish province, the Sandpak of Novi Bazar, and the Plain of Kossovo.

The operation of conducting the retreat of the Serbian armies through the mountain passes was like filtering a fifty-gallon cask through the neck of a pint bottle. The transport of 20,000 ox-drawn army service wagons, whose best gait is about two miles an hour, alone constituted a formidable problem.

* * * * *

In view of the terrible nature of the roads, we had to add a third horse to the team of our carriage. A mile from the town we found ourselves in a mass of wagons, which every instant became more congested. The passage of tens of thousands of guns and wagons had churned the roads into a huge quagmire.

IV--"I WATCHED THE TERRIFYING SPECTACLE"

As darkness fell the scene became a sinister one. To the left, behind the railway station, one building after another burst into flame; the employees were firing the storehouses and blowing up the wagons on the siding. A few minutes later the whole town was shaken by a series of explosions. The accumulated stocks in the Obelitchavo powder magazine were being blown up.

From the eminence on which I stood the spectacle was terrifying. Krusevatz was blazing at half a dozen points, the whole sky was covered with a crimson glare, while below us the river, like red blood in the flames, could be followed to the horizon, where the flashes of Serb guns delaying the German advance could be seen.

On the line of retreat confusion was becoming worse. The whole road was filled with a triple line of bullock wagons, their panting teams straining to tear them through the tenacious mud.

Suddenly there came an explosion like an earthquake. An immense column of yellow flame shot heavenward. The heavy girder bridge over the river had been dynamited. At the same instant three immense German shells came screaming overhead and burst with tremendous explosions, one near the town hall and two near the railway station. These nerve-shaking explosions caused a wild panic, the first I had seen in Siberia. The terrified oxen broke into a run and poured in a surging mass, with my carriage in their midst, down the road.

Suddenly they came on a narrow bridge spanning a small ravine. Those on the outside were forced against the parapet. I saw the carriage balance for an instant and then with the three horses roll into the ditch thirty feet below. There was a sound of smashing glass, and it was all over with our vehicle.

The only thing was to extricate the kicking horses and salve such baggage as had escaped. This was a long and difficult process in torrents of rain, but after an hour and a half of hard work we finally got our belongings ranged alongside the road.

The next difficulty was a means of transport, but an obliging non-commissioned officer to the Reserve Munition Column of the Timok Division stopped a half-empty ox wagon and our belongings were hoisted in. We in turn found shelter under the tilt of another wagon and made ourselves as comfortable as the munition boxes would allow.

* * * * *

The German infantry was of miserable quality, men who a year ago would never have passed the doctor, they burst their way through by shell and shrapnel fire.

It was during these attacks that they took hundreds of prisoners, all of them, as I have said, of miserable physique. I saw a youth in the streets of Krusevatz, who could not have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. His "pickelhauben," much too large for him, came down over his ears. Another I saw was minus a finger on his left hand, and a French surgeon told me he had a German patient who was deaf and dumb. All were pale-faced, narrow-chested, and not the class of men one saw twelve months ago.

* * * * *

Then came the blizzards of snow and inundations which blotted out the road in districts hundreds of kilometers in extent. Add to this fact, all communication with the outside world was completely cut off, there were no letters, telegrams or newspapers, and such vague reports as filtered in were brought by circuitous routes over hundreds of kilometers of the worst roads in Europe.

With every trump card in the hands of her enemies, Serbia's fate was sealed. All she could do was to fight to the last, and this she did.

V--EVERY ROAD WAS FILLED WITH HUMAN MISERY

Every road in Serbia was filled with the flowing tide of human misery. Every town and village was overcrowded. In Kroljevo in ordinary times there are 15,000. When I reached the town it contained 120,000. The same held good of every other center.

The government issued a decree ordering all the male population above fourteen to leave the invaded districts before the arrival of the enemy. This added nearly a million to the number of people the government had to support, and under the strain the civil administration broke down completely. Soon the old Serbia of King Milas was completely in the hands of the Germans, while the Bulgarians drove out the population of Serbian Macedonia.

As a consequence the only refuge left was Novi Bazar. Into this narrow space poured an endless tide of refugees. Gaunt, hollow-eyed men, women and children dragged themselves wearily for hundreds of kilometers, bound they knew not whither. Always behind them they heard the inexorable thunder of the guns, warning them to press on and on. Thousands fell by the wayside, succumbing to cold and hunger.

Probably not since the crossing of the Alps by Napoleon has such a military expedition been undertaken as the traversing of the Albanian Mountains by the headquarters staff and the remains of the Serbian army.

The sight presented by Lium Koula on the eve of departure was unique. On the mountain side for miles nothing could be seen but endless fires. They were made by thousands of ox wagons, unable to go further, as the road for vehicles ceases there. Fortunately the snowstorm ended and was followed by brilliant sunshine.

Next day at 9 o'clock the headquarters staff set out. It included 300 persons and 400 pack animals. The road wound along the banks of the Drin, which had to be crossed twice by means of picturesque old single-span Turkish bridges, since destroyed to impede the Bulgarian advance.

The first mistake was that of transporting the sedan chair of Field Marshal Putnik at the head of the procession. Every time it halted to change bearers, which was every fifteen minutes, the whole two-mile-long procession, following in single file, had to stop also. As a result, instead of reaching Spas before sundown, we only reached the base of the mountain after darkness had fallen.

Here a long council was held as to whether we should bivouac in the village below or undertake the mountain climb in the dark. The latter course was decided upon. It was one of the most extraordinary adventures ever undertaken. A narrow path, about four feet across, covered with ice and snow, winds corkscrew fashion up the face of the cliff. On one hand is a rocky wall and on the other a sheer drop into the Drin.

VI--OVER THE MOUNTAIN SIDE WITH GENERAL PUTNIK

This road winds and twists in all sorts of angles, and it was up this that we started in the black darkness, with the sedan chair of General Putnik still heading the procession. Every time it reached a corner it was a matter of endless difficulty to manoeuver it around.

On one occasion we stood for thirty-five minutes in an icy wind listening to the roar of the Drin, invisible in the black gulf 500 feet below. Horses slipped and fell at every instant, and every now and then one would go crashing into the gulf below.

It was 10 o'clock when, tired, hungry and half frozen, we reached bivouac at Spas. Here we found that though dinner had been ready since 3 o'clock it could not be served because all the plates and spoons were on the pack animals, which remained in the village below. Neither had the tents arrived, and as Spas contains only five or six peasant houses accommodation was at a premium. Colonel Mitrovitz, head of the mess, told me I would find room in a farmhouse a quarter of a mile away.

The house really was two hours distant, over fields deep in snow. When I got there at midnight I discovered that there were already nearly a score of occupants; but at least I was able to sleep in some straw near the fireside, instead of in the snow outside.