Don
Martin diary entry for Tuesday, August 27, 1918:
Took the 11 o’clock train for Paris. Had a good luncheon at the Weber
cafe. Spent night at the Crillon.
Don Martin cabled from Paris on August
27 a report on a German prisoner, and a nice story about a soldier returning to
the U. S. It was published in the New York Herald on August 28.
PRISONER THINKS HUNS
ARE NEAR BREAKING POINT
Boche Captive Doubts
Civilians
Will Pass Winter Without Cracking
By DON MARTIN
Special Correspondent of the Herald with the American Armies in France
[Special Cable to the
Herald]
WITH THE AMERICAN ARMIES IN FRANCE, Tuesday
Up toward the front to-day I saw a German who had been taken prisoner by an
American unit on Sunday. He was perfectly familiar with the developments of the
last three weeks and said the German soldiers realize the game is up and that
they can’t win. He says they will fight on, but he believes the people at home
will crack when they face the inevitable hardships of this winter coupled with
the spectre of ultimate defeat.
The government is able, he declares, by clever sophistry to make the German
civil population believe that recent events are simply temporary retreats and
that as such it has been a masterpiece of strategy. The soldiers know better,
and they are informing their friends so in letters home. No doubt this German
was discouraged.
Prevents
Another Offensive
The repeated thrusts of the Allies have demoralized the Germans for the
present. Their effect is certain to be to prevent her organizing another
gigantic offensive.
An American unit in the vicinity of a well known château has captured up to
date thirty German machine guns. Our losses have been small. The artillery work
along the Vesle is marvelous. To-day I saw a battery of four “heavies” manned
by youthful Americans hurling shells seven miles north of the river. They were
aiming at a cross roads where the Germans were passing in a steady line. Later
I saw a photograph taken from above the cross roads. It showed that the
American shells fell one hundred feet back of the crossing at first. Then they
crept ahead and left at the intersection a deep pit. After that they moved along
the road for a thousand feet, where they must have caused havoc in the enemy
columns. That is a sample of the accuracy of the American artillery. It also
tells the story of the French work. The latter keep battering away at the
Germans wherever they are thought to be, night and day. The German artillery
returns a very feeble answer.
New
York Lawyer Coming Home
Lieutenant Meredith B. Langstaff, of Brooklyn and New York, a well known
corporation lawyer at No. 25 Broad street, is returning home on a military mission,
when he will see the wife he married the day he left America. He has been in
the front line and has seen the worst of the war. When he was notified a month
ago that he would return with a mission, and his papers, signed, received on
Saturday, he felt his flirtation with death was temporarily over. He made a
mistake, however. That evening he was ordered to take out a patrol to learn the
details of new enemy positions. It was a really dangerous job and he knew it,
but with his papers in his pocket and with thoughts of his bride in Brooklyn in
his mind he started with his detachment. It was a bright, moonlight
night—splendid for snipers, who are vigilant always—and the chances were about
fifty-fifty that he would not return. He spent three hours in the shadow of
death, with bullets whistling over his head. He penetrated a mile through No
Man’s Land and explored the enemy territory. Returning, he had a brush with an
enemy patrol and the detachment suffered slight casualties. Lieutenant
Langstaff, however, was unhurt. He slept in a dugout the rest of the night as
soundly as though he was resting in a comfortable home, though the dugout is
always liable to be hit by shells.
I met Lieutenant Langstaff as he came out of the line. He was covered with
dirt, his clothes torn and his belt was gone. He looked like a veteran when he
went to see the General in command. He tried to conceal his tattered garments,
but that he found impossible. When he saluted the General laughed. “You’ve got
the unmistakable mark of the front line,” added the General. “If that bride
should only see you now!”
Lieutenant Langstaff said to me:--“The first thing I want when I get back
is a piece of apple pie, a long, cold glass of milk and also a few baths.
Living in fox holes and dugouts may be romantic afterward, but it is no cinch
at the time. The ones we used had been occupied by the Germans we had been up
against.”
