by Anonymous
CHAPTER IV
THE PERILS OF ESCAPE
The German firing-party, sobered by superstitious terror and stunnedby the lightning flash, looked blankly at the charred body of theirofficer. Before they could make a move, however, from a house near byran a gray-haired woman, a small starred banner in her hand.
Aunt Abigail faced the men with a fine scorn.
"You call yourselves German soldiers!" she cried in tones of uttercontempt, "so much the worse for Germany! You sow the seeds of the Treeof Hate and for years to come you will eat its bitter fruit. Mark mywords! Is that the work of men--" she pointed to the foot of the cross,"or of drunken, ignorant and fear-ridden brutes? And you are cowards,too, like all bullies," she cried, her voice rising as she shook theflag in their faces, "you dare not fire on this flag, for well you knowthat if you did, our young, clean-living American boys would come overhere and drive decency into your souls with your own weapons!"
One of the men, half understanding English, lurched forward savagely,but a non-commissioned officer pushed him back.
"Let her alone," he said, "we've gone far enough."
Aunt Abigail saw the action.
"You're a man," she said, "at least."
Then stepping out before the rifles, she knelt beside the groaning formof little Jacques Oopsdiel.
Horace, who had followed his aunt, realized that the Germans might holdback from murder while they were still shaken by their lieutenant'sdeath by lightning, but it was quite likely that they would shake offthis merciful mood. A reckless desire on the part of each soldierto show his comrades that he was not afraid might spur them to anyextremity. The moment must be seized. So, stepping forward quietly, hepicked up the body of Jacques in his arms and started up the street.
"Where are you going, Horace?" his aunt demanded.
"To the house, Aunt," the boy replied, "this little chap needs nursing."
The word "nursing" was as a battle cry to Aunt Abigail. Ever sincethe first wounded man had been brought into Beaufays, she had slavednight and day, giving her time to Germans and Belgians alike. Hence,when Horace carried the injured lad toward the house, his aunt followedwithout further question.
_Courtesy of "Le Monde Illustre."_
FRENCH CAVALRY ON PATROL.
The dashing force which harassed and hindered the German advance uponParis and twice routed the Uhlans.]
In his inmost heart, Horace never expected to reach the threshold. Atevery step he seemed to feel the bullet in his back. None the less,he did not falter or look around and he reached the house in safety,without any further action from the soldiers.
Swift examination showed that little Jacques had no chance for life.He lingered until late in the evening and then breathed his last, onemore of the thousands of children wantonly killed by the Germans duringtheir occupation of Belgium.
Late that night, Horace was wakened by a light tapping at his window.He darted out of bed on the instant, knowing well that this cautioussignal could not come from Germans, who, instead, undoubtedly wouldhave battered the door with the butt-ends of their rifles. Peering out,he saw the hunchback, still carrying the caged eagle.
"Croquier!" he gasped, in astonishment, for the hunchback'sdisappearance had been a matter of the most intense curiosity andmystery in the village. "Wait a second, I'll open the door."
The hunchback shook his head and lifted up the cage.
"Take hold of this," he directed.
Horace took the cage and set it on the floor in his room. The ambereyes glittered as evilly as ever.
"Now," said Croquier, still in that same strained whisper, "give me ahand up."
Bracing himself firmly, Horace leaned down and held out his hand.
The hunchback grasped it in his terrible grip and with a jerk whichalmost pulled the boy's arm out of its socket, he clambered to thewindow and climbed in. Then, moving so quietly that he made absolutelyno noise, he squatted down on the floor beside the cage.
"Where in the name of wonder have you been?" asked Horace.
The hunchback brushed the question aside.
"I've doubled on those fiends a dozen times," he said. "They haven'tcaught me yet, and they never will. Now, listen to me closely. Thosepigs of Germans have found a keg of brandy and they're drinkingthemselves courageous so as to be brave enough to attack this house.You and your aunt must leave and leave now!"
"Aunt won't go," said Horace, "there's no use asking her. I spoke aboutit, again, this evening."
"She has got to go or there's no saying what will happen," thehunchback answered. "I'm not telling what I think, but what I know.Bring her here at once, but do it, if you can, so that none of thewounded suspect anything."
The boy thought for a moment.
"I'll try," he said.
Slipping on some clothes, the boy went stumbling noisily through thenext room where two wounded German officers were lying. He knew, if hestepped softly, it might arouse suspicion. Reaching his aunt's room, hesaid loudly, as he knocked and was bidden enter,
"Aunt Abigail, I'll have to have that mustard poultice put on, afterall."
The woman looked at him shrewdly. Knowing that nothing had been saidthat evening concerning a poultice, she realized that there was ameaning hidden behind the words.
"Do you need it now?" she asked.
"Right away, please," the boy replied. "I'll go back to my room and beready as soon as you come."
The old maid got up hastily. Taking the still warm kettle from thestove and carrying a box of mustard, she passed by the wounded officersinto the lad's room beyond.
A whispered word or two cleared up the situation.
As Horace had expected, she refused point-blank.
"No," she said, "I'm not going, no matter what happens. I said I'dstay, and I'll stay. If they kill me they'll have to fight America. Ifthey take me to Germany as a prisoner, I'll probably find something formy fingers to do there. But run--that I won't."
"And the boy?" asked Croquier.
"He's got to go," the old maid replied sharply, "that's quitedifferent. Those beasts wouldn't hesitate to fire on him when, perhaps,their officers might succeed in preventing the murder of their nurse.
"You're right, Monsieur Croquier, Horace must go."
"It's a matter of minutes," the hunchback warned.
"Then what are you waiting for?" she retorted testily. "Go, and goquick, both of you. And take that bird! I don't want it around here."
"You don't think I'd leave that, do you?" the hunchback saidemphatically, and, grabbing it, he swung himself out of the window.
"Good-bye, Aunt," said Horace, and prepared to follow.
His aunt looked at him sharply but there was affection, also, in herglance.
"You'll need a wool shirt, wool socks, and your heavy boots," she said,"and if you break through the lines, send a cablegram to your father.Off with you, now!"
As she spoke, a sound of riotous singing was heard in the villagestreet.
Horace did not hesitate. He dropped from the window-sill.
He had hardly picked himself up when some clothing came flying out ofthe window and landed beside him with a thump. He hastily picked up theshirt, socks, and boots.
"Follow me," said the hunchback, "and go quietly."
His heart in his mouth, Horace dived after Croquier into the bushesback of the house. They climbed two walls and a hedge, the hunchbackclambering as soft-footed as a cat in spite of his ungainly shape,and then passed through a hedge. Crossing a couple of gardens theycame to an old well. There the hunchback swung over the well-head anddisappeared.
