View source for IX SOLDIERS SHOOTING THEIR OWN OFFICERS

<CENTER><FONT SIZE="+3"></FONT><FONT SIZE="+3">IX</FONT><FONT SIZE="+2"></FONT><BR><BR>

<FONT SIZE="+2">SOLDIERS SHOOTING THEIR OWN OFFICERS</FONT><BR><BR></CENTER>

<BR><BR>IT was dark already, and we halted once more. The ground around
us was strewn with dead. In the middle of the road were some French
batteries and munition wagons, with the horses still attached;
but horses and men were dead. After a ten minutes' rest we started
again. Marching more quickly, we now approached a mall wood in
which dismounted cavalry and infantry were waging a desperate
hand-to-hand struggle with the enemy. So as to astonish the latter
we had to rush in with a mighty yell. Under cover of darkness
we had succeeded in getting to the enemy's rear. Taken by surprise
by the unexpected attack and our war whoop, most of the Frenchmen
lifted their hands and begged for quarter, which was, however,
not granted by the infuriated cavalrymen and infantry. When, on
our side, now and then the murdering of defenseless men seemed
to slacken it was encouraged again by the loud commands of the
officers. &quot;No quarter!&quot; &quot;Cut them all down!&quot;
Such were the orders of those estimable gentlemen, the officers.

<BR><BR>We sappers, too, had to participate in the cold blooded slaughtering
of defenseless men. The French were defenseless because they threw
away their arms and asked for quarter the moment that they recognized
the futility of further resistance. But the officers then saw
to it, as on many earlier and later occasions, that &quot; too
many prisoners were not made.&quot; The sapper carries a bayonet
which must not be fixed to the rifle according to international
agreement, because the back of that bayonet is an extremely sharp
steel saw, three millimeters in thickness. In times of peace the
sapper never does bayonet practice, the bayonet being exclusively
reserved for mechanical purposes. But what does militarism care
for international law! We here had to fix the saw, as had always
been done since the beginning of the war. Humanity was a jest
when one saw an opponent with the toothed saw in his chest and
the victim, who had long given up all resistance, endeavoring
to remove the deadly steel from the wound. Often that terrible
tool of murder had fastened itself so firmly in the victim's chest
that the attacker, in order to get his bayonet back, had to place
his foot on the chest of the miserable man and try with all his
might to remove the weapon.

<BR><BR>The dead and wounded lay everywhere covered with terrible injuries,
and the crying of the wounded, which might soften a stone, but
not a soldier's heart, told of the awful pain which those &quot;defenders
of their country&quot; had to suffer.

<BR><BR>However, not all the soldiers approved of that senseless, that
criminal murdering. Some of the &quot;gentlemen&quot; who had
ordered us to massacre our French comrades were killed &quot;by
mistake&quot; in the darkness of the night, by their own people,
of course. Such &quot;mistakes&quot; repeat themselves almost
daily, and if I keep silence with regard to many such mistakes
which I could relate, giving the exact name and place, the reader
will know why.

<BR><BR>During that night it was a captain and first lieutenant who
met his fate. An infantryman who was serving his second year stabbed
the captain through the stomach with his bayonet, and almost at
the same time the first lieutenant got a stab in the back. Both
men were dead in a few minutes. Those that did the deed showed
not the slightest sign of repentance, and not one of us felt inclined
to reproach them; on the contrary, every one knew that despicable,
brutal murderers had met their doom.

<BR><BR>In this connection I must mention a certain incident which
necessitates my jumping a little ahead of events. When on the
following day I conversed with a mate from my company and asked
him for the loan of his pocket knife he drew from his pocket three
cartridges besides his knife. I was surprised to find him carrying
cartridges in his trousers' pockets and asked him whether he had
no room for them in his cartridge case.

