Part 13
As they went into their last victorious battles in 1918 against the brutal and lying Bulgarians, they sang a sad but spirited song, the words of which may be translated into English as follows:--
"Colonel Batsicht, the Austrians are a thousand to one, but what does it matter? You are only one, yourself, but you are Colonel Batsicht! Were the Austrians as many as the leaves in the forests and their rush to attack more violent than the flood of the Vardar in the spring time, you would even then be their equal, Colonel Batsicht!"
And the marvelous thing about the words of this wonderful battle song is that they are true, and that one man fighting for the right with the spirit and devotion of Colonel Batsicht is always the equal of thousands seeking to establish the wrong. In all the history of the world, nothing has proved this so fully and so clearly as the story of Belgium in the World War. Standing like one man against thousands, she saved the world and herself.
Colonel Batsicht was in command of the Thirteenth Regiment of Infantry in the Serbian army at the opening of the war in 1914. When the Austrians attacked in force, General Putnik decided upon a general retirement to save his armies.
On the evening of the 27th of November, 1914, while this retirement was being carried out, the commanding general sent the following orders to Colonel Batsicht, "If possible, hold your ground for twenty-four hours. If necessary, sacrifice your regiment to save the Serbian army."
Colonel Batsicht sent back word to the commanding general, "I have your orders and they will be carried out." Then he set about preparing to defend the heights which his regiment was holding.
At seven o'clock the next morning, sixteen battalions of Austrian infantry, ten batteries, and four squadrons of cavalry attacked the position. At the firing of the first gun, Colonel Batsicht looked at his watch and exclaimed, "The twenty-four hours for which we must hold our ground have now begun!"
The Austrians were ten against one and the battle was a furious one. Three times the Austrians were driven back; but from their great numbers and from reinforcements coming up, they soon reformed and renewed the attack and were finally successful in pushing back the Serbian right wing for a short distance. But Colonel Batsicht quickly rallied his forces, and they stood their ground. Then the left wing wavered and the colonel hurried to the left end of his line to reorganize it and encourage the men. He was wounded himself, but this did not stop him and his presence was enough to make his soldiers invincible. So all through the day, Colonel Batsicht directed and encouraged, and at evening the Thirteenth Regiment of Infantry of the Serbian army still held the line although most of their number had been killed and their colonel twice wounded.
The Austrians were much disturbed by the heroic resistance of the small body of Serbian soldiers and determined in the early morning of the next day to finish the matter quickly. At dawn they attacked and the Serbians gave way, first on one wing and then on the other, and at last in the center. The reserve was thrown in but could not prevent the Austrians from slowly advancing. It was six o'clock and the Serbians had held the line for twenty-three hours. The few officers that were uninjured urged Colonel Batsicht to order a retreat.
"It is no use to struggle longer," replied the colonel. "Order the men to retire."
"Come with us," said the officers.
"No," replied the colonel, "I cannot. I promised to hold this ground for twenty-four hours, and I must remain for one hour longer."
"But we cannot go without you," cried the officers.
"Obey my orders! Return to your troops and retire with them!" said the colonel sternly.
Military discipline permitted the officers to do nothing but obey.
The colonel was left with his orderly upon the top of the hill up which the Austrians were advancing. The orderly continued firing until the first platoon of the enemy were upon them, when he fell, and the colonel was left standing alone.
"Where is the Thirteenth Regiment?" asked the Austrian officer.
"I am the Thirteenth Regiment," replied the colonel with a smile.
"Then surrender," cried the officer.
"You insult me by asking me, a colonel in the Serbian army, to surrender," replied the colonel as he raised his revolver. But the Austrians were watching sharply and fired first, and the brave colonel fell mortally wounded.
He was carried back of the Austrian lines in an ambulance. When the Austrian general was told the story, he hurried to the hospital and found Colonel Batsicht still alive.
The Austrian told him that it was sad indeed to see such a brave man dying and that he was sorry the colonel had not surrendered.
"I am not sorry, General," replied the colonel.
A few hours later he died, and was buried with military honors.
The Serbian soldiers and the Serbian people will never forget him. He has now become one of their national heroes. Their imaginative and poetical natures see him now as one greater than a mere man, as a sort of superman with the attributes of a god. So they sing in the valley of the Vardar and in the meadows and mountains of Montenegro and Albania the sad but spirited song of which the words in English are:--
"Colonel Batsicht, the Austrians are a thousand to one, but what does it matter? You are only one, yourself, but you are Colonel Batsicht! Were the Austrians as many as the leaves in the forests and their rush to attack more violent than the flood of the Vardar in the spring time, you would even then be their equal, Colonel Batsicht!"