The hole was black, damp and uninviting, but a sound of hammering toldthat the soldiers had reached the house and the boy followed Croquierwithout hesitation. As he swung his legs over, his feet touched therungs of a rough ladder. The hunchback gripped his arm and drew himsideways through a hole in the well-curb.
Drawing breath, Horace found himself in a tunnel.
"Where does this go?" he
whispered.
"It connects with the vaults under the church," Croquier answered.
"How did you find out about it?"
"I didn't," said the hunchback; "I made it."
"When?"
"Last week. The story of me and the eagle was all over the village andthe Germans were looking for me everywhere. There wasn't a corner theydidn't search.
"To have a hiding-place which no one could reveal, even under torture,meant life and death. Therefore I had to make it myself. This well isin my neighbor's garden."
"Is it? I hadn't followed which way we were going. But wasn't it a lotof work?"
"Yes," said the hunchback, "but when it's your life that's at stake,you're willing to do some work. It wasn't so hard to figure the courseof the tunnel from here to the church," he explained; "one couldn'thelp striking the vaults somewhere, they're so big."
"So that's how you escaped this afternoon from out of the church."
"Of course."
"It's a bully hiding-place," said Horace, "but how about food?"
"I've a whole storehouse here."
"And air?"
"None too good. I drove a length of iron pipe upwards to the surface ofthe ground. Just where it comes out I don't know. I never had a chanceto look. It isn't much, but it's something."
"How much longer do you expect to stay here?" asked Horace.
"Not a minute longer than I can help. I'm clearing out to-night."
"To-night?"
"Just as soon as things quiet down, we start. It's our last chance.To-morrow the troops will march on, Liege will be put under regularGerman rule, patrols and sentries will be established and we'll betrapped. It's to-night or not at all. We have got to escape in theconfusion of this last day's bombardment."
The boy thought a moment.
"I'm ready enough," he said. "I don't want to stay here under theGermans. The school's burned down, so that my promise to M. Maubincouldn't be kept."
"It couldn't be kept, anyway," the hunchback replied. "I overheard theGermans say that you were to be disposed of, no matter who escaped. Youwere present in the school defiance, don't forget, and it was you whocarried off little Jacques. You're an American and an eye-witness of agood deal. No, they won't let you go, you know too much."
"So?" said the boy thoughtfully. "Well, I'm not surprised. But if weclear out from here, where do you plan to go?"
"To France."
"Why not to Holland?" queried Horace. "That's nearer. The Germans areall heading for France and we'll only run into them again."
"Go to Holland if you want to," said the hunchback, "but I'm notleaving here to save my own skin. I'm looking for a chance to fight."
There was a certain reproach in his tones and Horace felt it, but hehesitated before he replied.
"You're a Frenchman, Croquier," he said, "after all, and it's yourscrap; but, you see, I'm an American, and however much I might want to,perhaps I ought to keep out of it."
The hunchback made no reply.
"Of course," continued Horace, slowly, "I know what Father would do."
"I don't know your father very well," said Croquier, "but if your auntwere in your place, I know what she'd do."
"Oh, yes, Aunt Abigail would fight. So would Father, especially if,like me, he'd seen the Germans blind Deschamps, burn Mme. Maubin alive,massacre the cure and kill little Jacques. I don't see any other decentway out of it, Croquier, I've got to fight."
"I never doubted that you would," the hunchback replied.
"Very well, then," said the boy, squaring his shoulders, "it's forFrance, then. How do we get there?"
"I've been working it all out," said the hunchback, "and keeping myears open. We've got to go either by Namur or Dinant."
"I thought the Germans were going there."
"They are," Croquier agreed. "That shows they expect to face the Frencharmy there. If we want to join the French, it is necessary for us to bethere before the Germans take up positions. Every hour makes it harder.With the fall of the forts, the railway lines are open to the Germansfor troop transport. Besides that, several days ago, we saw divisionsmarching by to the southward, not stopping to join in the Liege attack.We've got to creep through or go round them. One must move quickly, forNamur won't hold long."
"I thought Namur was stronger than Liege."
"From the talk I've overheard this last week, while I've been hiding,"the hunchback replied, "Von Buelow won't attack Namur with his infantryuntil the forts are smashed by their heavy siege guns. Those have goneon ahead."
"I guess they lost too heavily at Liege to want to repeat the dose,"said Horace.
"It is that, exactly. So, what we've got to do is to slide throughthe German armies while they are on the march and before they take updefinite positions on the battle-line. After that, a rat won't beable to get through."
ROYAL BOY WARRIORS.
_British Official Photograph._
Captain the Prince of Wales, who fought with his regiment at the Battleof Neuve Chappelle.
_Courtesy of "The Graphic."_
Prince Umberto of Italy, who has joined the colors, now that hiskingdom has been invaded.]
"Can we do it?" asked the boy, anxiously.
"If we were Red Indians, I would say 'yes,'" Croquier answered; "beingwhat we are, I only say, 'I don't know.' We may be killed if we go, butwe'll have a chance to fight for ourselves and for France; we're sureto be killed if we stay, and we won't have a chance to fight."
"What's your plan?"
"To travel through woods and on by-paths. The armies crowd every roadwhich is wide enough to take a wheeled wagon. We can dodge them if wego carefully and fast."
"When do we start?"
"Have you got your shoes on?"
"Yes."
"Then we start now."
The hunchback went to the well-head and peered out cautiously.
"All's quiet," he said, returning, "and, so far as I can see, yourhouse is safe. They haven't burned it down, in any case. Now, fill yourpockets with food as full as you can hold. We don't want to waste timelooking for provisions. Are you ready?"
"Ready," said Horace, soberly, realizing the peril into which he wasplunging.
"Have no fear," said the hunchback as a last piece of advice, "you'reas safe with me as you could be with anybody. A poor chap, like Iused to be, must know a good bit about the country. I ran away from acircus when I was a boy, so I learned early how to take care of myself.There's one rule--avoid the roads!"
"But an army might camp in the fields."
"At night, perhaps, but by day it is marching and that, not through thefields, but along the roads. In the old days, when men fought with coldsteel, one could push troops over rough country and each company couldforage for its own food, travel its own road and be ready for fightingwhen it was time to fight.
"There is nothing like that now. An army is ten times as large. It isfed at regular hours, in regulated companies, on a diet regulated inadvance, cooked by motor kitchens supplied by a provision train of ascore of heavy motor-trucks which are traveling at a regulated numberof miles from a central supply depot.
