Volume 2 — 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."

This General was de Maud'Huy, the man who with a handful of territorials stopped the Prussian Guard before Arras shortly after the battle of the Marne and who since then has never lost a single trench. His name is now scarcely known, even in France, but I venture the prophecy that when the French Army marches down the Champs Elysées after the war is over, when the vanguard passes under the Arch de Triomph, de Maud'Huy—a nervous little firebrand—will be right up in the front rank with Joffre.

While our party did all the spectacular stunts the Germans have offered the correspondents in such profusion, such as visiting the trenches, where in our case a German shell burst thirty feet from us, splattering us with mud, also where snipers sent rifle balls hissing only a few feet away, almost our greatest treats were the scientific daily discourses given by our Captain concerning the entire history of the first campaign, explaining each event leading up to the present position of the two armies. He gave the exact location of every French and allied army corps on the entire front.

On the opposite side of the line he demonstrated the efficiency of the French secret service by detailing the position and name of every German regiment, also the date and the position it now holds. Thus, we were able to know during the journey that it was the crack Prussian Guard that was stopped by de Maud'Huy's Territorials and that the English section under General French was opposed by Saxons.

Our Captain by these lectures gave us an insight into the second great German blunder after the failure to occupy Paris, which was the failure immediately to swing a line across Northern France, thus cutting off Calais and Boulogne, where they could really have leveled a pistol at England's head. He explained that it was the superiority of the French cavalry that dictated that the line should instead run straight north through the edge of Belgium to the sea. His explanations went further than this, for he refuted many military arguments to the effect that cavalry became obsolete with the advent of aeroplanes.

Cavalry formerly was used to screen the infantry advance and also for shock purposes in the charges. Now that the lines are established, it is mostly used with the infantry in the trenches; but in the great race after the Marne to turn the western flanks it was the cavalry's ability to outstrip the infantry that kept the Germans from practically all of Northern France. In other words, the French chausseurs, more brilliant than the Uhlans, kept that northern line straight until the infantry corps had time to take up position.

My introduction to the real French Army was made at the point of junction with the English troops, so I was thus able to make some comparison between the types of the Allies. I did not see the Germans except as prisoners, although on this trip I was sometimes within a few yards of their lines. With all consideration for the statement that they are the greatest fighting machine the world has ever seen, all I can say is that the greatest fighting machine I have even seen is the French Army.

To me they seem invincible from the standpoints of power, intelligence, and humanity. This latter quality specially impressed me. I do not believe any army with such high ideals can easily be beaten, and I judge not only from Generals in command, but the men in the trenches. One morning I was going through the trenches near the most important point where the line was continually under fire.

Passing from the second line to a point less than a hundred yards from the German rifles I came face to face with a General of division. He was sauntering along for the morning's stroll he chose to take in the trenches with his men rather than on the safer roads at the rear. He smoked a cigarette and seemed careless of danger. He continually patted his soldiers on the back as he passed and called them "his little braves."

I could not help wondering whether the German General opposite was setting his men the same splendid example. I inquired the French General's name; he was General Fayolle, conceded by all the armies to be the greatest artillery expert in the world. Comradeship between officers and men always is well known in the French Army, but I never before realized how the officers were so willing to accept quite the same fate.

In Paris the popular appellation for a German is "boche." Not once at the front did I hear this word used by officers or men. They deplore it, just as they deplore many things that happen in Paris. Every officer I talked to declared the Germans were a brave, strong enemy; they waste no time calling them names.

"They are wonderful, but we will beat them," was the way one officer summed up the general feeling.

Another illustration of the French officer at the front: The City of Vermelles of 10,000 inhabitants was captured from the Germans after fifty-four days' fighting. It was taken literally from house to house, the French engineers sapping and mining the Germans out of every stronghold, destroying every single house, incidentally forever upsetting my own one-time idea that the French are a frivolous people. So determined were they to retake this town that they fought in the streets with artillery at a distance of twenty-one feet, probably the shortest range artillery duel in the history of the world.

The Germans before the final evacuation buried hundreds of their own dead. Every yard in the city was filled with little crosses—the ground was so trampled that the mounds of graves were crushed down level with the ground—and on the crosses are printed the names with the number of the German regiments. At the base of every cross there rests either a crucifix or a statue of the Virgin or a wreath of artificial flowers, all looted from the French graveyard.

With the German graves are French graves made afterward. I walked through this ruined city where, aside from the soldiery, the only sign of life I saw was a gaunt, prowling cat. With me past these hundreds of graves walked half a dozen French officers. They did not pause to read inscriptions; they did not comment on the loot and pillage of the graveyard; they scarcely looked even at the graves, but they kept constantly raising their hands to their caps in salute regardless of whether the cross numbered a French or a German life destroyed.

We were driving along back of the advance lines. On the road before us was a company of territorial infantry who had been eight days in the trenches and were now to have two days of repose at the rear. Plodding along the same road was a refugee mother and several little children in a donkey cart; behind the cart, attached by a rope, trundled a baby buggy with the youngest child inside. The buggy suddenly struck a rut in the road and overturned, spilling the baby into the mud. Terrible wails arose, and the soldiers stiffened to attention. Then, seeing the accident, the entire company broke ranks and rescued the infant. They wiped the dirt from its face and restored it to its mother in the cart.