<BR><BR>&quot;There's room enough,&quot; he replied, &quot;but those
three are meant for a particular purpose; there's a name inscribed
on each of them.&quot; Some time after---we had meanwhile become
fast friends---I inquired again after the three bullets. He had
one of them left. I reflected and remembered two sergeants who
had treated us like brutes in times of peace, whom we had hated
as one could only hate slave-drivers. They had found their grave
in French soil.

<BR><BR>The murder did not cease as long as an opponent was alive.
We were then ordered to see whether all the enemies lying on the
ground were really dead or unable to fight. &quot;Should you find
one who pretends to be dead, he must be killed without mercy.&quot;
That was the order we received for that tour of inspection. However,
the soldiers who had meanwhile quieted down a little and who had
thus regained their senses took no trouble to execute the shameful
command. What the soldiers thought of it is shown by the remark
of a man belonging to my company who said, &quot;Let's rather
look if the two officers are quite dead; if not, we shall have
to kill them, too, without mercy.&quot; &quot;An order was an
order&quot;, he added.

<BR><BR>We now advanced quickly, but our participation was no longer
necessary, for the whole line of the enemy retired and then faced
us again, a mile and a quarter southwest of Sommepy. Sommepy itself
was burning for the greater part, and its streets were practically
covered with the dead. The enemy's artillery was still bombarding
the place, and shells were falling all around us. Several hundred
prisoners were gathered in the market-place. A few shells fell
at the same time among the prisoners, but they had to stay where
they were. An officer of my company, lieutenant of the reserve
Neesen, observed humanely that that could not do any harm, for
thus the French got a taste of their own shells. He was rewarded
with some cries of shame. A Socialist comrade, a reservist, had
the pluck to cry aloud, &quot;Do you hear that, comrades? That's
the noble sentiment of an exploiter; that fellow is the son of
an Elberfeld capitalist and his father is a sweating-den keeper
of the worst sort. When you get home again do not forget what
this capitalist massacre has taught you. Those prisoners are proletarians,
are our brethren, and what we are doing here in the interest of
that gang of capitalist crooks is a crime against our own body;
it is murdering our own brothers!&quot; He was going to continue
talking, but the sleuths were soon upon him, and he was arrested.
He threw down his gun with great force; then he quietly suffered
himself to be led away.

<BR><BR>All of us were electrified. Not one spoke a word. One suddenly
beheld quite a different world. We had a vision which kept our
imagination prisoner. Was it true what we had heard---that those
prisoners were not our enemies at all, that they were our brothers?
That which formerly---0 how long ago might that have been!---in
times of peace, had appeared to us as a matter of course had been
forgotten; in war we had regarded our enemies as our friends and
our friends as our enemies. Those words of the Elberfeld comrade
had lifted the fog from our brains and from before our eyes. We
had again a clear view; we could recognize things again.

<BR><BR>One looked at the other and nodded without speaking; each one
felt that the brave words of our friend had been a boon to us,
and none could refrain from inwardly thanking and appreciating
the bold man. The man in front of me, who had been a patriot all
along as far as I knew, but who was aware of my, views, pressed
my hand, saying. &quot;Those few words have opened my eyes; I
was blind; we are friends. Those words came at the proper time.&quot;
Others again I heard remark: &quot;You can't surpass Schotes;
such a thing requires more courage than all of us together possess.
For he knew exactly the consequences that follow when one tells
the truth. Did you see the last look he gave us? That meant as
much as, 'Don't be concerned about me; I shall fight my way through
to the end. Be faithful workers; remain faithful to your class!'&quot;

<BR><BR>The place, overcrowded with wounded soldiers, was almost entirely
occupied by the Germans. The medical corps could not attend to
all the work, for the wounded kept streaming in in enormous numbers.
So we had to lend a helping hand, and bandaged friend and enemy
to the best of our ability. But contrary to earlier times when
the wounded were treated considerately, things were now done more
roughly.

<BR><BR>The fighting to the south of the place had reached its greatest
violence towards one o'clock in the afternoon, and when the Germans
began to storm at all points, the French retired from their positions
in the direction of Suippes.