"As a health measure it cannot be more than a certain number of milesfrom drinkable water. Even on the march, the ammunition columnmust be kept in close connection with the guns. It must operate oradvance behind a cavalry screen, and, at all times, must be in directcommunication with its staff officers. All that means travel on hardroads, at a certain pace, over a certain route, so that a general canknow, at any given minute, where every section of his army is to befound. It is that which is in front of us, and we've got to outguess itand outmarch it."
The hunchback had filled his pockets and attended to a number of minormatters as he talked. Now he slipped out of the well and waited for theboy to follow, carefully closing the hole in the well curb after him.
"You're not going to carry that cage all the way to France, surely?"queried Horace in surprise, as he noted that Croquier held the blackeagle in
his hand.
His companion raised his eyebrows.
"Think you that I am going to donate it for the Germans?"
"Leave it in the tunnel," the boy said; "they'll never find it there."
"Mme. Maubin said it must never escape. It is my trust!" He lowered hisvoice suddenly.
"I see," said Horace, "it would break the prophecy."
"This cage is going to Paris," said the hunchback. "The Kaiser said hewould be in Paris before the year is out. I will make good his boast.It will make all Paris laugh."
The eagle croaked harshly in the darkness.
"Can't you keep it quiet?" said Horace, his nerves on edge.
The hunchback laughed softly.
"Little noises don't mean much these days," he said, "when there's awounded man groaning in every cottage."
They passed out of the kindly shelter of gardens into the fieldsbeyond, and silently, stooping low, ran through a hollow into a smallcopse.
"Where now?"
"One must cross the river," said Croquier. "Not at Tilff or Esneux. Thebridges there are guarded."
Horace thought a minute.
"Will it take us much out of our way to go down by Poulseur?" he asked.
"No. Why do you ask?"
"I remember a place where a big tree has fallen right across thestream," the lad replied. "We could crawl over it quite easily. Ifound it, one day, when I was bird's-nesting. I think I can find thespot again."
"Good. Now, as little noise as possible. Go round all clearings. Keepyour ears wide open. If I stop, you stop. If in danger, don't move;remember that every wild animal's first defense is movelessness."
He slipped into the woods.
Horace had expected to find the hunchback a retardation to escape, and,in the tunnel, he had wondered whether he would not be wiser, afterall, to escape to Holland and thence to America. However, when the boyremembered that the hunchback had saved his life, this idea seemed rankingratitude.
Once on the trail, Horace found to his vast surprise that the shoe wason the other foot. Instead of being compelled to humor his companionand to help him from time to time, the boy had much ado to keep up withhis comrade. At a stumbling pace which was neither walk nor run, thehunchback forced his way through bush and shrub, leapt clumsily fromstone to stone and kept up a steady, swift gait which kept the boypanting for breath.
Safely and without raising the alarm, they reached the fallen treespanning the river. The former time that Horace had been there, he hadbeen content to lie down and wriggle across, but the hunchback, for allhis apparent clumsiness, went across it like a tight-rope walker, andHorace, for very shame, could not do otherwise. The hunchback turnedhis head over his shoulder--he could do so, in the most uncanny way,without turning his body--and watched him.
"Your nerve is good," he grunted, approvingly.
They went on at the same swift pace, hour after hour, over stumps,fallen trees, and stones, down gullies and up ridges, all in the blackdark, the hunchback scouting in advance. From time to time they crosseda road, and this was done with the utmost circumspection. At last,the chill which heralds the dawn warned them of the dangers of comingdaylight. The hunchback commenced to quest about, like a dog seekingthe scent.
"What are you looking for?" asked Horace.
"A place to hide and sleep," Croquier answered. "We won't move by day.A hunchback with a caged eagle accompanied by a boy--oh, no, that wouldbe much too easy to trace! We can only travel by night. Well, we oughtto be somewhere near the village of Hamoir. I don't want to be tooclose. The village might be occupied by the enemy."
Presently, with a low exclamation of satisfaction, Croquier called tothe lad.
"I've found the place," he said. "Let us walk back a little way."
"Why?" asked Horace.
"You'll see," was all the reply he got.
Obediently the lad walked back to the point designated, where a narrowfootpath crossed the stream.
"Now," said the hunchback, "walk through the water and over on theother side and then walk back again."
Though puzzled by this performance, Horace did so several times, thehunchback following in his tracks.
"Turn up-stream!" came the next order, and, with the word, he turneddirectly into the water.
"Whatever you do," warned the hunchback, "don't step on anything thatprojects out of the water and don't touch the bank."
Completely at a loss to understand his companion's purposes, Horaceobeyed to the letter. After wading up stream for a hundred yards or so,Croquier handed the cage to Horace.
"Give me a leg up to that branch," he said, pointing to the limb of alarge tree that overhung the river, bifurcating from the bank.
Taking the hunchback's foot in one hand, Horace gave a heave, justenabling his companion to reach the branch overhead. Next he handedup the cage. Then the hunchback, leaning down, grasped the boy'soutstretched hand and pulled him to the bough, beside him. Thence heslid down the sloping trunk to the point where the roots divided,forming a natural deep hollow. Here he ensconced himself comfortably,and Horace followed.
"Breakfast and a good sleep," said the hunchback, "are the two thingswe need now."
Horace agreed heartily. He was worn out by trying to keep up with thehunchback.
"But why did you go to all this trouble to get here?" he asked. "Wecould have stepped right on to this tree from the bank."
"To have some stray village dog chance upon our scent and bark itselfhoarse over our heads, attracting the attention of any one who might bepassing in the fields? No, thank you! Coming the way we did, there's notrail for a dog to scent, no track to follow. We can afford to sleepsoundly. Even if the crippled bird croaks, it will only sound like oneof the natural noises of the wood."
Thus reassured, Horace ate a good breakfast, and, wearied by thenight's exertions and excitement, fell into a sound sleep. It was latein the afternoon before he woke, but, as he slowly came to wakefulness,a hand was put over his mouth.
The boy struggled, for the first dazed moment not realizing where hewas, but the hunchback's grip would have held a lion. Then Croquier,seeing recognition in the lad's eyes, freed him, but laid a finger onhis lip.
Horace repressed a yawn and listened. Voices could be heard close by,talking in German. The boy could only distinguish a word here andthere. Evidently the men were strolling along the river bank, at theend of a day's march. Horace shivered to think how near they might havebeen to discovery had the hiding-place been less carefully chosen.
"Could you catch what they said?" the hunchback queried in a whisper,when the voices had receded into the distance.
