Chapter 24

"It will dash against a wall of loyal flesh and blood, barbed with steel--if it comes," he said simply.

My impression, growing increasingly stronger the more I have seen, that German military success had been to no small extent made possible by American inventive genius and high-speed American methods, received interesting partial confirmation from the Field Marshal, whose keen, restless mind, working over quite ordinary material, produced the new suggestive combination of ideas that, while "America might possibly be materially assisting Germany's enemies with arms, ammunition, and other war material, certain it was that America, in the last analysis, had helped Germany far more."

"But for America, my armies would possibly not be standing in Russia today--without the American railroading genius that developed and made possible for me this wonderful weapon, thanks largely to which we have been able with comparatively small numbers to stop and beat back the Russian millions again and again--steam engine versus steam roller. Were it for nothing else, America has proved one of our best friends, if not an ally.

"We are also awaiting with genuine interest the receipt of our first American guns," the Field Marshal added. How was Germany expecting to get guns from America? He was asked to explain the mystery.

"I read somewhere in the papers that a large shipment of heavy cannon had left America for Russia," he said with dry humor, "in transit for us--for if they're consigned to the Russians, we'll have them sooner or later, I hope;" adding, with his habitual tense earnestness, "the Americans are something more than shrewd, hard-headed business men. Have they ever vividly pictured to themselves a German soldier smashed by an American shell, or bored through the heart by an American bullet? The grim realism of the battlefield--that should make also the business man thoughtful."

"Shall you go west when you have cleaned up here in the east?" I suggested.

"I can't betray military secrets which I don't know myself, even to interest the newspaper readers," he said. He gave me the impression, however, that, east or west, he would be found fighting for the Fatherland so long as the Fatherland needed him.

"Now it means work again. You must excuse me," he concluded, courteously. "You want to go to the front. Where should you like to go?"

"To Warsaw," I suggested, modestly.

"I, too," he laughed, "but today--ausgeschlossen, ('nothing doing,' in Americanese.) Still--that may be yet."

"May I come along, your Excellency?"

"Certainly, then you can see for yourself what sort of 'barbarians' we Germans are."

"Dropping in on Hindenburg" yields some unimportant but interesting by-products. The railroad Napoleon, as all the world knows, lives and works in a palace, but this palace doesn't overawe one who has beaten professionally at the closed portals of Fifth Avenue. It would be considered a modest country residence in Westchester County or on Long Island. Light in color and four stories high, including garret, it looks very much like those memorials which soap kings and sundry millionaires put up to themselves in their lifetime--the American college dormitory, the modern kind that is built around three sides of a small court. The palace is as simple as the man.

The main entrance, a big iron gateway, is flanked by two guardhouses painted with white and black stripes, the Prussian "colors," and two unbluffable Landsturm men mount guard, who will tell you to go around to the back door.

The orderly who opens the front door is a Sergeant in field gray uniform. You mount a flight of marble steps, and saunter down a marble hall, half a block long. It is the reception hall. It is furnished with magnificent hand-carved, high-backed chairs without upholstery, lounging not being apparently encouraged here. They are Gothic structures backed up against the walls. There is no Brussels or Axminster carpet on the cold marble floor--not even Turkish rugs. Through this palace hall, up by the ceiling, runs a thick cable containing the all-important telephone wires. The offices open off the hall, the doors labeled with neatly printed signs telling who and what is within. If you should come walking down the street outside at 3 A.M. you would probably see the lights in Hindenburg's office still burning, as I did. At 3:30 they went out, indicating that a Field Marshal's job is not a sinecure.

Feeling of the German People

Complete Confidence in Victory and Resentment Toward England

[By a Staff Correspondent of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

BERLIN, Feb. 12.--To the neutral American, intent only on finding out the truth, the most thought-provoking feature here (overlooked by foreign correspondents because of its very featureless obviousness) is the fact that Germany today is more confident of winning than at any time in the three months I have been here. This confidence must not be confused with cocksureness; it is rather the "looking forward with quiet confidence to ultimate victory," as General von Heeringen phrased it. Even more important is the corollary that, while the Germans have apparently never had any doubt that they would win out in the end, this "ultimate victory" does not seem so far off to them today as it did three months ago.

To one who has had an opportunity of personally sounding the undercurrents of German public opinion, this quiet optimism that has become noticeable only in the past few weeks (totally different in character from the enthusiasm that followed the declaration of war) has seemed particularly significant. Three months ago I was incessantly asked by Germans "how the situation looked to an American," and "how long I thought the war would last." When left to answer their own question, they almost invariably remarked: "It may last a long while yet." Today neutral opinion is no longer anxiously or even eagerly sought. The temporary need for this sort of moral support seems to have passed, and there are many indications that the well-informed layman expects 1915 to see the wind-up of the war, while I have talked with not a few professional men who have expressed the opinion that the war will be over by Summer--except against England.