WHERE ARE YOU GOING, GREAT-HEART?
Where are you going, Great-Heart, With your eager face and your fiery grace?-- Where are you going, Great-Heart?
"To fight a fight with all my might, For Truth and Justice, God and Right, To grace all Life with His fair Light." Then God go with you, Great-Heart!
Where are you going, Great-Heart? "To beard the Devil in his den; To smite him with the strength of ten; To set at large the souls of men." Then God go with you, Great-Heart!
Where are you going, Great-Heart? "To end the rule of knavery; To break the yoke of slavery; To give the world delivery." Then God go with you, Great-Heart!
* * * *
Where are you going, Great-Heart? "To cleanse the earth of noisome things To draw from life its poison-stings; To give free play to Freedom's wings." Then God go with you, Great-Heart!
Where are you going, Great-Heart? "To lift Today above the Past; To make Tomorrow sure and fast; To nail God's colors to the mast." Then God go with you, Great-Heart!
Where are you going, Great-Heart? "To break down old dividing-lines; To carry out My Lord's designs; To build again His broken shrines." Then God go with you, Great-Heart!
Where are you going, Great-Heart? "To set all burdened peoples free; To win for all God's liberty; To 'stablish His Sweet Sovereignty." God goeth with you, Great-Heart!
JOHN OXENHAM.
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"Let it be your pride, therefore, to show all men everywhere, not only what good soldiers you are, but also what good men you are, keeping yourselves fit and straight in everything, and pure and clean through and through. Let us set for ourselves a standard so high that it will be a glory to live up to it and add a new laurel to the crown of America. My affectionate confidence goes with you in every battle and every test. God keep and guide you!"
WOODROW WILSON.
THE CAPTURE OF DUN
After the Americans had cleared the Saint Mihiel salient, Marshal Foch gave them a task which was probably the most difficult and dangerous of the whole war. They were to move north and west along the Meuse River through the Argonne forest to Sedan. There they would cut one of the two main communication lines of the Germans, the loss of which would mean to them disaster and rout.
Just before the signing of the armistice on November 11, the Americans reached Sedan after fighting from September 26 over an almost impassable country with few roads and against the strongest forces the Germans could muster. For four years the Germans had been fortifying this part of the line in every possible way, for they realized the danger to them of a successful advance along the Meuse from Verdun to Sedan. The railroad through Mézières, Sedan, and Montmédy was called in a German order "our life artery." To cut it meant death to the German army.
The Argonne forest is a very dense growth of trees and underbrush covering a chain of hills running north and south. It is very difficult for a large army to advance and be supplied with food and munitions without good roads over which to move, and all the roads in this region are poor and, with very few exceptions, run east and west.
The Americans, twenty-one divisions or about 750,000 men, took part in the action. They were obliged to move through the valleys above which, on the hillsides, the Germans had stationed innumerable machine guns and light artillery.
"It was bitter fighting in the woods, brush and ravines, over a region perfectly registered and plotted by the enemy, where his guns, big and little, could be used with the greatest efficiency. The original nine American divisions in some cases were kept in the line over three consecutive weeks. The American reserves were then thrown in until every division not engaged on another part of the line had been put in
## action.
"It is a fact commented on with pride by the American commanders and complimented by the allies that seven of these divisions that drove their way through this hard action never before had been in an active sector, while green troops, fresh from home, were poured in as replacements.
"The Associated Press dispatches from day to day told what these men did; how the enemy was slowly pushed back from his strongest and most vital positions, through one defense system after another, using his finest selected troops, which had been withdrawn in many instances from other portions of the line, in an effort to hold an enemy which he derisively said last spring could not be brought to Europe, and if so would not fight, and even if he tried to fight would not know how to do so."
As they advanced, they were obliged to cross the Meuse and capture the town of Dun. This is a simple statement and might be passed over as not very significant, but in its few words, it contains a story of one of the bravest deeds of any army in any war.
The Germans knew, of course, that if they could prevent the crossing of the river at this point, the Americans could not capture Sedan and cut their line of communications. It may be that the Americans took them completely by surprise when they attempted the crossing here, and that if the Germans had in the least expected the attempt would be made, they would have been better prepared to defeat it. As it was, however, the Americans were met by a frightful and deadly fire from the enemy behind natural defenses so strong that they believed no army would think of attacking them.
