A soldier present at the battle of the Marne has chronicled his experiences.[167] “We passed over long, undulating hills and valleys, and towards 1 p.m. obtained our first glimpse down the beautiful vale of the Marne.  Standing on the heights of Chateau Thierry, we beheld the town nestling on both sides of the river in the valley below.

[Footnote 167:  H. Knutz:  “Mit den Koenigin-Fusilieren durch Belgien und Frankreich,”, p. 49 et seq.]

“Then we entered the town and saw on all sides the tokens of street fighting.  All the windows were smashed by shell fire; some houses had been entirely gutted.  Dead Frenchmen lay around in heaps, some corpses so mutilated by shrapnel as to appear hardly human.  With a shudder we turned our eyes from this horrible scene.

“Crossing the Marne by a sand-stone bridge, we climbed the opposing heights under a burning sun.  At the top we deployed, but for that day our artillery sufficed to drive the enemy in headlong flight to the south; the night we spent under the open sky.

“Sunday, September 6th.  Before breakfast we intended to bathe in a stream, when our dreams of a rest-day were dispelled by an order to hold ourselves ready for the march.  ’The 17th division is under heavy rifle fire and the 18th must advance to their support.’  Meanwhile, the chicken soup was almost ready, but the order ‘form ranks’ resounded, and with empty stomachs we marched through Neuvy up a hill and dug ourselves in behind a wood.

“The thunder of the enemies’ artillery is terrible; shrapnel is bursting on our left.  Captain von Liliencron discusses the situation with the major and then turns to us.  ’Our regiment attacks! go for the dogs, children!’ he exclaims with gleaming eyes.

“Next we advance round the wood and lie down behind a hedge; axes are held in readiness to hack a way through the latter.  Five steps from me a machine gun hammers away at full speed; it is now impossible to hear commands, so they are roared from man to man—­it could not be termed shouting.  ‘Ambulance to the right!’ somebody is severely wounded, but the ambulance men have more than they can do on the left.

“The hell-music is at its loudest; shrapnel is bursting in the wood behind us; suddenly there is an awful explosion half a dozen yards away; I hear the screams of my comrades, then we rush forwards.  The rush across the field was awful—­flank fire from the right.  Here and there a comrade bites the grass.

“At last I throw myself down, but there is no cover; the wounded crouch there too.  None of my company are there; it seems that the two last shells have played havoc with them.  The enemies’ (French) main position is nearly a mile away in a forest.

“Up the next slope our dead lie thick around, and here too a deadly bullet had found the breast of our heroic captain.  But in the strip of forest French and Turko bodies are still thicker.  The cat-like Turkos have climbed into the trees and are shot down like crows.  A maddening infantry and artillery fire greets us as we reach the top.  Every ten to twenty yards shells strike, and shrapnel bursts, filling the air with earth, dust, smoke and smell.