This unanimous exception is significant because it indicates that to the German mind the war with Russia and France is, in prize-ring parlance, a twenty-round affair, which can and will be won on points, whereas with England it is a championship fight to a finish, to be settled only by a knockout. The idea is that Russia will be eliminated as a serious factor by late Spring at the latest, and then, Westward Ho! when France will not prolong the agony unduly, but will seize the first psychological moment that offers peace with honor, leaving Germany free to fight it out with the real enemy, England, though as to how, when, and where the end will come, there is less certainty and agreement. Some think that the knockout will be delivered in the shadow of the Pyramids; others, and probably the majority, believe that the winning blow must and will be delivered on English soil itself.

Time here is no factor, for the war against England is taking on increasingly an almost religious character; from the German point of view, it will soon be, not a war, but a crusade. I get one clue to this in the new phrase of leave-taking that has gained an astounding currency in the past few weeks. Instead of saying "Good-bye" or "Auf Wiedersehen," the German now says: "God punish England!" to which the equally fervent rejoinder is, "May He do so!" This new, polite formula for leave-taking originated among the officers and men in the field, but you hear it on all sides now, uttered with a sincerity and earnestness that is peculiarly impressive. The new style of saying "good-bye" has at least the merit of being no longer a perfunctory piece of rhetoric.

This optimism is no nation-wide attack of insanity, for the German, thorough even in forming his opinions, is the last person in the world to harbor delusions, and there is a perfect realization of the titanic task that still confronts Germany. Nor is this confidence in ultimate victory due to lack of information or to being kept in the dark by the "iron censorship," for the "iron censorship" is itself a myth. It is liberal, even judged by democratic standards, and surprisingly free from red tape. There is no embargo on the importation of foreign newspapers; even the anti-German journals of neutral countries have free entry and circulation, while at a number of well-known cosmopolitan cafés you can always read The London Times and The Daily Chronicle, only three days old, and for a small cash consideration the waiter will generally be able to produce from his pocket a Figaro, not much older. Not only English and French, but, even more, the Italian, Dutch, and Scandinavian papers are widely read and digested by Germans, while the German papers not only print prominently the French official communiqués, the Russian communiqués when available, and interesting chunks from the British "eyewitness" official reports, but most of their feature stories--the vivid, detailed war news--come from allied sources via correspondents in neutral countries. The German censor's task is here a relatively simple one, for German war correspondents never allow professional enthusiasm to run away with practical patriotism, and you note the--to an American--amusing and yet suggestive spectacle of war correspondents specializing in descriptions of sunsets and scenery.

The German was never much of a newspaper reader before the war, but now he can challenge the American commuter as an absorbent of the printed word. And not only has the German been suddenly educated into an avid newspaper reader, but he has developed a tendency to think for himself, to read between the lines, and interpret sentences. Thus, no German has any illusions about the military prowess of Austria; but her failure has caused no hard feelings. "The spirit is willing, but the leadership is weak," is the kindly verdict, with the hopeful assumption that the addition of a little German yeast will raise the standard of Austrian efficiency and improve the quality of leadership.

The Germans, being neither mad nor misinformed, why they face a world of foes with this new confidence becomes a question of importance to any one who wants to understand the real situation here. The answer is Hindenburg--not only the man himself, but all that he stands for, the personification of the German war spirit, the greatest moral asset of the empire today. He is idolized not only by the soldiers, but by the populace as well; not only by the Prussians, but by the Bavarians and even the Austrians. You cannot realize what a tremendous factor he has become until you discover personally the Carlylean hero worship of which he is the object.

Hindenburg woke up one morning to find himself famous; but his subsequent speedy apotheosis was probably not entirely spontaneous. In fact, there is reason to believe that he was carefully groomed for the rôle of a national hero at a critical time, the process being like the launching by American politicians of a Presidential or Gubernatorial boom at a time when a name to conjure with is badly needed. He is a striking answer to the Shakespearean question. His name alone is worth many army corps for its psychological effect on the people; it has a peculiarly heroic ring to the German ear, and part of the explanation of its magic lies probably in the fact that the last syllable, "burg," means fortress or castle. He inspires the most unbounded confidence in the German people; the Field Marshal looms larger than his Kaiser.