The river at this point is about 160 feet wide. Beyond it lies a half mile of mud, and then a canal 60 feet wide with perpendicular walls rising several feet above the surface of the water.
On Monday afternoon, just one week before the war ended, the order was given to cross the river, the mud, and the canal and to occupy the west bank. The officers had hesitated to give the command for they realized what it meant in dead and wounded; but the privates also knew and they hoped they would be allowed to make the attempt, which with American soldiers means to succeed. They were there to bring the war to an end, and to press on against every danger was the sure way to end it quickly.
Those who could swim the river were first called out. Each one was given the end of a rope long enough to reach across the river; then they jumped in and swam exposing as little of their heads and bodies as possible. The German machine guns were so placed as to cover by their fire every foot of the east bank of the river, and the rifles also of hundreds of Huns across the canal attempted to pick off the swimmers. Many were killed and many others were wounded and left to drown, for it would not do to stop to rescue them. A story is told, however, of two chums swimming side by side. One of them was hit by a bullet in the neck and was saved by the other who swam on supporting him until they reached the opposite bank. Then he stopped long enough to bind up the wound and leave his chum lying flat in the mud while he advanced through the mud and across the canal. Both lived to return home with the victorious army.
When the swimmers were across, they held the ropes, which were fastened at the other bank, taut, so that those who could not swim could cross by holding on to them. Some attempted to cross on hastily built rafts and in collapsible canvas boats. More of these were lost than of the swimmers who, partially submerged, were not so good targets for the riflemen.
At the same time the engineers were building pontoon bridges and smaller foot bridges. After the first wave of men had crossed the river and the mud and were climbing up the further side of the canal, the engineers were not so greatly delayed by rifle fire and soon had a foot bridge ready over which the troops quickly rushed. The pontoon bridge was destroyed by enemy fire. Many were lost in the mud where progress was slow and where, obliged to stand erect, they made good targets.
Those swimmers who reached the canal jumped in, swam across the 60 feet of water, and climbed the opposite bank by using grappling hooks.
The Germans had not taken the precaution to build trenches beyond the canal, thinking that the river, the mud, and the canal at this point would offer protection enough. Therefore, when the Americans had succeeded in crossing the canal, the Germans hastily retreated. Probably there were fewer casualties among the Americans than if the attack had been made at what seemed a less dangerous point, for elsewhere along the river the Huns had intrenched themselves.
The action was one demanding skill and courage of the highest order. It was carried through successfully because the Americans possessed both of these qualities and realized they were fighting for the noblest cause for which men ever fought. They were willing to give up their today that others might have a secure and happy tomorrow.
The capture of Sedan forced the Germans to ask for an armistice and to accept whatever terms were offered. In studying the war and the masterly strategy of Marshal Foch, it should never be forgotten that in a few weeks, the armies under his command would have won the greatest victory ever recorded in history and that more than a million Germans would have been obliged to surrender with all their guns and equipment. A smaller minded or more selfish general than Foch might have declined to grant an armistice in order to gain the credit of such a marvelous victory; but Foch thought of the lives that might be saved by granting the armistice and did not think of his own glory. He has lost none of the credit that belongs to him by doing this, but has gained a higher place in the esteem of men.
Nor should it be forgotten that if General Pershing's army had failed in its almost impossible task, no armistice would have been asked for. The war with its suffering and death would have gone over into another year. The same would have been true if the British and French armies had failed. All did the duties assigned them nobly, heroically, and successfully, and the Hun realized that, as always, might was with the forces of right.
BOMBING METZ
ADAPTED FROM THE ACCOUNT WRITTEN BY RAOUL LUFBERY
In January, 1916, I belonged to the Bombing Escadrille 102. One fair day a little after one o'clock, we were ordered to get ready for an expedition. Naturally, we were curious about where we were to go, but it is not usual to name the objective until ready to leave. From the amount of gasoline we were ordered to carry, we all guessed it would be the railroad station at Metz.
Forty planes were to take part in the raid, twenty from my Escadrille 102 and twenty from Escadrille 101, led by brave Commander Roisin.
At one end of the aviation field, the planes stand in a row facing the wind. The engines are carefully gone over by the machinists, the gunners examine the guns, the bombs are placed in their racks. I carry six bombs, others take eight, nine, and even ten, depending upon the size and condition of the airplane and its engine.
