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<FONT COLOR="#0000ff" SIZE="+2">GERMAN DESERTER'S WAR EXPERIENCE<BR>
</FONT><FONT COLOR="#0000ff" SIZE="+1">NEW YORK: HUEBSCH, 1917</FONT><BR><BR>

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

<FONT SIZE="+2">IN PURSUIT</FONT><BR><BR></CENTER>

<BR><BR>AFTER a short rest we were commanded to search the burning
houses for wounded men. We did not find many of them, for most
of the severely wounded soldiers who had not been able to seek
safety unaided had been miserably burnt to death, and one could
only judge by the buttons and weapons of the poor wretches for
what &quot;fatherland&quot; they had suffered their terrible death
by fire. With many it was even impossible to find out the nationality
they belonged to; a little heap of ashes, a ruined house were
all that was left of whole families, whole streets of families.

<BR><BR>It was only the wine cellars, which were mostly of strong construction,
that had generally withstood the flames. The piping hot wine in
bottles and barrels, proved a welcome refreshment for the soldiers
who were wet to their skins and stiff with cold. Even at the risk
of their lives (for many of the cellars threatened to collapse)
the soldiers would fetch out the wine and drink it greedily, however
hot the wine might be.

<BR><BR>And strangely enough, former scenes were repeated. After the
hot wine had taken effect, after again feeling refreshed and physically
well, that same brutality which had become our second nature in
war showed itself again in the most shameful manner. Most of us
behaved as if we had not taken part in the unheard-of events of
the last hours, as if we did not see the horrible reminders of
the awful slaughter, as if we had entirely forgotten the danger
of extinction which we had so narrowly escaped. No effort was
made to do honor to the dead though every one had been taught
that duty by his mother from the earliest infancy; there was nothing
left of that natural shyness which the average man feels in the
presence of death. The pen refuses even to attempt a reproduction
of the expressions used by officers and soldiers or a description
of their actions, when they set about to establish the nationality
or sex of the dead. Circumstances were stronger than we men, and
I convinced myself again that it was only natural that all feelings
of humanity should disappear after the daily routine of murdering
and that only the instinct of self-preservation should survive
in all its strength. The longer the war lasted the more murderous
and bestial the men became.

<BR><BR>Meanwhile the fight between our troops that had crossed the
river and the French on the other side of the Meuse had reached
its greatest fury. Our troops had suffered great losses; now our
turn came. While we were crossing, the German artillery pounded
the enemy's position with unheard-of violence. Scarcely had we
landed and taken our places when our section proceeded to the
assault. The artillery became silent, and running forward we tried
to storm the slope leading to the enemy positions. We got as near
as 200 yards when the French machine-guns came into action; we
were driven back with considerable losses. Ten minutes later we
attempted again to storm the positions, but had only to go back
again exactly as before. Again we took up positions in our trenches,
but all desire for fighting had left us; every one stared stupidly
in front of him. Of course we were not allowed to lose courage,
though the victims of our useless assaults were covering the field,
and our dead mates were constantly before our eyes.

<BR><BR>The artillery opened fire again; reinforcements arrived. Half
an hour later we stormed for the third time over the bodies of
our dead comrades. That time we went forward in rushes, and when
we halted before the enemy's trench for the last time, some twenty
yards away from it, our opponent withdrew his whole first line.
The riddle of that sudden retreat we were able to solve some time
later. It turned out that the main portions of the French army
had retreated long ago; we had merely been engaged in rear-guard
actions which, however, had proved very costly to us.

<BR><BR>During the next hour the enemy evacuated all the heights of
the Meuse. When we reached the ridge of those heights we were
able to witness a horrifying sight with our naked eyes. The roads
which the retreating enemy was using could be easily surveyed.
In close marching formation the French were drawing off. The heaviest
of our artillery (21-cm.) was pounding the retreating columns,
and shell after shell fell among the French infantry and other
troops. Hundreds of French soldiers were literally torn to pieces.
One could see bodies and limbs being tossed in the air and being
caught in the trees bordering the roads.

<BR><BR>We sappers were ordered to rally and we were soon going after
the fleeing enemy. It was our task to make again passable for
our troops the roads which had been pounded and dug up by the
shells; that was all the more difficult in the mid-day sun, as
we had first to remove the dead and wounded. Two men would take
a dead soldier by his head and feet and fling him in a ditch.
Human corpses were here treated and used exactly as a board in
bridge building. Severed arms and legs were flung through the
air into the ditch in the same manner. How often since have I
not thought of these and similar incidents, asking myself whether
I thought those things improper or immoral at the time? Again
and again I had to return a negative answer, and I am therefore
fully convinced of how little the soldiers can be held responsible
for the brutalities which all of them commit, to whatever nation
they belong. They are no longer civilized human beings, they are
simply bloodthirsty brutes, for otherwise they would be bad, very
bad soldiers.