<BR><BR>Whether our ragged company was no longer considered able to
fight or whether we were no longer required, I do not know; but
we got orders to seek quarters. We could find neither barn nor
stable, so we had to camp in the open; the houses were all crowded
with wounded men.

<BR><BR>On that day I was commanded to mount guard and was stationed
with the camp guard. At that place arrested soldiers had to call
to submit to the punishment inflicted on them. Among them were
seven soldiers who had been sentenced to severe confinement which
consisted in being tied up for two hours.

<BR><BR>The officer on guard ordered us to tie the &quot;criminals&quot;
to trees in the neighborhood. Every arrested soldier had to furnish
for that purpose the rope with which he cleaned his rifle. The
victim I had to attend to was sapper Lohmer, a good Socialist.
I was to tie his hands behind his back, wind the loose end of
the rope round his chest, and tie him with his back towards the
tree. In that position my comrade was to stand for two hours,
exposed to the mockery of officers and sergeants. But comrade
Lohmer had been marching with the rest of us in a broiling sun
for a whole day, had all night fought and murdered for the dear
Fatherland which was now giving him thanks by tying him up with
a rope.

<BR><BR>I went up to him and told him that I would not tie, him to
the tree. &quot;Do it, man,&quot; he tried to persuade me; &quot;if
you don't do it another one will. I shan't be cross with you,
you know.&quot;---&quot;Let others do it; I won't fetter you.&quot;

<BR><BR>The officer, our old friend Lieutenant Spahn, who was getting
impatient, came up to us. &quot;Can't you see that all the others
have been seen to? How long do you expect me to wait?&quot; I
gave him a sharp look, but did not answer. Again he bellowed out
the command to tie my comrade to the tree. I looked at him for
a long time and did not deign him worthy of an answer. He then
turned to the &quot;criminal&quot; who told him that I could not
get myself to do the job as we were old comrades and friends.
Besides, I did not want to fetter a man who was exhausted and
dead tired. &quot;So you won't do it?&quot; he thundered at me,
and when again he received no reply---for I was resolved not to
speak another word to the fellow---he hissed, &quot;That b-----is
a Red to the marrow!&quot; I shall never in my life forget the
look of thankfulness that Lohmer gave me; it rewarded me for the
unpleasantness I had in consequence of my refusal. Of course others
did what I refused to do; I got two weeks' confinement. Naturally
I was proud at having been a man for once at least. As a comrade
I had remained faithful to my mate. Yet I had gained a point.
They never ordered me again to perform such duty, and I was excluded
from the guard that day. I could move about freely and be again
a free man for a few hours.

<BR><BR>The evening I had got off I employed to undertake a reconnoitering
expedition through the surrounding country in the company of several
soldiers. We spoke about the various incidents of the day and
the night, and, to the surprise, I daresay, of every one of us,
we discovered that very little was left of the overflowing enthusiasm
and patriotism that had seized so many during the first days of
the war. Most of the soldiers made no attempt to conceal the feeling
that we poor devils had absolutely nothing to gain in this war,
that we had only to lose our lives or, which was. still worse,
that we should sit at some street corner as crippled &quot;war
veterans&quot; trying to arouse the pity of passers-by by means
of some squeaking organ.

<BR><BR>At that moment it was already clear to us in view of the enormous
losses that no state, no public benevolent societies would be
able after the war to help the many hundreds of thousands who
had sacrificed their health for their &quot;beloved country.&quot;
The number of the unfortunate wrecks is too great to be helped
even with the best of intentions.

<BR><BR>Those thoughts which occupied our minds to an ever increasing
extent did not acquire a more cheerful aspect on our walk. The
wounded were lying everywhere, in stables, in barns, wherever
there was room for them. If the wounds were not too severe the
wounded men were quite cheerful. They felt glad at having got
off so cheaply, and thought the war would long be over when they
should be well again. They lived by hopes just as the rest of
us.