So engrossing was the spectacle our motor halted, and our Captain from Great General Headquarters in his gorgeous blue uniform climbed from the car, discussing with the mother the safety of a baby buggy riding behind a donkey cart, at the same time congratulating the soldier who rescued the child.

Our trip throughout moved with that clockwork precision usually associated only with the Germans. The schedule throughout the week never varied from the arrangements made before we left Paris. When we arrived at certain towns we were handed slips of paper bearing our names and the hotel number of our room.

Amazing meals appeared at most amazing places, all the menus carefully thought out days before. Imagine fresh trout served you with other famous French delicacies in a little house in the battle zone, where only a few hundred yards of barbed wire and a few feet more of air separated you from the German trenches. During the German advance, also after the battle of the Marne, there were many towns in the districts where it was impossible to obtain tobacco, spirits, or food staples. This condition has entirely abated, and the commissariat is now so well supplied that soldiers have sufficient tobacco even in the trenches.

It was my privilege to take a brief ride at the front in an antebellum motor bus of glorious memory—there being nothing left in Paris but the subway. Buses are now used to carry fresh meat, although they have been used in transporting troops and also ammunition. We trundled quite merrily along a little country road in Northern France, the snow-white fields on either side in strange contrast to the scenery when last I rode in that bus. I am sure I rode in the same bus before the war in my daily trips to the Paris office of THE NEW YORK TIMES. Its sides are bullet riddled now, but the soldier conductor still jingles the bell to the motorman, although he carries a revolver where he used to wear the register for fares.

Trench life was one of the most interesting surprises of the trip. Every night since the war began I have heard pitying remarks about "the boys in the trenches," especially if the nights were cold. I was, therefore, prepared to find the men standing in water to the knees, shivering, wretched, sick, and unhappy. I found just the contrary—the trenches were clean, large, and sanitary, although, of course, mud is mud. I found the bottoms of the trenches in every instance corduroy-lined with modern drains, which allowed the feet to keep perfectly dry, and also the large dugouts where the men, except those doing sentry duty, sleep comfortably on dry straw. There are special dugouts for officers and artillery observers.

I also visited a large, perfectly equipped Red Cross First Aid camp, all built underground, extending from one line of trenches to another. All trenches, communication traverses, and observatory dugouts have received names which are printed on shingles affixed to the trenches on little upright posts. For instance, we entered one section of the trenches through Boyau d'Espagne, we traversed Avenue de Bois, Avenues Wagram and Friedland, and others commemorating Napoleonic victories. The dugouts of officers and observers were all called villas—Villa Chambéry, Villa Montmorency being examples. It all seemed like cozy camp life underground except that three times the morning of our visit it was necessary to flatten ourselves against the mud sidewalls while dead men on crossed rifles were carried out, every head in that particular bit of trench being bared as the sad procession disappeared.

Although the maps show the lines of fighting to be rather wavy, one must go to the front really to appreciate the irregular zigzag, snakelike line that it really is. The particular bit of trenches we visited cover a front of twelve miles, but so irregular is the line, so intricate and vast the system of intrenchments, that they measure 200 miles on that particular twelve-mile fighting front.

When one leaves the trenches at the rear of the communication boyaux, it is astonishing how little of the war can be seen. Ten feet after we left our trenches we could not see even the entrance. We stood in a beautiful open field having our pictures taken, and a few hundred yards away our motor waited behind some trees. Suddenly we heard a "zip zip" over our heads. German snipers were taking shots at us.

In addition to the enormous force of men constantly in the trenches along the entire line there is an equal size reserve line directly behind them in case of sudden attack. The artillery is posted considerably further to the rear along with revictualing stations, aeroplane hangars, and headquarters of the Generals, but through all this enormous mass of men which we passed daily going to and from our front observation posts never once did we get the impression of parade. Three were just troops, troops, troops everywhere, every hamlet, every village filled with them, every crossroads with their sentries. All of them, hardened by Winter and turns in the trenches, are in splendid condition, and as opposed to the Germans, at least to the German prisoners I have seen, each French soldier has a clear and definite knowledge of what the war is all about. The greatest event of his day is when the Paris newspapers arrive.

What impressed me greatly was that in all the officers' quarters were copies of the French "Yellow Book," the English "White Paper" and German documents attempting to prove their innocence in causing the conflict. It is not sufficient for French Generals or officers just to go to war; they must know why they go to war, down to the last papers in the case. In six months the French privates have acquired one habit from the British Tommies—that is drinking tea. Back of every section of trenches I found huge tea canteens, where thousands of cups are served daily to the soldiers who have decided for the first time in their life they really like such stuff. There one sees more soldiers at the same time than at any other place in the fighting zone; there they sit and discuss the future calmly and confidently, there being a distinct feeling that the war is likely to be over next Summer.

No one knows what the Spring tactics of General Joffre will be. Along the section of the front I visited the officers are all satisfied that the Commander in Chief's "nibbling tactics" have forced the Germans to retire on the average of two to three miles all along the line. The very name of that great man is spoken with reverence, almost with awe, by his "children at the front."

I, therefore, from the facilities given me, can only make one assertion in summing up my opinion of the French grand army of 1915, that it is strong, courageous, scientifically intelligent, and well trained as a champion pugilist after months of preparation for the greatest struggle of his career. The French Army waits eager and ready for the gong.