The Senate was another matter. There the Democrats went into the election with a 10-seat margin. There were 37 contests before the voters, 5 of them being special elections to replace senators who had succumbed to the scythe of death that had thinned the Democrats’ ranks. Still, Wilson’s party started with 11 seats guaranteed in the Deep South, a nice edge. Elsewhere, however, an unnerving number of Democratic senators were involved in bruising contests with well-financed opponents, while only a handful of Republicans had reason to worry about their survival.69
On November 6, giant headlines shouted the results: The Republicans had swept the West and won 37 of the 50 contested House seats. They would prevail in the lower chamber by a comfortable 237 to 193. The Senate still hung in the balance, with several states counting votes into the dawn to determine who had won. Not until the following day, when results trickled in from Michigan and one or two other states, did the New York Times announce that the Republicans had “apparently” carried both houses of Congress. The margin of victory in the Senate was 2 seats.70
Since Vice President Marshall gave the Democrats an extra vote in case of a tie, the Senate margin was actually 1 seat. In several states, such as New Hampshire and Delaware, fewer than 1,000 votes separated the Republican winner and the Democratic loser. Henry Ford amazed everyone by coming within 7,000 votes of winning a Senate seat in Michigan. A dismaying number of Democratic voters—21 percent—had stayed home. The drop in the Republicans’ turnout was 17 percent, suggesting that Wilson’s appeal for a Democratic Congress may have enraged just enough GOP stalwarts to win.
In some states, other issues complicated Wilson’s appeal for support. Nebraska postmortems blamed the American Protective League, whose persecution of German-Americans had turned them into an anti-Wilson bloc. In Oregon, the feud between Senator Chamberlain and Wilson caused the Democratic turnout to drop by 42 percent, dooming a Chamberlain supporter who ran against a Republican incumbent. In Indiana, Vice President Marshall, obeying Wilson’s orders, made another stump speech at the state Democratic convention, calling Republicans disloyal. Enraged GOP voters wiped out the state’s Democratic congressmen en masse.71
The Republicans did not allow such minor details to deflate their self-congratulations. Senator Lodge called it “a wonderful election.” He attributed the failure of Wilson’s appeal to the American people’s refusal to elect “a dictatorship or an autocracy.” Not even the “vast machinery of the government” in wartime enabled Wilson to win, though the president used it “ruthlessly for the benefit of the Democratic Party.” a few weeks later, Lodge told two other correspondents the Republican victory was “a country-wide revolt against dictatorship” and its magnitude was “unbelievable.”72
Theodore Roosevelt saw the victory as a repudiation of Wilson’s Fourteen Points. He declared that the Republicans had “made the fight on the unconditional surrender issue” and the people had voted their uncompromising support. Another former Republican president, William Howard Taft, blamed the defeat on Wilson’s “crass egotism.” He also thought the president’s peace notes to Berlin had “alarmed the people.”73
By far the best explanation came from the liberals. The New Republic and The Nation both blamed Wilson for failing to maintain the Progressive-Democratic coalition that had elected him in 1916. He had allowed war rage and the actions of Attorney General Gregory and Postmaster General Burleson to create an atmosphere of repression and fear, which turned tens of thousands of liberals against the administration. Committee of Public Information Director Creel ruefully confirmed this conclusion in a gloomy letter to the president:“All [your] radical or liberal friends . . .were either silenced or intimidated. There was no voice left to argue for your kind of peace.”74
For Senator La Follette, the results produced a political resurrection. Suddenly all sorts of pro-war Republicans, who might have voted for his expulsion, were rushing over to shake his hand and tell him the election proved it was time “to unite all Republicans.” the New York World, which had called for La Follette’s expulsion, glumly concluded that with “Battle Bob” holding the balance of power in the Senate, the likelihood of further prosecution of the senator was close to zero. This prophecy was soon fulfilled. On November 22, the Privileges and Elections Committee voted to drop its investigation, 9 to 2.75
For Wilson the ironies of this election were large and painful. He had gambled his standing as the political leader of his country and lost. With his well-known preference for a parliamentary system of government, someone might have argued the president should resign, as Clemenceau or Lloyd George would have been forced to do, if they had lost a similar election. But the U.S. Constitution guaranteed Woodrow Wilson two more years of presidential power, and he soon made it clear he had no intention of abandoning the helm of the ship of state. To one influenza-stricken Democratic congressman who sent a sympathetic telegram from his sick bed, the president replied:“You may be sure the stubborn Scotch-Irish in me will be rendered no less stubborn and aggressive by the results.”76
Unfortunately, this attitude was not a formula for future political success.