<BR><BR>When, during the first months of the war a Social-Democratic
member of parliament announced that he had resolved to take voluntary
service in the army because he believed that in that manner he
could further the cause of humanity on the battle-field, many
a one began to laugh, and it was exactly our Socialist comrades
in our company who made pointed remarks. For all of us were agreed
that that representative of the people must either be very simple-minded
or insincere.

<BR><BR>The dead horses and shattered batteries had also to be removed.
We were not strong enough to get the bodies of the horses out
of the way so we procured some horse roaming about without a master,
and fastened it to a dead one to whose leg we had attached a noose,
and thus we cleared the carcass out of the road. The portions
of human bodies hanging in the trees we left, however, undisturbed.
For who was there to care about such &quot;trifles&quot;?

<BR><BR>We searched the bottles and knapsacks of the dead for eatable
and drinkable things, and enjoyed the things found with the heartiest
appetite imaginable. Hunger and thirst are pitiless customers
that cannot be turned away by fits of sentimentality.

<BR><BR>Proceeding on our march we found the line of retreat of the
enemy thickly strewn with discarded rifles, knapsacks, and other
accouterments. French soldiers that had died of sunstroke were
covering the roads in masses. Others had crawled into the fields
to the left and right, where they were expecting help or death.
But we could not assist them for we judged ourselves happy if
we could keep our worn-out bodies from collapsing altogether.
But even if we had wanted to help them we should not have been
allowed to do so, for the order was &quot;Forward!&quot;

<BR><BR>At that time I began to notice in many soldiers what I had
never observed before---they felt envious. Many of my mates envied
the dead soldiers and wished to be in their place in order to
be at least through with all their misery. Yet all of us were
afraid of dying---afraid of dying, be it noted, not of death.
All of us often longed for death, but we were horrified at the
slow dying lasting hours which is the rule on the battle-field,
that process which makes the wounded, abandoned soldier die piecemeal.
I have witnessed the death of hundreds of young men in their prime,
but I know of none among them who died willingly. A young sapper
of the name of Kellner, whose home was at Cologne, had his whole
abdomen ripped open by a shell splinter so that his entrails were
hanging to the ground. Maddened by pain he begged me to assure
him that he would not have to die. Of course, I assured him that
his wounds were by no means severe and that the doctor would be
there immediately to help him. Though I was a layman who had never
had the slightest acquaintance with the treatment of patients
I was perfectly aware that the poor fellow could only live through
a few hours of pain. But my words comforted him. He died ten minutes
later.

<BR><BR>We had to march on and on. The captain told us we had been
ordered to press the fleeing enemy as hard as possible. He was
answered by a disapproving murmur from the whole section. For
long days and nights we had been on our legs, had murdered like
savages, had had neither opportunity nor possibility to eat or
rest, and now they asked us worn-out men to conduct an obstinate
pursuit. The captain knew very well what we were feeling, and
tried to pacify us with kind words.

<BR><BR>The cavalry divisions had not been able to cross the Meuse
for want of apparatus and bridges. For the present the pursuit
had to be carried out by infantry and comparatively small bodies
of artillery. Thus we had to press on in any case, at least until
the cavalry and machine-gun sections had crossed the bridges that
had remained intact farther down stream near S&eacute;dan. Round
Sommepy the French rear-guard faced us again. When four batteries
of our artillery went into action at that place our company and
two companies of infantry with machine guns were told off to cover
the artillery.

<BR><BR>The artillery officers thought that the covering troops were
insufficient, because aeroplanes had established the presence
of large masses of hostile cavalry, an attack from whom was feared.
But reinforcements could not be had as there was a lack of troops
for the moment. So we had to take up positions as well as we could.
We dug shallow trenches to the left and right of the battery in
a nursery of fir trees which were about a yard high. The machine-guns
were built in and got ready, and ammunition was made ready for
use in large quantities. We had not yet finished our preparations
when the shells of our artillery began to whizz above our heads
and pound the ranks of our opponent. The fir nursery concealed
us from the enemy, but a little wood, some 500 yards in front
of us, effectively shut out our view.

