General Foch drew my attention at
once to the clock.
"During the battle of the Yser," he said, "night and day my eyes were
on that clock. Orders were sent. Then it was necessary to wait until
they were carried out. It was by the clock that one could know what
should be happening. The hours dragged. It was terrible."
It must have been terrible. Everywhere I had heard the same story.
More than any of the great battles of the war, more even than the
battle of the Marne, the great fight along the Yser, from the
twenty-first of October, 1914, to the twelfth of November, seems to
have impressed itself in sheer horror on the minds of those who know
its fearfulness. At every headquarters I have found the same feeling.
It was General Foch's army that reenforced the British at that battle.
The word had evidently been given to the Germans that at any cost they
must break through. They hurled themselves against the British with
unprecedented ferocity. I have told a little of that battle, of the
frightful casualties, so great among the Germans that they carried
their dead back and burned them in great pyres. The British Army was
being steadily weakened. The Germans came steadily, new lines taking
the place of those that were gone. Then the French came up, and, after
days of struggle, the line held.
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