"I only caught a word or two. The name 'Bomal' was repeated severaltimes. They seemed to be going to camp there for the night."
Croquier nodded. Bomal, a railway station on the road from Liege toJemelle and a junction of four high roads, was evidently a good placeto avoid.
As evening came on, the fugitives ate heartily from the contents oftheir pockets and, as soon as the darkness favored, struck south and alittle east to avoid Bomal and the main roads.
The flames of a burning village, sure evidence that the Germans werenear, drove them west again. A wide road thronged with motor-lorries,one following upon another so that they almost touched, delayed themfor two hours, but they crossed under a culvert near Odeigne.
The woods were filled with refugees from near by villages, and thoughthese were loyal Belgians, Croquier would not allow himself to be seenby them, lest they should let a word slip. The two fugitives passedscores of bodies of women and children, murdered by the Germans andleft unburied. Corpses were thrown into the wells, contaminating thewater. Those who had been wounded were abandoned, without any attemptto relieve their sufferings. The men remaining had been commandeered todig trenches and build defensive works against troops of their owncountry, in defiance of the laws of warfare, just as, in other places,women were herded together to walk in front of the German troops duringthe fighting, their living bodies b
eing made to serve as a human shieldagainst machine-gun fire. When they fell they were left to die.[9]Horace and the hunchback passed through this zone of misery and campedfor the succeeding day on the Ourthe River, three quarters of a milenorth of Laroche.
LIQUID FIRE PROJECTED FROM THE GERMAN TRENCHES.]
_Courtesy of "L'Illustration."_
LIQUID FIRE PROJECTED FROM PORTABLE RESERVOIRS.]
Hilly and rugged country made the next night's traveling difficult,and, many times, with their hearts in their mouths, the two fugitiveswere compelled to dart for a few hundred yards along a road, thoughevery highway leading to Jemelle--which seemed to be a Germanrendezvous--was choked with troops and supporting wagon-trains.
Near Grupont, they found a woman sitting on the bank of a road, besidethe body of a boy, six years old.
"Can we be of any service, Madame?" Croquier asked, stopping.
"Not unless you can raise the dead," she answered bitterly, butdry-eyed. "See you, Monsieur, my little Theophile was playing with atoy gun, a thing of wood, Monsieur, and painted red, which shot a corkon the end of a string, when the Germans came.
"'He will learn to shoot a real gun some day,' an officer said, 'killthe young viper before he learns to bite.' So they shot him and marchedon, laughing."[10]
There was little to say, little comfort to give. Though every momentwas precious, Horace and his companion dug a grave and twisted twoboughs into a rude cross. They left the woman sitting there, butweeping and more content. Owing to this delay, it was already daylightbefore they reached the Lesse River, where they might hide for thenight.
Horace was slightly in advance, when, quite suddenly, he saw a Germansoldier on the path, not more than twenty yards ahead of him. He duckedinto the bushes, Croquier, who was behind him, following suit.
The soldier heard the rustling and, though Horace had hidden so quicklythat he had not been seen, the soldier pointed his rifle at the pointwhere he had heard the noise and called:
"Who's there? Come out, or I fire!"
In a flash Horace saw the danger to Croquier, for the story of the"captive Kaiser" had traveled far and wide. Should the hunchback beseen and suspected, his death was certain. The boy parted the bushesand stepped out. He answered, in German:
"I am here."
The soldier dropped the butt of his rifle on the ground, seeing anunarmed boy. To all his questions Horace replied truthfully, exceptthat he said he was alone. He stated that he was an American, hoping tomake his way into France and there take ship for America.
"Why didn't you go to Holland?" the soldier asked.
"I couldn't break through to the north," the boy answered.
"Then, if you're an American, why didn't you stay in Liege? You wouldhave been safe."
Horace looked the soldier firmly in the face.
"Would I have been safe?" he queried. "There was a woman on the road alittle way back," he continued, and told the story of the toy gun.
The German listened, without comment.
"I've passed through villages where your army has been," the boycontinued, "and I've seen--"
The soldier raised his hand.
"There's no need to tell me about it," he said, "I've seen it, too,and I don't like it any more than you do. You're a boy and you knownothing of war, but I tell you that sort of thing is bound to happen.I'll admit that it's horrible. Many of us are sickened by it. But don'tbelieve that every German soldier is a brute. It's not true. War makessavages and you'll find them in every army.
"Then," he continued desperately, "what is a man to do? We've got toobey orders! Our officers tell us that a town is to be burned andpillage is allowed. It's not the soldiers who organize firing partiesand order citizens to be lined up against a wall. Our officers do that.
"It's true that when you've been in the thick of blood all day, whenyour brain is dulled by the terrific noise and every nerve is jangledwith the strain of fighting, when you see your friend fall dead by abullet shot by a sniper from some house, when you've only got to put abayonet to an inn-keeper's throat to get all the liquor you can drink,why, things look different then. All the standards by which you'reaccustomed to live have gone into the scrap-heap. You've gone back tothe days of barbarism. It's another world altogether. You don't feelthat you're the same person as the comfortable home-loving workman of amonth before."
Horace listened, his hopes for personal safety rising, for he realizedthat his captor--if captor he should prove--was a man as well as asoldier.
"The blame is on the officers, then?"
"No," the German answered, shaking his head, "the blame is on War, onthe horrible, necessary thing itself, War. The officers can't controlthe cruelties which go hand-in-hand with war any more than we can,at least, not individually. They are taught that an invaded countrymust be terrorized. Should any officer weaken, he would be suspectedand refused promotion. They're as much a part of the system as weare. The system is deliberately intended to wipe out the instincts ofkindliness. To be humane is to be weak. Still, I believe and most of usbelieve that the system is right. War is war. It is a struggle for lifeand death, not a duel of politeness. It is an appeal to force and theonly rule that it knows is force. War is war, and we're going to win ifwe have to march on the corpses of men, women and children all the wayfrom here to the sea."
Suddenly his tone changed.
"Here comes an officer!" he said. "Quick, boy, hide! I will saynothing!"
Horace slid into the bushes like a snake.
The officer came clanking by on the path, and Horace held his breath,lest the soldier should change his mind, or lest, in the presence ofthe officer, the force of military discipline should urge him to revealthe presence of the fugitive. The soldier, however, simply stepped offthe path and saluted, as the officer passed with the customary insolentswagger and negligent salute in reply.
When the sound of footsteps could no longer be heard, the soldier spokein a low voice.