Don Martin gave an account of how he had come to see the role of air
power in the following piece written on August 27, mailed to New York and
published in the September 15 Sunday edition of the New York Herald.
Army Without Full Supply of
Airplanes,
Is as Helpless as a Hunter
Without Eyes
The Mightiest Force in
the World Could be Crushed by a Mere Handful of Fighters, Provided the Handful
Had Complete Mastery of the Air, Says Don Martin—
He Describes Flyer’s Many
Duties
Special Correspondent of the Herald with the American Armies in France
[Special to the Herald]
WITH THE AMERICAN ARMIES IN FRANCE, August 27
The eyes of an army!
That is
what someone very aptly called airplanes. Without an adequate supply, an army,
no matter how big or how valorous, is as helpless as a hunter would be without
eyes. One has to be near the front but a short time to see how essential these
frigates of the air are, to realize how easily the mightiest army in the world
could be crushed by a mere handful of fighters provided the handful had
complete mastery of the air. Therefore the arrival in France of a few of the
vast number of airplanes which Uncle Sam has promised to send to his boys in
Flanders, Picardy, Champagne and the Vosges is hailed with joy because
airplanes are always needed and Germany seems to have an inexhaustible supply.
Two vital
things which airplanes do are: --
Drop bombs on enemy
lines, headquarters and cities,
Take photographs of the
enemy territory.
Fliers do
not soar aloft merely for the purpose of fighting another flier. Here is what
happens:-- The Germans want to learn what bridges the Americans have, for
instance, over the Vesle or the Marne, or, in fact any river. An observation
airplane is sent up to take photographs. In it are two men—the pilot and the
observer. It starts off on its dangerous mission accompanied by one, two, three
or four armed airplanes. The supposition is—and it is correct—that as soon as
the observer is seen allied airplanes will attack it, so the armed escort go
along as protectors. The fights about which you may read in the despatches any
day occur between these armed escorts and pursuit airplanes which are after the
observers. Any day along an active front one may count during a period of five
hours 100 airplanes, Allied and German. Fights in the air are common. Attacks
on sausage balloons are every day occurrences.
No Thrill for
Soldiers
In fact combats in the air
become so commonplace that soldiers pay no attention to them. The other day I
heard the steady whirr of motors and the sputter, sputter of the machine guns.
The commotion was directly overhead, but not an airplane was to be seen. A
fight was going on between a squadron of German and a squadron of American
fliers, but the planes were hidden in a great cloud bank. For fifteen minutes
the disturbance continued. The noise was precisely like the thunderous drone of
a planing mill, mingled with an irregular but incessant thump of a triphammer.
Finally an airplane cut its way out of the clouds and started toward the German
lines. Another followed. Then, far off, presumably on the very borderline, an
airplane plunged earthward, ahead of a swirling pillar of smoke and flame. I
never learned the particulars of this fight. I suspect it was the one in which
Alan F. Winslow, of Chicago, lost his life, because it occurred on the day he
is supposed to have been killed. So many battles take place that they are only
noted in the daily corps reports. When American fliers first appeared on the
front, the story of a combat was cabled in detail. But things have changes
mightily since last spring.
Fliers carry wireless outfits.
They wheel aloft when big guns are firing at new targets and report back
instantly with their wireless:
“First shot hundred yards
northeast.”’
“Second shot fifty yards
south.”
The artillerymen thereupon
vary the range until the spot aimed is hit. Here is a concrete illustration of
the way artillery and airplanes work together. I was standing on a hill
watching shells from German guns drop on a group of buildings about a quarter
of a mile away. They were falling at the rate of about one every two minutes.
Between the spot where I stood and these buildings was a wheat field edging the
Marne and through this field about 1,000 American soldiers started to pass in
single file. Above wheeled a German airplane. Suddenly the dropping of shells
on the group of buildings stopped. In exactly three minutes shells began
falling near the American soldiers. One fell in the river. Another struck about
three hundred feet from the men. The Americans scurried away with such agility
that none was hit. Shells continued to fall in that field for about five
minutes. Then they stopped and again began dropping on the group of buildings
on the other side of the river. There was something uncanny about that
performance—the artillery back probably five miles, the airplane wheeling like
an eagle two miles above the earth, the
flashing of a message from the airplane to the men far back, the firing with
almost deadly accuracy at a target which they could not see.