XVII
In Europe, the politicians ordered the generals to set conditions that would render the German army incapable of renewing the war if peace negotiations failed. Field Marshal Haig’s proposed terms were surprisingly mild. He thought the Germans should be allowed to retreat across the Rhine with the honors of war. His reasons were bluntly practical. The German army was by no means broken. As Lloyd George, speaking for Haig, put it, “Wherever you hit them they hit back hard and inflicted heavy casualties.” Haig added that the Germans showed no symptoms of a disorganized army. Their retreat was being conducted “in perfect order and with the greatest skill.”77
Generalissimo Foch had other ideas. He demanded the surrender of a third of Germany’s artillery, 5,000 cannon, and half their machine guns—30,000—plus 3,000 trench mortars. In addition, he wanted 5,000 locomotives and 150,000 freight and passenger cars. He also insisted on bridgeheads on the east bank of the Rhine and Allied control of Germany west of the Rhine. Premier Clemenceau strongly backed these draconian measures.
On the naval side, Great Britain’s admirals were not nearly as moderate as its generals. The sailors demanded the internment of the entire German surface fleet at their Scapa Flow naval base in the Orkney Islands off Scotland. Some 150 submarines were to be towed away to other ports.
When Secretary of War Baker cabled General Pershing asking for his thoughts on armistice terms, the AEF commander replied that he favored unconditional surrender. He thought the Germans needed to be thoroughly beaten and he had the army to do the job. The statement infuriated Wilson and Baker. They suspected it was the opening gun of a Pershing run for the presidency. More likely, it was a combination of the general’s objective view of the military situation and his ongoing friendship with Theodore Roosevelt, who had made him a general. Under fierce pressure from Wilson, Pershing accepted the idea of an armistice. But he remained convinced it was a mistake.78
The politicians, after days of wrangling, took Foch’s advice. They were receiving worrisome reports of Bolshevik agitation in Germany. They decided it was vital to end the war as soon as possible and leave the German army with enough guns to preserve order—but not enough to resume the war. They also approved the terms demanded by the British navy.
The final scenes of the armistice drama took place in the saloon carriage of Marshal Foch’s railway train in the forest of Compiègne, northeast of Paris. The German delegates arrived on the morning of November 7. Foch met them at 9 A.M., accompanied by his chief of staff, General Weygand, and two British naval officers. It was no accident that Americans were not included. The omission was the opening gun in the Allied campaign to dilute and if possible dismiss the Fourteen Points—and the American contribution to victory.
The two delegations sat down at a table, facing each other. Foch turned to his interpreter and said in an icy stage whisper: �
��Ask these gentlemen what they want.”
Matthias Erzberger, the liberal Catholic leader of the German delegation, replied in German that they were here to receive the Allies’ proposals for peace.
Foch replied that he had no proposals to make. The generalissimo started to get up from his chair, as if he were going to end the conference then and there. The flustered Germans asked if they could say they were there to hear the conditions of the armistice. Another German said in French, “How would you like us to express ourselves?”
Foch again replied he had no conditions to offer. Totally bewildered, the Germans read aloud Wilson’s latest note to their chancellor, saying Foch was authorized to make known the conditions of the armistice.
The generalissimo replied he could only do that if the Germans asked for an armistice. Swallowing hard, Erzberger said yes, they were asking for an armistice.