"Stay where you are," he said. "Remember, I've not seen you. But if,when you get to America, you hear stories of German brutality, tellthem your story that they may know the German soldier isn't cruel justbecause he wants to be. It is that he must be. War is war."
He turned on his heel.
Horace was bursting to reply that the soldier's confession was a worseindictment of Germany as a whole than if the outrages were merely dueto a few brutal individuals in the soldiery, but he restrained himself.
A faint rustling told of Croquier's approach.
"That was a plucky thing to do," he whispered. "You meant it to cloakmy being here."
"Of course."
"I'll not forget it," said the hunchback. "But we'd better move ona bit, even though it's daylight. That soldier might repent of hiskindness or drop a word about having met an American. It's healthierfor us to be somewhere else."
"I'm ready to go," said Horace. He was beginning to have an acuteperception of the narrowness of his escape, for he saw that if therehad been two soldiers instead of one, neither would have dared to trustthe other, and, in all probability, he would have had a bayonet thrustthrough him before there was time for any explanations.
Next evening the two fugitives crossed ridge after ridge, on thehigh country to the south of the Lesse River, fortunately getting amidnight meal from a peasant who had a small farm between Hour andPondrome. This man had picked up a great deal of information from aGerman transport corps which had commandeered all his grain and allhis horses, leaving him poverty-stricken and unable to carry on thework of his farm. The information meant little to the peasant, butcoupled with the items that Horace had been able to gather and thatCroquier had found out, it gave a definite picture of the German Army'smovements.
Thus they learned that, when leaving Liege, they had crossed the trackof the army under Von Kluck (of which Von Emmich's army was only anadvance guard). Soon after, they had crossed the path of the SecondArmy, under Von Buelow. The transport corps which had taken the horses,had come up from the
south, from the Third Army, under the Duke ofWuertemberg.
"Then what's the army we passed yesterday?" asked the boy.
The hunchback considered the problem thoughtfully.
"That's right," he said, "there is another army in between, but a day'smarch behind the rest. It seems," he continued, "that Von Kluck isstriking due west, evidently to flank Namur; Von Buelow is moving onthe forts themselves; Wuertemberg's army is going to strike lower down,probably at Dinant."
He paused, for emphasis.
"But what's this other army in between?"
He sat for a few moments, sunk in thought.
"Hadn't we better be going on?" suggested Horace.
"Yes," said Croquier, rousing himself. "I was just wondering where. Ithink we'll have to try and cross the Meuse south of Dinant, betweenthat and the French frontier, which is only four miles away."
"Why not go directly to the French frontier?" asked the lad.
"Too heavily guarded," was the reply. "Our only chance is south ofDinant. Luckily, I know a man who lives close to Waulsort. We ought toreach his place this evening."
By starting early in the evening from the loft where they had hiddenall day, the fugitives reached the banks of the Meuse before midnight.There, the Meuse is deep and wide, flowing at the bottom of a deepvalley. The hunchback skirted the woods in the direction of the littlefarm that he knew and cautiously knocked on the door.
A white, drawn face looked out.
"We are peaceful peasants here!" said a sullen voice, with both terrorand hate in the tone.
"Sh! Pierre!" said the hunchback, "we are good Belgians, likeyourselves. Let us in quickly."
Surprised and unwillingly the peasant opened the door.
"It is the circus boy!" he exclaimed.
Croquier wasted no time in greetings.
"We must cross the river," he said. "I have information of value to theFrench. You have a boat?"
"I did have," was the answer, "but the Germans took it to-day."
"Are they near here?"
"You can see the light of their fires."
"The river is guarded, I suppose?"
"Every foot of it."
"Yet we must cross."
"Swim, then," responded the peasant, laconically.
"Swim, carrying this?" retorted the hunchback, holding up the ironcage, and showing the "captive Kaiser," while, in a few words, hedescribed the omen of victory.
The peasant nodded his head in evident appreciation of the symbol.
"The Germans must not be allowed to get it," he said, obviously moreinterested in the fate of the bird than of his friend. "But there arethree men guarding the boat."
"Only three," said Croquier significantly; "there are three of us."
Horace shrank back as the meaning of the words became clear.
The hunchback looked at him.
"Remember Deschamps," he said. "Remember the cure, remember littleJacques, and remember Mme. Maubin!"
Horace pulled himself together.
"There are three of us," he agreed.
The peasant had not spoken but, from a hiding-place in the frame of thebed, he pulled out a long knife and offered it to Croquier.
"Keep it, you," said the hunchback; "I have my hands."
"And the boy?" asked the peasant.
"I've a pistol I took from a dead German near Liege," the boy answered,showing it. "It's loaded."
"Too much noise," said the peasant, shaking his head.
"It's all I can do," protested the boy. "I haven't Croquier's grip, andsomehow, I couldn't use a knife. It's too much like murder."
"And you?" queried the hunchback, turning to his friend. "You dare? Youare not afraid?"
"Hear you!" the peasant answered. "My brother-in-law lives in a miningvillage. There was a battle near by, the day before yesterday. Theymade him march in front of the troops and he was killed by a Frenchbullet.
"A wounded French sergeant dragged himself to the house. My sister hidhim. Soon after, a German officer came. He asked for food. When mysister commenced to get it ready, they complained that she was slow. Hestruck her. He behaved like a brute and--"
"Well?" queried Croquier, as the man paused.
"The wounded sergeant," the peasant continued, "drew his pistol andshot the German.
"Emile, my nephew, was there. The dying Frenchman asked for water. Theboy went to the well and brought some. When he returned, other Germanswere in the house. An officer asked him for the water. He answered,politely enough:
"'In a minute, sir,' and gave a drink first to the wounded man."
"That was sure to bring ruin," said the hunchback. "A German alwaysthinks he is more important than any one else."
"The commanding officer immediately ordered Emile shot and his eyeswere bandaged. Then the officer changed his mind. He took off thebandage and handed the boy a gun.
BOY HEROES OF THE FRONT.
_Courtesy of "Le Miroir."_
A Servian lad, sharpshooter, 12 years old, who fought gallantly atBelgrade.
_Courtesy of "J'ai Vu."_
"Petit Jean" of the Zouaves, who won revenge against the Germans whoburned his French home.
_Courtesy of "Ill. London News."_
A Russian lad, 14 years old, full member of a gun crew, which saw muchaction.]
"'Shoot the Frenchman, you!' he said. 'That will make you a goodGerman.'
"The boy took the gun, pointed it at the French sergeant, then wheeledsuddenly and fired point-blank at the German commander, who fell dead.So," said the peasant slowly, "they first tortured my nephew and thenkilled him. After that they set fire to the house and burned alive thewounded man inside. My sister escaped from the burning house and toldme the story last night."[11]
"And she?"