We stand ready and wait for the final orders. We are given maps on which the route we are to take is indicated. We all set our watches by that of the commander of the expedition. Fifty minutes after the first plane leaves, we must all be over Nichola-du-port and at an altitude of at least 6000 feet. From there, following the signals which would be given us by the commander, we were to go on; or return to the aviation field, if the weather, the wind, the clouds, or poor grouping of our machines made it necessary.
[Illustration: The heroic American ace, Raoul Lufbery, wearing his well-earned decorations just after an official presentation. Behind him stands a member of the French Cabinet.]
An engine at the end of the line on our left is purring. The plane starts and rolls along the ground and then takes to the air. A second follows it, and then a third. My machine is number seven. I ask my observer, Allard, if he is ready. He answers, "Yes." I start the engine, give it all the gas, like the others roll along the ground for a few seconds, and then take the air.
Just before leaving, Allard informs me that he will try to get a little sleep while I am reaching the proper elevation. He says he will be ready to study the map when we get beyond our trenches. As he can be of no service whatever to me in helping the machine rise, I see no reason to object to his going to sleep if he desires. I turn around and look at him several times while we are climbing up. His eyes are closed, but I doubt his sleeping. He surely has a perfect right to, for very soon he will need all his coolness and strength.
2:20 P.M. I am at the place named, exactly on time. I recognize the commander's machine by the little red flags at the ends of the wings. I get the signal to go on, and I proceed with the group.
After the trenches are crossed, the faster planes make a few spirals to allow the slower ones to catch up. The group is now more compact and we go on with the shrapnel bursting now and then around us. This troubles no one of us, however, for only by luck or chance would we be injured. A few or even many holes in the fabric do little or no harm.
I watch the country as it spreads out beneath my feet. To my right is the Seille River, its banks washed away by floods so that it looks like a great necklace of ponds. To my left is the Moselle and the canal beside it. They look like two beautiful silver lines which disappear at the north in a cloud of mist. And now I see that that which I call a cloud of mist is only the smoke from the chimneys of Metz.
As I get nearer, I can see through this smoke the houses and churches and the long buildings with red tile roofs, which are probably the barracks. A circle of green surrounds the whole. These are the forts; from above they seem quite harmless.
In a few minutes I shall be over my objective, the small freight house. The machines in the lead make a half turn so that those behind may overtake them. As my machine is a slow one, I make directly for my objective. I am the first to arrive.
The enemy must have expected us, for many of their machines are in the air moving around at different altitudes ready to attack us. One of them is coming to welcome me. I turn quickly to see if Allard, the observer, is wide awake. His machine gun is pointed at the enemy, his fingers are on the trigger. Good. All is ready.
At 150 yards, the boche biplane suddenly turns its right flank toward us to allow the gunner to fire. Today such a turn is not necessary, for such machines carry two guns, one fixed and one behind mounted on a pivot so as to fire in any direction. I keep my eyes on the enemy. The black iron crosses are very plainly seen on the rudder and the fuselage. The fight begins.
The machine guns spit fire, and the boche dives, seeming to have had enough. I do not follow him, for the way ahead is clear, and I have an important duty to perform. Through the opening in the floor at my feet I see the railroad junction, some trains moving and others standing. I can also see the depots for the freight and munitions.
[Illustration: A two-passenger tractor biplane flying near the seashore. The oblong black speck directly under the airplane is an aërial bomb, with guiding fins like a torpedo's, which the bomber, who is sitting in the rear seat, has just released from the rack under him. On most planes a machine gun on a swivel is mounted behind the man in the rear seat. If the plane is a single-seater, the machine gun is stationary, mounted in front of the pilot, and "synchronized," or timed, to fire so that the bullets pass between the blades of the propeller, which is making about 1600 revolutions a minute. In the lower left-hand corner can be seen the wing tip of the plane from which the photograph was taken.]
Allard touches my left shoulder and signs for me to keep straight ahead. Another touch and I know he has dropped the bombs. It is done, and I have nothing to do but to turn about and make for home.
But now the boches seem to be thick about us. We must be very careful. But in spite of all, we are surprised and attacked by a Fokker fighting plane. He fires a volley into us and is gone before we can get a shot at him. Two or three short "spats" tell me that his aim was good and our machine has been hit.
The engine is certainly not injured for it roars on. Allard examines the gasoline tank, but it does not seem to have been struck.