The cigarmakers were the first to recognize his claims to immortality and to confer it on him; but now almost every conceivable sort of merchandise except corsets is being trade marked Hindenburg. Babies, fishing boats, race horses, cafés, avenues and squares, a city of 60,000, a whole county, are being named after him, and minor poets are taking his name in vain daily, "Hindenburg Marches" are being composed in endless procession, a younger brother is about to publish his biography, and legends are already thickly clustering about his name. He laid the Russian bugaboo before it had a chance to make its début; there is not today the slightest nervousness about the possible coming of the Cossacks, and there will not be, so long as the Commander in Chief of all the armies in the east continues to find time to give sittings to portrait painters, pose for the moving-picture artists, autograph photographs, appear on balconies while school children sing patriotic airs, answer the Kaiser's telegrams of congratulation, acknowledge decorations, receive interminable delegations, personages, and journalists, and perform all the other time-consuming duties incident to having greatness thrust upon you; for things obviously cannot be in a very bad way when the master strategist can thus take "time out" from strategizing. But the influence of "our Hindenburg," as he is often affectionately called, is wider than the east; the magic of his name stiffens the deadline in the west, and the man in the street, whose faith is great, feels sure that when he has fought his last great battle in the east the turn of the French and English will come.

While the German in the street, thanks largely to Hindenburg, regards the military situation with optimism, he sees no grounds for pessimism in the present political situation. Italy and Bulgaria are regarded as "safe."

How the Germans regard the economic, industrial, and financial situation is rather hard to estimate, because their practical patriotism keeps them from making any public parade of their business troubles and worries, if they have any. The oft-repeated platitude that you would never suspect here that a war was going on if you didn't read the papers is quite just. Conditions--on the surface--are so normal that there is even a lively operatic fight on in Munich, where the personal friction between Musical Director Walters and the star conductor, Otto Hess, has caused a crisis in the affairs of the Royal Munich Opera, rivaling in interest the fighting at the front.

There are certainly fewer "calamity howlers" here than on Broadway during boom times, and you see no outward evidence of hard times, no acute poverty, no misery, no derelicts, for the war-time social organization seems as perfect as the military. In the last three months only one beggar has stopped me on the streets and tried to touch my heart and pocketbook--a record that seems remarkable to an American who has run the nocturnal gauntlet of peace-time panhandlers on the Strand or the Embankment.

Business is most certainly not going on as usual. You note many shops and stores with few or no customers in them. About the only people who are making any money are army contractors and the shopkeepers who sell things available for "Liebesgaben" ("love gifts") for the troops in the field. Those businesses hardest hit by the war are in a state of suspended animation, embalmed by the credit of the State.

But, again, the influence of Hindenburg is wider than the east--and the west; it permeates the business world and stiffens the economic backbone of the nation. It is no exaggeration to say that the whole German people, barring the inevitable though small percentage of weaklings, is trying with terrific earnestness to live up to the homely Hindenburgian motto, "Durchhalten!" ("Hold out,") or, in more idiomatic American, "See the thing through."

Bombardment of the Dardanelles

First Allied Attack Described by an Onlooker

[From THE NEW YORK TIMES, March 8, 1915.]

Athens, Saturday, March 6, (Dispatch to The London Daily Chronicle.)--The bombardment of the Dardanelles forts, according to the latest news, proceeds with success and cautious thoroughness. It is now anticipated that before another two weeks are over the allied fleet will be in the Sea of Marmora, and Constantinople will quickly fall to the victorious Allies.

Two features of the operations make extreme caution necessary for the attacking battleships. In the first place, the number of mines laid in the strait has been found to be enormous. They must all be picked up, and the work takes considerable time, seeing that it must be done thoroughly.

In the second place, the larger batteries, against whom the allied fleet is contending, are very skillfully hidden.

I have had an interesting talk with a gentleman who has just arrived from Tenedos, where, from the height of Mount Ilios, he witnessed the bombardment. He tells me:

"The sight was most magnificent. At first the fleet was ranged in a semi-circle some miles out to sea from the entrance to the strait. It afforded an inspiring spectacle as the ships came along and took up position, and the picture became most awe-inspiring when the guns began to boom.

"The bombardment at first was slow, shells from the various ships screaming through the air at the rate of about one every two minutes. Their practice was excellent, and with strong glasses I could see huge masses of earth and stonework thrown high up into the air. The din, even at the distance, was terrific, and when the largest ship, with the biggest guns in the world, joined in the martial chorus, the air was rent with ear-splitting noise.

"The Turkish batteries, however, were not to be drawn, and, seeing this, the British Admiral sent one British ship and one French ship close inshore toward the Sedd-el-Bahr forts.