Locating a German Gun
Here is another story showing
the importance of perfect air service:
I was in the headquarters of
an American Army corps recently when an officer called the air service on the
telephone and said:
“General _________ says the Germans have a new gun in
______ Woods, or at least, it is believed there is one there. It is causing a
good deal of trouble in our back areas. Have photographs taken as soon as
possible.”
Four hours later I was in the
same headquarters. The intelligence officer showed me a photograph.
“We located that gun all
right. It was about where we thought. This photograph shows it plainly.”
He pointed to a particular
spot in the picture which at first meant nothing to me but which, under a
strong glass, meant a good deal. The gun was there. Even an amateur with the
aid of a powerful glass could tell that. The officer continued:
“We’ve just sent this over to
artillery. They’ll begin hammering away pretty soon.”
In precisely one hour word
came back that the new German gun was silent. An air observer reported that at
least a dozen shells from our guns had struck very close to it. Whether it was
destroyed is problematical. The chances are the shrapnel from our shell drove
the Germans to their dugouts and that they afterward removed their gun to a
safer position.
It is not possible to destroy
all the enemy artillery. It is not possible to get satisfactory photographs of
all the enemy territory. Every time an Allied observation airplane flies over
the German lines and back are as he is attacked or chased back home. Every time
a German seeks information over our lines he is likely to be driven back by
French, British or American fliers. It is a continuous battle in the air and no
day passes without casualties.
What 10,000 Could Do
If Germany today had ten
thousand planes she could sweep the sky clear and keep it swept clear of Allied
aircraft, and with the definite knowledge she could gain of the movements of
Allied troops and guns, she could make the life of the Allied armies a hideous
nightmare. She has a great many airplanes and apparently, despite her losses,
does not let her supply decrease. A year ago stories were printed in effect
that Germany was unable to get material with which to build airplanes but it is
very evident now that these stories were untrue. She has plenty of material and
plenty of fliers.
The romance of the air clings
to the men who fight—the men who fly the pursuit or chasse airplanes—but the
perils they face and the hairbreadth escapes they meet are duplicated by the
experiences of the men who go up to take photographs. These men, who use
enormous airplanes, are targets of anti-aircraft guns and legitimate prey of
every hostile airplane. Their only hope of escape when attacked is to
outmanoeuvre the enemy and make a quick landing. When they are accompanied by
armed escorts—the Germans always have two or three wasps of the air within calling
distance—they are not likely to be harmed, because the armed airplanes
immediately engage the enemy, giving the observer time to make his observations
and fly tranquilly back to his base.
Drifting around the front as
correspondents so, one may see any clear day a hundred demonstrations of the
value of effective air observation. I have seen German airplanes shoot across
the line and sprinkle moving lines of camions with machine gun bullets. Their
destructive visits followed the wheeling of a German observation airplane over
our territory. Once, after German observers had been flying high, shells from
German guns began to fall about a group of farm buildings which was being used
as a headquarters. The Americans went to the cellar and none was hurt. I asked
one of our experts in what way the Germans were able to tell these buildings,
isolated as they were, housed a headquarters.
“Easily enough,” he replied.
“They have probably been watching for several days. They saw an automobile
drive up now and then. They saw movement around the yard—a movement which we
couldn’t hide-- and probably saw men whom they were able to identify, from
enlarged photographs, as American officers.
The headquarters moved at
once. Even a slightly worn path leading to a chateau is sufficient to indicate
that the place is being used, presumably by officers as headquarters. The
Germans overlook nothing. The Allies are just as alert. There are no tricks of
the air with which both sides are not familiar.
Americans all over France have
read with greatest satisfaction that the Liberty motor has met all tests and
that airplanes equipped with it are soon to arrive in great numbers. With
thousands of young Americans fully trained for flying it seems assured that
within a short time the Allies will have complete and unquestioned mastery in
the air, and that will without doubt hasten the end of the war.