"She went mad early this morning and drowned herself in the river. Doyou think I would let fear stop me from revenge?"
No more was said. They filed out of the farmhouse, creeping throughthe forest down the steep slopes to the river below. At a tinylanding-stage two German soldiers were standing.
The hunchback held up two fingers and the boy's spirits rose withrelief at the thought that he would not be compelled to take part in acold-blooded though necessary slaughter.
"Take the bird," whispered Croquier to him, "and, whatever happens, seethat the Germans do not get it. If you are about to be caught, throwthe cage in the river. Its weight will sink it."
"I will," said the boy. He would have said more, as his fingers closedupon the iron ring, but his companions had slipped off into thedarkness.
The few minutes of waiting that followed seemed like hours. Far, faraway, there was a faint sound of cannonading, which, although theboy did not know it, was the advance-guard knocking at the gates ofNamur. It rose and fell on the night breeze above the indistinguishablemurmur around him, born of the presence of hundreds of thousands ofmen encamped on both sides of the river, of the rattle of harness, ofthe hum of motor-vehicles and of the tramp of feet. A dull, angry redflickered spasmodically in the sky, here and there, the reflections ofburning villages below.
Silently, so silently that it seemed to Horace as though he werewatching a play of shadows, two men arose from the ground behind thesentries. The blue steel in the peasant's hand flashed in the faintmoonlight of an aged moon and the sentry fell with a choked cry. Fromthe other sentry's throat there came no sound and the dumb strugglewas a fearful thing to see. The hunchback's fingers, however, wouldhave strangled an ox, and, before a minute had passed, a dead man layon the ground, the iron grip still on his windpipe.
At that instant, Horace heard a voice humming the snatch of a Germansong and the third sentry came along the path, returning to his post.
The boy fingered his revolver, but he could not bring himself to shoota man unprepared. His gorge rose at the thought. Yet, if he allowedthe sentry to pass, the alarm would be given and he and his companionswould be killed.
A trick of boyhood flashed through his mind.
Quickly seizing a dead branch which lay near by, he thrust it betweenthe sentry's legs as he passed, with a sudden jerk tripping him up, sothat he fell headlong from the narrow stony path into the bushes on theside. Then the boy sped for the wharf like a deer.
"The third sentry!" he gasped.
There was no time for explanations. The two fugitives and the peasantleaped into the boat and a few short, sharp strokes took them well intothe strong current of the river.
The sentry who had been tripped, quite unsuspicious and blaming onlythe roughness of the path in the darkness, got up, grumbling, rubbedhimself where he had been bruised and searched for his spiked helmet,which had fallen off.
These few seconds were salvation for the fugitives.
Before half a minute had elapsed, the sentry reached the landing-stageand saw the stretched-out bodies of his comrades. Taken by surprise, helost another ten or twenty seconds staring around him before he caughtsight of the boat on the river.
Then, and not till then, did the sentry grasp that a surprise attackhad been made and that his fall on the path had been purposed and notdue to an accident. Raising his rifle, he fired, but the shots flewwide.
"I heard the Germans couldn't shoot straight!" declared the hunchback,in contempt. "Now I know it's true."
Horace thought the bullets were quite close enough, and when one ofthem nipped the oar he was using and raised a sliver of wood from thefeathered blade, he had an uncomfortable feeling inside. But, beforethe alarm could be widely given, the boat shot into the shadow of thewestern bank and reached the shore in safety.
French advance posts took the three in charge as soon as they touchedland, and, when morning arrived, brought them before the rankingofficer. Horace was able to give but little information, but Croquier,who had read widely of military tactics, was able to combine thevarious items that he had gleaned during the escape to make a report ofgreat value and importance.
"You are sure," the officer asked him, "that, in addition to the armiesof Von Kluck and Von Buelow to the north, and the Duke of Wuertembergand the Crown Prince to the south, there is another army, hurrying upbetween?"
"We saw it, sir," Croquier replied.
"Under whose command?"
"I couldn't find out, sir."
The officer gnawed his mustache.
"Our air men report a gap in the German line, there," he said. "We'recounting on it."
"There isn't such a gap, sir," the hunchback insisted, earnestly."Every road we crossed was filled with troops, and, sir," he added,"there seemed to be an independent siege-train. It looked like acomplete army."
"It would be hard to distinguish such a force from divisions of theother armies," the officer said, "unless you had more facts than youwere able to gather, but I'll convey your information to headquarters.It may prove very useful. Now, just what shall I do with you?"
"I'd like to fight, sir," said the hunchback, "if I could find some oneto guard the Kaiser."
The officer stared at him as though he thought Croquier had gone mad.
"What are you talking about," he said, "to 'guard the Kaiser'?"
The hunchback pointed to the cage in his hand, which he had positivelyrefused to give up to the orderly.
"Here's the Kaiser, sir," he said, "withered left arm and all!"
His questioner bent forward, as Croquier described the capture, and, inspite of the responsibilities weighing upon him, the officer laughedaloud.
"It is a true omen of victory!" he said. "Stay with this division. Itwill bring us luck."
"I'll be glad to, sir," said Croquier.
"Do any of the men know about it?"
"It must be all over the camp by now, sir," the hunchback answered."I've told the story at least a dozen times this morning."
The colonel smacked his leg with delight.
"That bird," he said, "especially if we have to retreat, is worth halfa regiment of men. Next to good food, good spirits keep an army going.You stay here and 'guard the Kaiser' yourself.
"As for the lad," he continued, turning to Horace, "why, we'll send youon to Paris, the first chance we get. The front is no place for a boy,and, in any case, military regulations are rigid against the presenceof non-combatants. Even war correspondents are not allowed, no matterhow strong their official credentials."
Horace would have protested, but he knew that while French militarydiscipline is not as machine-made as that of Germany, it is not lessstrict. Boy-like, he trusted to chance that something might happen,and, in any case, he would probably see a battle that day. If he couldjust see one battle, he thought, he would be content, particularly ifit were a German defeat.
Partly owing to his capture of "the Kaiser," because of the pluck hehad shown in escaping from Liege, and partly owing to the stories hehad to tell of German atrocities in Belgium, Horace was very popularwith the "poilus,"[12] as the French soldiers familiarly calledthemselves.