"It was a pretty sight to see the two battleships swing rapidly away toward the northern cape, spitting fire and smoke as they rode. They obscured the pure atmosphere with clouds of smoke from their funnels and guns; yet through it all I could see they were getting home with the shots they fired.

"As they went in they sped right under the guns of the shore batteries, which could no longer resist the temptation to see what they could do. Puffs of white smoke dotted the landscape on the far shore, and dull booms echoed over the placid water. Around the ships fountains of water sprang up into the air. The enemy had been drawn, but his marksmanship was obviously very bad. I think I am right in saying that not a single shot directed against the ships came within a hundred yards of either."

The French Battlefront

Account of First Extended View of the Intrenchments Defending France

[By a Special Correspondent of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

Paris, March 7.--I have just been permitted a sight of the French Army--the first accorded to any correspondent in so comprehensive a measure since the outbreak of the war. Under the escort of an officer of General Joffre's staff, I was allowed along a great section of the fighting line, into the trenches under fire, and also received scientific detailed information regarding this least known of European forces.

France has been so silent about her army and her Generals and so indifferent to the use of journalism in the war it is scarcely realized even in France that 450 of the 500 miles of fighting front are held by the French and only the remaining fifty by the British and Belgians. At the outbreak of the war no newspaper men were allowed with the army, and those who managed to get to the front, including myself, all returned to Paris under escort. Although we saw what a powerful machine it was and knew it was getting stronger every day, we were permitted to say very little about it--Germany, meanwhile, granting interviews, taking war correspondents to trenches and up in balloons in the campaign for neutral sympathy.

France, or, rather, General Joffre, for his is the first and last word on the subject of war correspondents, gradually decided to combat the German advertising.

Only he decided to go them one better, as I hope to show. There have been several trips, all tryouts. I was informed at the Foreign Office a month ago that when the representative of so important a paper as THE NEW YORK TIMES was to be taken to the front it would be for a more important trip than any up to that date--that I was to be saved up for such an occasion as I am now privileged to describe.

I propose to give as few names of places and Generals as possible, first, to meet the wishes of the personal censor, who is the same officer who escorted me throughout the trip, and, second, because I believe general facts relating to the morale of the French Army and their prospects in the Spring campaign will be of more interest than specific details concerning places where the lines have been established for the past six months.

From scores of letters received from America the first question which seems to arise in the minds of neutrals outside the war zone is, What are the prospects of the Germans taking Paris when the second great phase of the war is really under way? First, let me admit that a lurking fear that the Germans might penetrate the lines had caused me to make certain arrangements for the hasty exit of my family from Paris as soon as the Spring fighting began. I am now willing to cancel these arrangements, for I am convinced there is no danger to Paris.

The German Army, in my opinion, will never for a second time dictate terms of peace in Paris. I feel that I am in a position to make the statement, founded on an unusual knowledge of the facts, that should German ambition again fly that high they would need at least 3,000,000 men concentrated before the fortifications of Paris--these in addition to the enormous force to oppose the French and allied field armies.

The defenses of Paris since the city had its narrow escape before the battle of the Marne present one of the wonders of the world. Not only has Gallieni's army intrenched the surrounding country and barb-wired it until the idea of any forward advance seems preposterous, but every foot of ground is measured and the exact artillery ranges taken to every other foot of ground.

For instance, from every single trench which also contains an artillery observatory the exact distance is recorded to every other trench, to every house, hillock, tree, and shrub behind which the enemy might advance. In fact, the German organization which threatened to rule the world seems overtaken by French organization which became effective since the war began.

All through the trip it was this new spirit of organization that impressed me most. I have sent you many cables on the new spirit of the French, but never before dared to picture them in the rôle which to my mind they never before occupied--that of organizers. I started the trip to see the real French Army in the most open but unexpectant frame of mind. For weeks I had read only laconic official communiqués that told me nothing. I saw well-fed officers in beautiful limousines rolling about Paris with an air that the war was a million miles away. The best way now to explain my enthusiasm is to give the words of a famous English correspondent, also just returned from a similar trip, (he is Frederic Villiers, who began war corresponding with Archibald Forbes at the battle of Plevna, and this is his seventeenth war,) who said:

"In all my life this trip is the biggest show I have ever had."

The first point on the trip where the French intelligence proved superior to the German was that I was allowed to pay my own expenses. With the exception of motor cars and a hundred courtesies extended by the scores of French officers, I paid my own railroad fare, hotel and food bills.

"This army has nothing to hide," said one of the greatest Generals to me. "You see what you like, go where you desire, and if you cannot get there, ask."