<BR><BR>We were now instructed in what we were to do in case of an
attack by cavalry. An old white-haired major of the infantry had
taken command. We sappers were distributed among the infantry,
but those brave &quot;gentlemen,&quot; our officers, had suddenly
disappeared. Probably the defense of the fatherland is in their
opinion only the duty of the common soldier. As those &quot;gentlemen&quot;
are only there to command and as we had been placed under the
orders of infantry officers for that undertaking, they had become
superfluous and had taken French leave.

<BR><BR>Our instructions were to keep quiet in case of an attack by
cavalry, to take aim, and not allow ourselves to be seen. We were
not to fire until a machine-gun, commanded by the major in person,
went into action, and then we were to fire as rapidly as the rifle
could be worked; we were not to forget to aim quietly, but quickly.

<BR><BR>Our batteries fired with great violence, their aiming being
regulated by a biplane, soaring high up in the air, by means of
signals which were given by rockets whose signification experts
only could understand.

<BR><BR>One quarter of an hour followed the other, and we were almost
convinced that we should be lucky enough that time to be spared
going into action. Suddenly things became lively. One man nudged
the other, and all eyes were turned to the edge of the little
wood some five hundred yards in front of us. A vast mass of horsemen
emerged from both sides of the little wood and, uniting in front
of it, rushed towards us. That immense lump of living beings approached
our line in a mad gallop. Glancing back involuntarily I observed
that our artillery had completely ceased firing and that its crews
were getting their carbines ready to defend their guns.

<BR><BR>But quicker than I can relate it misfortune came thundering
up. Without being quite aware of what I was doing I felt all over
my body to find some place struck by a horse's hoof. The cavalry
came nearer and nearer in their wild career. Already one could
see the hoofs of the horses which scarcely touched the ground
and seemed to fly over the few hundred yards of ground. We recognized
the riders in their solid uniforms, we even thought we could notice
the excited faces of the horsemen who were expecting a sudden
hail of bullets to mow them down. Meanwhile they had approached
to a distance of some 350 yards. The snorting of the horses was
every moment becoming more distinct. No machine-gun firing was
yet to be heard. Three hundred yards---250. My neighbor poked
me in the ribs rather indelicately, saying, &quot;Has the old
mass murderer (I did not doubt for a moment that he meant the
major) gone mad! It's all up with us, to be sure!&quot; I paid
no attention to his talk. Every nerve in my body was hammering
away; convulsively I clung to my rifle, and awaited the calamity.
Two hundred yards! Nothing as yet. Was the old chap blind or ----?
One hundred and eighty yards! I felt a cold sweat running down
my back and trembled as if my last hour had struck. One hundred
and fifty! My neighbor pressed close to me. The situation became
unbearable. One hundred and thirty---an infernal noise had started.
Rrrrrrrr---An overwhelming hail of bullets met the attacking party
and scarcely a bullet missed the lump of humanity and beasts.

<BR><BR>The first ranks were struck down. Men and beasts formed a wall
on which rolled the waves of succeeding horses, only to be smashed
by that terrible hail of bullets. &quot;Continue firing!&quot;
rang out the command which was not. needed. &quot;More lively!&quot;
The murderous work was carried out more rapidly and with more
crushing effect. Hundreds of volleys were sent straight into the
heap of living beings struggling against death. Hundreds were
laid low every second. Scarcely a hundred yards in front of us
lay more than six hundred men and horses, on top of each other,
beside each other, apart, in every imaginable position. What five
minutes ago had been a picture of strength, proud horsemen, joyful
youth, was now a bloody, shapeless, miserable lump of bleeding
flesh.

<BR><BR>And what about ourselves? We laughed about our heroic deed
and cracked jokes. When danger was over we lost that anxious feeling
which had taken possession of us. Was it fear? It is, of course,
supposed that a German soldier knows no fear-at the most he fears
God, but nothing else in the world---and yet it was fear, low
vulgar fear that we feel just as much as the French, the English,
or the Turks, and he who dares to contradict this and talk of
bravery and the fearless courage of the warrior, has either never
been in war, or is a vulgar liar and hypocrite.

<BR><BR>Why were we joyful and why did we crack jokes? Because it was
the others and not ourselves who had to lose their lives that
time. Because it was a life and death struggle. It was either
we or they. We had a right to be glad and chase all sentimentality
to the devil. Were we not soldiers, mass murderers, barbarians?
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