It was in conversation, that morning, with one of the veterans ofthe army, a non-commissioned officer who had seen active service inMorocco and Madagascar, and who was studying with the aim of winninghis shoulder-straps, that Horace gained his first clear idea of thehuge scale upon which modern war operations are conducted. Evidentlythe veteran had worked out for himself the main elements of GeneralJoffre's plan, and Horace's information concerning the location of theGerman troops revealed further developments of the campaign to the oldsoldier's eyes. Resting in readiness to support the advance line shouldthe reserves be called on, the veteran delivered himself oracularly asto the situation.
"The battle-line now," he said, "is a right angle running north fromDinant to Namur and then west from Namur to Conde. The south to northline, where we are now, is held by the Fourth French Army, underGeneral Langle de Cary. We're protected by the gorge of the Meuse, andit's our little job to try and keep the Boches[13] from crossing.
"Namur is the bend of the angle. It is strongly fortified, with nineforts in ring formation, and is held by the Belgian army under GeneralMichel. From Namur westward through Charleroi to Binche is held by theFifth French Army under General Lanrezac, and is protected by a narrowriver, the Sambre. Westward from Binche, through Mons to Conde, is heldby the British Expeditionary Force under Sir John French, only lightlyprotected by the Mons barge-canal. The first attack will fall on Namur.I hear it has already started."
"It won't last long," interjected Croquier, "for the lad and I saw the42-centimeter guns (16.5-inch howitzers) on their way to Namur. Oncethose siege-guns get into position, the forts are gone. They won't beable to stand ten shells apiece."
"The forts will hold for a week," the veteran answered, for hediscounted the rumors which had come of the power of the greatsiege-guns. "In any case, they'll hold for three days, and that'sas long as necessary. So, you see, the English face Von Kluck, theBelgians face Von Buelow--and we're holding Wuertemberg's army."
"All very well," said the hunchback, "but, as I've told you, we sawanother army coming up through the Ardennes."
"If there were, our airmen would have seen it," said the veteran, "andour staff would know all about it. You're mistaken, that's all. Thebattle-line is just about the way I've said it and the real clash isbetween the French and German systems of strategy."
"Are they very different?" asked Horace. "I should have thought thatstrategy was pretty exact and every one worked in more or less the sameway."
"Don't think it for a moment!" the veteran replied earnestly. "Germanstrategy and French strategy are as far apart as the feelings of thetwo races. They are the result of different principles. They work indifferent ways. The German depends on massed force, the French onindividual courage; the German thinks mainly of attack and his favoriteword is 'annihilation,' the French thinks mainly of defense and hisfavorite word is 'France.' It is for this war to show which of the twois the stronger--German aggression or French defense.
"German strategy," he explained, "begins with the formation of anextended line. In action it plans heavy ma
ssed attacks at variouspoints along a battle front, in order to keep the whole of the opposingline engaged, while, at the same time, at least a full army corps isthrown out on each end of the battle-line, two or three divisions ofcavalry being thrown out farther still, to act as a screen and hide themovements behind it. This maneuver is for the purpose of curling roundthe ends of an enemy's line, flanking it and, by cutting its line ofcommunication in the rear, rolling it up and annihilating it."
"That, I should think," said Horace, "needs a lot of men."
"It does," the veteran agreed, "and that is one of the reasons thatGermany never advances unless she has a big preponderance of men.Don't think that because Germans seldom attack with equal forces theymust therefore be cowards. It is because their tactics are basedon the principle of flanking, enveloping and securing a decisivevictory, rather than the principle of saving men, taking advantage ofnatural conditions and winning a number of small engagements. It isterribly wasteful of men, but it produces big military results--whensuccessful--and an appalling human sacrifice, when unsuccessful.
"A German attack, therefore, my boy, means that you will have to suffera succession of driving blows directed at two or three points of themain line, reenforced by a concentration of artillery far greater thanis possessed by any other army, coupled with wide flanking movementsby huge bodies of troops supported by cavalry and a very mobile fieldartillery."
"All right," said the boy; "I understand that clearly. Now what's theFrench idea?"
"French strategy," the veteran replied, "always presupposes thenecessity of being compelled to fight having an army less in numbersbut superior in individual dash and bravery. It is the problem ofwinning a battle with a smaller number of men than the enemy. Theprinciple is that of a spring bent back to the utmost, which, whenreleased rebounds forward with tremendous force. We call it the'strategic lozenge.'"
"I've heard of that," said Horace. "It's sometimes called the'strategic square,' isn't it? It seems something like our baseballdiamond," and, with boyish animation, he explained the position of thebases.
"It is very like," said the bearded poilu, smiling at the comparison ofmilitary strategy with a baseball game; "perhaps I can explain it toyou in that way. In this strategic lozenge, the whole army is dividedin four parts. The rear, or the reserve army, is where you call 'homebase.' The fighting or operative corner is at 'second base,' and theother two armies are at 'first base' and 'third base' respectively. Youunderstand the positions?"
_Courtesy of "Panorama de la Guerre."_
"OUR ENEMIES SHOWED GREAT GALLANTRY."
German gunners saving their 77-mm. piece in the teeth of a Frenchinfantry attack in the Argonne.]
"Of course," said the boy, "that's quite easy. But it doesn't lookparticularly strong. I should think a long line, like the German oneyou were telling me about, could come on both sides of that point, or'second base' army and gobble it up."
"So it could," said the veteran, nodding appreciation of the lad'sperception, "if the 'second base' army stayed there to be gobbledup. That, my boy, is exactly what it doesn't do. When the enemy lineadvances, it is halted by this sharp point. The flanking movement isimpossible, because if the long line bends round the corner, it wouldtake several days for the ends to close in, and, when they did closein, they would only be confronted by a new army, let us say at 'thirdbase.' Long before they could reach there, the fourth army, at 'homebase,' could have marched up to reenforce the operative corner andsmashed the weakened middle of the opposing line, which, with itswings gone, would have no reserves on which to fall back."
"Great!" cried the boy. "Then the German army would be cut in half!"
"Precisely! It would! And, my boy, if the line be cut, then our armies,which had broken through, could fall on the line of communications andcut off the enemy's provisions and supplies.
"If, on the other hand, the German commanders saw this danger, which,of course, they would, they could halt all along the extended line,reenforcing from either side the masses thrown against the operativecorner."
"Ow!" said Horace, "that would be awkward."
"Yes," the veteran responded, "if there were no strategical reply. Butwhen the line halts, the three armies in reserve in the diamond canbe swung either to right or left. So, since they have only a shortdistance to go, they can force the battle on their own chosen groundmuch more quickly than the opposing troops--which are stretched out ina long line--can come up to defend it."
"I don't see that," said Horace.
The veteran smiled.