Foch ordered General Weygand to read the “principle paragraphs” of the terms. The devastating clauses made it clear that Germany was defeated and would remain defeated. The rest of the document was presented to the delegates in written form.
The Germans were staggered by the scope of the demands, which exploded once and for all any hope that some sort of face-saving armistice could be brokered. These were terms that spelled DEFEAT in capital letters for their own people and the rest of the world.
A request for an immediate cease-fire was curtly rejected. A protest that they might need machine guns to keep order in Germany was also denied. Foch told them to get the guns from their reserve divisions. The Germans replied that there were no reserve divisions. Every available man was already in the lines. Foch still insisted on 30,000 machine guns.79
The Germans were given seventy-two hours to make a decision. A courier with a copy of the terms departed for German army headquarters in Spa, Belgium, where the kaiser and his generals were waiting. In Berlin, Prince Max was getting news from other parts of Germany that added to the mounting atmosphere of collapse. In province after province, workers and soldiers councils were taking over government offices and proclaiming a republic. Munich and Cologne were flying the red flag of Bolshevism. Next came word that all of Bavaria was tottering in the same revolutionary direction. On the evening of November 8, Prince Max phoned the kaiser and told him to abdicate “to save Germany from civil war.” the monarch furiously refused to consider the idea.80
Wilhelm II was reconciled to the inevitability of an armistice and a loser’s peace. But he still dreamed of placing himself at the head of his army and marching on Berlin to restore order. The following day, the kaiser learned that several elite regiments in the capital had joined the revolution. Field Marshal von Hindenburg still supported the idea of a march, but he did not think it would succeed. The man who had replaced Ludendorff as quartermaster general, Wilhelm Groener, told the kaiser the brutal truth:“Sire, you no longer have an army. The army will march home in peace and order under the command of its officers . . . but it no longer stands behind your Majesty.”81
A few hours later, Prince Max telephoned the kaiser to report the rapid growth of the revolution in Berlin. He reiterated that only Wilhelm’s immediate abdication could prevent a civil war. Soon came truly stunning news. Prince Max had announced the kaiser’s abdication and followed it with his own departure. He had handed over the post of chancellor to Friedrich Ebert, leader of the Social Democratic Party. One of Ebert’s lieutenants, hoping to stem the Bolshevik tide, had announced the formation of a German republic. Wilhelm II’s long reign as kaiser was over.
Instead of struggling to retain his power, the kaiser began to fear for his life. The fate of his cousin Czar Nicholas II and the czar’s family loomed before his eyes. “I am hated everywhere in the world,” he told one of his aides.82
XVIII
When the American First Army resumed the offensive in the Argonne on November 1, Pershing urged it forward with ferocious intensity, hoping it could smash the German army before the armistice negotiators agreed on terms. Rested and reorganized, with new tactics to deal with enemy machine guns, the Americans opened the attack with a massive barrage that mixed poison gas and high explosives, as well as a blizzard of bullets from heavy machine guns. By nightfall the divisions in the center had driven a five-mile wedge into the German lines, forcing the enemy to abandon the Argonne in headlong retreat. A triumphant Pershing said: “For the first time, the enemy’s lines were completely broken through.”83
On November 5, Foch made yet another attempt to steal a chunk of Pershing’s army. He asked for six divisions for an attack in Lorraine, under the command of Charles “Butcher” Mangin. No doubt recalling the staggering casualties of Soissons, Pershing growled that he could have the divisions, but only if they fought as a separate American army, with no French interference in their operations. Foch demurred and the idea was abandoned.
The proposal reignited Pershing’s ire at Foch and his boss, Clemenceau. The AEF commander retaliated with a ploy that seriously endangered the fragile alliance. He decided the Americans would capture Sedan, the city where the French had ingloriously surrendered to Kaiser Wilhelm I’s Germans in 1870. Ignoring a boundary drawn by Foch that placed Sedan in the zone of the French Fourth Army, Pershing ordered the First Army to capture the city and deprive the French of the symbolic honor.