Don Martin also found time in Paris on
August 27 to write an extended description of army headquarters. Mailed to New
York, it was published in the New York Herald on September 15.
Army Chiefs Always on the Move
as Great Battles Shift Their
Headquarters
Don Martin
Describes the Difficulties of the Staffs,
Who Continue Their Work with Amazing
Accuracy
Despite Great Drawbacks
By DON MARTIN
Special Correspondent of the Herald with the American Armies in France
[Special to the
Herald]
WITH THE AMERICAN ARMIES IN FRANCE, August 27
How would you like to have your offices moved every few days?
How would you like to be told at midnight that you must be in a place miles
distant, ready to operate properly and swiftly, at daybreak the following
morning?
Offhand you would say it couldn’t be done. That is what the men in the army
thought, but they have found that it can be done. The task of moving an army is
a gigantic one. The task of moving the headquarters is filled with difficulties
and vexations. When the Franco-American offensive started some time ago the
headquarters of an American division was in a farm colony. The day after the
offensive started it was in a chateau five miles away. Two days later it was in
a farmhouse and stable which but a few days before had been a bloody
battlefield. Then, as the Germans drew farther and farther away, the
headquarters leaped ahead again, this time to another chateau. Still it
continued north, stopping finally for a few days in a tiny village not very far back of the firing line. It had
just settled here, presumably for a short stay, when orders came to move back
thirty kilometers. The division was to be relieved.
And so it goes. It is always on the move. There is no rest. The marvelous
part of it all is that the staffs, the mapmakers, the statisticians and experts
of all kinds proceed with their work through all the chaos, maintaining one
hundred percent efficiency all the time. It all means loss of sleep,
irregularity of meals and irritation of a thousand kinds, but through it all
the Americans carry a note of humor. For instance, here is a notice neatly
printed, which I recently saw on the wall of one of the corps headquarters.
Loyal Order of
the
Galloping First
Echelon
Organized 1918,
Somewhere in France
Membership
Limited to Those Actually
Employed in
Same.
Each Move
Represents One Degree.
Initiatory Fee
To Be Paid by
Loss of Sleep.
Assessment of
20 Centimes Levied Upon
Those Who Fall
Asleep While Moving.
All Officers To
Be Elected Except
Janitor.
Our Motto:--We
Work Night and Day
and Best While
We Move.
Beneath the words was the picture of an automobile truck under which was
printed the words, “To Berlin.”
A
Menu in France
In another headquarters,
illustrating the humor of the Americans, was a card which read:---
Menu
Somewhere in
France
Muletail Soup,
Without the
Muletail.
Well Done
Boche, with Shrapnel Sauce.
Served at Sixty
Miles an Hour.
Roasted Fruit
Salad,
a la 155.
Beverages—Petrol
Essences
The headquarters of an army, an army corps, a division or a brigade is one
of the busiest places in the world. The army headquarters—an army consisting of
two or more army corps and each army corps consisting of two or more divisions,
a division in the American Army consisting of 30,000 men—is always far back of
the line. The corps headquarters next in size is closer to the line. Next comes the division headquarters. After that
brigade headquarters. Then come the regimental headquarters, which are
frequently dangerously close to the line. From the army headquarters to the
division there is constant connection by telephone and a steady interchange of
messages. Likewise there is a steady exchange of communications from the
division headquarters to the brigade and regimental. There is no chaos about
the management of a war, even in its most trying hours. Things run with
clocklike precision, even though the offices are in stables, in tents, in
dugouts or in cellars.
One night recently I spent several hours in the headquarters of a division
which was conducting a small but important operation. Americans were making an
assault on one of the positions which commanded Chateau-Thierry. The General
was sitting in his private office, a cement walled room, which I learned had
always been the home of the prize bull of the countryside. Now it was fitted up
with a rough board table, a chair or two, a filing case and a cot. The walls
were literally covered with maps—detailed maps—showing every tree, every road,
every brook, every elevation and every valley in the part of France where the
division was fighting. There were other maps also, showing a broader
perspective, showing where the German lines were in 1914 and on various dates since
then. Besides these maps there were others showing the German front, with the
number of every German division and its position in the line. Probably, could I
have peeped at a division headquarters fifteen or more miles to the north, I
would have seen a similar display—maps showing the Allied battlefront, with the
numbers of the French, British and American divisions and their positions in
the line. For each side knows much about the other. To a large extent his
success or failure depends upon how much or how little he knows.