"You don't see it," he said, "because you don't realize that theWonder of War is not the machines used by the men who wage it, butthe men themselves and the handling of them. Modern war, like ancientwar, consists only in the spirit of the fighters and the skill of thecommanders. There's not a great deal of difference between a bayonetand flint knife, a rifle is but an explosive form of bow and arrow, andthe great 42-centimeter siege-gun of the Boches is only a sling-shotmade a little bigger and throwing a little farther. The morale of men,my boy, and the strategy of generals are the wonders of war, as theywere in the days of Rameses, Caesar and Napoleon. It's more difficult,now, because you're moving millions of men and tens of millions of tonsof munitions and material.
"Let us take the strategy of the present situation, as the greatestarmies of the world face it this sunny summer morning. Namur is the'second base' or operative corner. Paris is the 'home base.' Verdunis 'first base.' Conde, to the extreme left of the English troops, is'third base.' The German long line is bent round the angle. This hasbeen very skillfully done, for it enables the line to attack at anypoint. But, see, we could throw our reenforcing fourth army on eitherthe left or the right wing in two days' time. Suppose we threw it onthe western wing. It would take at least two weeks before the enemy'seastern wing could march up, even if it were good tactics to do so."
"Why?"
"Because of the enormous difficulty of moving hundreds of thousandsof men. No civilian has any idea of it. Suppose you want to move fivearmy corps--that's a quarter of a million men--how long do you thinkit would take? Your easternmost corps would have to begin the march byretreating at least thirty miles before they could begin to turn, inorder to leave room for the rest to turn inside them. The first armycorps would have to wait until the second countermarched in line withit, both first and second would have to wait for the third, and fourcorps would be idle while the fifth corps came into position.
"To deploy them in line would take weeks. Then, even after they hadbeen got in order and were marching from south to north, the corpsnearest to the battle line would have to mark time while the restpivoted on it. That would mean a couple more days' lost time. The samedelay would arise when it was necessary to pivot the line in positionfor attack. In addition to that, my boy, there would be the waste oftime in strategical handling caused by the change of direction. Newlines of communication would have to be established, new supply depotsbuilt, new routes mapped out, rolling stock shifted to other railwaysystems, all the plans which the General Staff had made before theopening of the campaign must needs be altered and the huge body ofofficers would have to receive new orders so that they might learn theentire change of tactics in detail. Meantime, the battle would be over."
"Well, then," said Horace, scornfully, "German strategy is allnonsense."
"Don't jump to conclusions," warned the veteran. "There's another sideto it. Suppose that the operative corner is attacked so fast and sofuriously that, instead of being able to retreat upon its reservesin good order, it is annihilated, what then? In that case, the enemycan plunge right in between the supporting armies, going to what, Isuppose, you would call the 'pitcher's box,' cut the dissevered troopsapart and deal with them one at a time.
"Everything depends upon the operative corner, especially on itstenacity. This strategy is possible in the French Army, whereindividual courage and resiliency is the highest of all armies of theworld. It is only equaled by some of the Irish and Highla
nd Scotchregiments of the British Army, and the Bersaglieri and other corps ofthe Italian Army. It is not suitable to the bulldog tactics of theEnglish, which depend on wearing down the enemy; nor to the 'wolf-pack'system of the Germans, which depends on mere weight of numbers."
Horace leaned forward, thoughtfully.
"There's a good deal more to this than I thought," he said.
"The operation of war on land," said the veteran, "is one of the mostmarvelous processes known to the human brain. There is no machine soenormous, none that requires so much detail and fineness of adjustment.I've studied it from a soldier's point of view, ever since I've been inthe army, and now that I'm trying to get my commission, I'm studying itall the closer.
"Men don't win a war. Guns don't win a war. Food and munitions don'twin a war. You can have ten million men and a hundred million tons offood and munitions and what good will they be unless the food gets tothe men, the munitions to the guns, and the men and guns to the front?What good will it do then, unless the men have, first, the spirit tofight, and second, the skill to fight?
"You say that the prophecy about the bird declares that America willhave to join the war. Perhaps. But if the United States had started toprepare ten years ago, she would still have been twenty years too late.To expect to make an army by waiting until it is needed, is just aboutas sensible as to wait for the sowing of wheat until the harvest-timewhen the crop is needed. And when you get back to America, you can tellthem so."
The poilu wiped his forehead, for he had become thoroughly roused onthe point. Then, after a moment, he continued:
"To return to our strategy question. The present position of theFrench and English armies, supporting Namur, is that of an operativecorner. Probably we will be driven back, but it is on the springinessof our resistance that the campaign hangs. The more we retreat, thestiffer grows the spring, for we are falling back on reenforcementsand shortening our lines of communication and transport all the time.The more the enemy advances, the weaker his line grows, for he islosing men which he cannot replace and is lengthening his lines ofcommunication and transport all the time. Sooner or later, the reboundof the spring is stronger than the force pressing back, and then, ifthe pressure is weakened the least bit, the spring darts back. That isthe rebound or recoil. It is the rebound which will save France."
"Then you expect to retreat?"
"What would be the use of an operative corner if we didn't retreat onthe masses of maneuver?" the veteran retorted. "We all know that. Thepublic won't understand it, of course, and a good many of the youngersoldiers are apt to lose their heads over it, but the statesmen know,the generals know, the officers know, and arrangements are already madefor it in advance. We are well prepared.
"The two greatest armies that the world has ever seen are facing eachother, and the two great principles of strategy are to be fought out,as well as the moral principle between a nation that breaks its wordand one that keeps it. Within a month will be settled, perhaps forever,the greatest question in military tactics--which is better, the massedline and flanking movements of the Germans or the strategic diamond ofthe French.
"If Namur holds, you will see the supporting armies swing up againstone or the other side of the long German line and send it flyingback. If Namur falls resistingly, you will see the whole operativecorner from Conde through Mons, Binche, Thuin, Charleroi, Namur,Dinant, Givet, and Montmedy to Verdun narrow its lines, shorten itscommunications and draw closer and closer in. The spring will bestiffening for the rebound. If the corner is smashed and the Germansbreak clear through--the whole war is lost, the whole world is lost!"
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Report of Belgian Royal Commission.
[10] Report of French Commission of Inquiry.
[11] This happened in the village of Lourches, near Douchy. The boy'sname was Emile Despres and he was fourteen years old.
[12] "Poilu" means hairy, and conveys the sense of shaggy strength.
[13] The Germans are called "Boches" by the French and "Huns" by theBritish. The origin of the word "Boche" is disputed; the word "Hun" isused to denote ruthless barbarity.