My Second Year of the War | Page 7

the street by Smith and Robinson,
while Miller, Jones' friend who was a block away, would not go to his
rescue. To others, perhaps a trifle more knowing, it seemed only a
matter of marching some British divisions across country or putting
them on board a train.
Of course the British were only too ready to assist the French. Any
other attitude would have been unintelligent; for, with the French Army
broken, the British Army would find itself having to bear unassisted the
weight of German blows in the West. There were three courses which
the British Army might take.
First. It could send troops to Verdun. But the mixture of units speaking
different languages in the intricate web of communications required for
directing modern operations, and the mixture of transport in the course
of heavy concentrations in the midst of a critical action where absolute
cohesion of all units was necessary, must result in confusion which
would make any such plan impracticable. Only the desperate situation
of the French being without reserve could have compelled its second

consideration, as it represented the extreme of that military inefficiency
which makes wasteful use of lives and material.
Second. The British could attack along their front as a diversion to
relieve pressure on Verdun. For this the Germans were fully prepared.
It fell in exactly with their plan. Knowing that the British New Army
was as yet undeveloped as an instrument for the offensive and that it
was still short of guns and shells, the Germans had struck in the
inclement weather of February at Verdun, thinking, and wrongly to my
mind, that the handicap to the vitality of their men of sleet, frost and
cold, soaking rains would be offset by the time gained. Not only had
the Germans sufficient men to carry on the Verdun offensive, but
facing the British their numbers were the largest mile for mile since the
first battle of Ypres. Familiar with British valor as the result of actual
contact in battle from Mons to the Marne and back to Ypres, and
particularly in the Loos offensive (which was the New Army's first
"eye-opener" to the German staff), the Germans reasoned that, with
what one German called "the courage of their stupidity, or the stupidity
of their courage," the British, driven by public demand to the assistance
of the French, would send their fresh infantry with inadequate artillery
support against German machine guns and curtains of fire, and pile up
their dead until their losses would reduce the whole army to inertia for
the rest of the year.
Of course, the German hypothesis--the one which cost von Falkenhayn
his place as Chief of Staff--was based on such a state of exhaustion by
the French that a British attack would be mandatory. The initial stage
of the German attack was up to expectations in ground gained, but not
in prisoners or material taken. The French fell back skilfully before the
German onslaught against positions lightly held by the defenders in
anticipation of the attack, and turned their curtains of fire upon the
enemy in possession of captured trenches. Then France gave to the
outside world another surprise. Her spirit, ever brilliant in the offensive,
became cold steel in a stubborn and thrifty defensive. She was not
"groggy," as the Germans supposed. For every yard of earth gained
they had to pay a ghastly price; and their own admiration of French
shell and valor is sufficient professional glory for either Pétain, Nivelle,

or Mangin, or the private in the ranks.
Third. The British could take over more trench line, thus releasing
French forces for Verdun, which was the plan adopted at the
conference of the French and British commands. One morning in place
of a French army in Artois a British army was in occupation. The round
helmets of the British took the place of the oblong helmets of the
French along the parapet; British soldiers were in billets in place of the
French in the villages at the rear and British guns moved into French
gun-emplacements with the orderly precision which army training with
its discipline alone secures; while the French Army was on board
railway trains moving at given intervals of headway over rails restricted
to their use on their way to Verdun where, under that simple French
staff system which is the product of inheritance and previous training
and this war's experience, they fell into place as a part of the wall of
men and cannon.
Outside criticism, which drew from this arrangement the conclusion
that it left the British to the methodical occupation of quiet trenches
while their allies were sent to the sacrifice, had its effect for a time on
the outside public and even on the French, but did not disturb the
equanimity of