On this particular night of which I speak there was great activity in the
ancient stable. The headquarters occupied one long room, which in peace times
is the sleeping place of thirty cows. The names of the animals are to be seen
above the rack in which their supply of hay was put each night in winter. The
place had been cleaned thoroughly, of course, and chairs had taken the places
of milk stools, and tables, filing cases and typewrites were all about.
Telephone wires formed a network along the ceiling and maps were on all the
walls.
A young man—at home a New York stock broker—was stationed at a telephone
which ran to brigade headquarters. As fast as he received a message he dictated
it to a stenographer who was at his elbow.
The stenographer dashed off a dozen carbon copies and a clerk
distributed them—first to the General, then to the Chief of staff, the major of
intelligence, the chief of the artillery section, head of operations, etc. It
all seemed very much like election night in a newspaper office.
Some of the Messages
Here is the text of some of the messages:--
“Company ----- reached first objective-8:42. Awaits orders.”
“Patrols crossed railway track. Germans making stiff resistance.”
“Company ---- in ------ 9:02 P.M., fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Ready
to go on if ordered.”
“Men my company chased Boche up hill. Got out of our sector so had to call
them back. Giving Boche hell.” (The author of this message is known for his
picturesque language and skill as a fighter.”)
“Message my pigeon says men going ahead. Away ahead objectives, but say
keep on going till meet stiffer resistance.”
So it went for hours. The General in charge of the division was kept
minutely informed of the goings on at the front. His staff, in turn, immediately
informed the French corps headquarters—the American division being in a French
corps at the time—and the French corps in turn informed the French army
headquarters.
Of course there are times when everything does not work out according to
schedule. When a regiment, for illustration, runs into a hard fight it is
unable to get word back except by carrier pigeon or runner, and frequently
pigeons and runners are killed on the way back.
Then again, regimental headquarters are sometimes struck by shells and
destroyed. Telephone connections are broken. On one occasion during a savage
fight I was in a brigade headquarters awaiting returns from the front. No word
had come from a battalion for several hours. Runners were sent out, but could
not get through the enemy artillery fire. There was much anxiety. It seemed as
if the battalion had been wiped out or captured. But at two o’clock in the
morning a runner arrived with a message, hastily written, which read:--
“Cut off by enemy fire in rear. Machine guns in front. Holding in woods.
Put down barrage. Send reinforcements. Lost many, but spirits all high.”
Instantly a message was flashed to the artillery. The exact spot was known
to the chief of staff. He told it to the artillery commander. Within a few
minutes the American artillery began dropping its deluge of death and ruin
where the Germans were supposed to be. At the same time word was shot to
another place to rush reinforcements. It worked out quickly and well.
The natural question is: “How did the runner get through the barrage?”
The answer is that he did so. Perhaps three or four others tried and
failed.
The clerical force of an army division consists of at least 100 persons.
They are mapmakers, statisticians, stenographers, interpreters, intelligence officers,
experts in various phases of war and specialists on German methods. Their work
must be kept up to the minute and must always be correct. Recently while the
armies were on the move I was in a headquarters, elaborately equipped, at eight
o’clock in the evening. There was no hint of moving. The following morning I
called there and found the place deserted except for two soldiers who were
sweeping out and placing everything precisely as it was before the Americans
had taken the house over.
Ten miles north I found the division staff quartered in a big farm house
and stable. The mapmakers were at work; the walls covered with maps; the same
filing cases I had been seeing day after day were neatly arranged; telephones
were on all the tables; the various experts were bending over their tasks with
the same assiduity and patience as always. It was as if some one had taken the
old headquarters and bodily lifted it into its new position miles away.
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