The order directed the U.S. Army’s First Corps, spearheaded by the Forty-Second Division, to make the main thrust. But the details were so vague that General Summerall, by then commander of the V Corps, was encouraged to march the First Division across the front of the Forty-Second Division to win the prize. In the darkness and confusion, the First Division captured Brigadier General Douglas MacArthur. His unorthodox uniform made the doughboys suspect he was a German spy. It was a miracle the two divisions did not shoot each other to pieces. Meanwhile, the French Fourth Army liberated Sedan, as originally planned.84
By this time, everyone knew armistice talks were under way. But Pershing’s order to keep attacking was still in force. Generalissimo Foch, it should be added, bolstered Pershing’s order with an attack order of his own on November 9. Major General Charles Summerall decided this meant he should attempt to cross the Meuse River to continue the pursuit of the retreating enemy. By this time Summerall not only accepted heavy casualties, he exulted in them.
On the afternoon of November 10, Summerall spoke to field grade officers at the Second Division’s headquarters. He told them he wanted a bridgehead on the east bank of the Meuse by morning. “The lateness of the hour demands heroic action,” he said. Increasing the pressure was the only way to bring the Germans to terms.“I don’t expect to see any of you again,” Summerall added. “But that doesn’t matter. You [will] have the honor of a definite success. . . . Report to your commands.” Eleven years later, an officer would still remember “the cold anger” Summerall’s merciless words generated.85
A battalion of U.S. Marines from the Second Division and a battalion of doughboys from the Eighty-Ninth Division were ordered to make the crossing. In cold, rainy darkness, the marines tried to get across on a footbridge swept by German machine-gun fire. It was little short of a massacre. Only about a hundred men made it to the other side, where they were pinned down by more machine-gun fire. A second marine battalion tried to cross on another footbridge, which had been holed by artillery. Many were killed and wounded by shell fire before they got to the bridge. A German shell dumped the battalion commander and his staff into the river. But enough marines made it to the east bank to create a bridgehead and send out patrols.86
The battalion from the Eighty-Ninth Division arrived at the river almost two hours after the marine assault. Its commander, Major Mark Hanna, bore a famous name. His uncle had been the man who made William McKinley president in 1896. Totally fearless, Hanna led his men across on the footbridge. Twice, while dozens died, he survived sheets of machine-gun fire. The company that led the assault was reduced to 19 privates and 2 noncommissioned officers. On the third attempt, Major Hanna
’s luck ran out. But about 300 men made it to the other side.
Further down the river, in another battalion of the Eighty-Ninth Division, Sergeant Ralph Forderhase wondered why headquarters “seemed unable to visualize the effectiveness of the German rear guard tactics.” an earlier attempt to cross the Meuse by his battalion had been a calamitous failure. The acting battalion commander, Captain Arthur I. Wear, had asked for volunteers to swim the cold, deep river to explore German strength on the opposite bank. Only a handful survived the machine-gun and artillery fire. Few of these brought back information of any value. As Sergeant Forderhase later recalled it, Captain Wear thanked them for their heroism and “walked a short distance into the dark and somber woods and shot himself in the head with his service pistol.”87
This time Sergeant Forderhase and his battalion crossed the river on rafts, unopposed. In the morning, they moved forward in a dense fog toward the village of Pouilly. Forderhase heard a voice calling his name. It was Captain Wear’s replacement, pointing in amazement at two Germans manning a machine gun. The Americans had stumbled on them in the fog, and they had surrendered without firing a shot. The captain wondered why the gunners had not slaughtered them.
Forderhase knew enough German to ask them for an explanation. The Germans told them the war was ending at eleven o’clock and they saw no reason “to sacrifice their lives, or ours, needlessly.” the skeptical Americans took them prisoner and continued to advance until they were stopped by sniper fire. They took cover and debated what to do next. Suddenly the snipers stopped shooting. Forderhase looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock.88
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