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Page 55
"That's the kind of indemnity Baltimore offers to the Germans," cried
General Brown.
Speeches attacking the plan of campaign and the competency of military
leaders were made by Charles J. Bonaparte, Leigh Bonsal and Henry W.
Williams, but their words availed nothing against the prevailing wild
enthusiasm.
"Baltimore has never been taken by an enemy," shouted ex-Governor
Goldsborough, "and she will not be taken now. Our army is massed and
entrenched along the south bank of the Susquehanna and, mark my words,
the Germans will never pass that line."
As these patriotic words rang out the thousand white-clad singers rose
and lifted their voices in "The Star Spangled Banner," dearest of
patriotic hymns in Baltimore because it was a Baltimore man, Francis
Scott Key, who wrote it.
While the great meeting was still in session, a large German airship
appeared over Baltimore's lower basin and, circling slowly at the height
of half a mile, proceeded to carry out its mission of frightfulness
against the helpless city. More than fifty bombs were dropped that night
with terrific explosions. The noble shaft of the Washington Monument was
shattered. The City Hall was destroyed, also the Custom House, the
Richmond Market, the Walters Art Gallery, one of the buildings of the
Johns Hopkins Hospital, with a score of killed and wounded, and the
cathedral with fifty killed and wounded.
The whole country was stirred to its depths by this outrage. Angry
orators appeared at every street corner, and volunteers stormed the
enlisting offices. Within twenty-four hours the business men of Baltimore
raised another hundred millions for the city's defence. Baltimore, never
conquered yet, was going to fight harder than ever.
The great question now was how soon the Germans would begin their drive.
We knew that the Virginia expedition under General von Mackensen had
advanced up the peninsula and had taken Richmond, but every day our
aeroplane scouts reported General von Hindenburg's forces as still
stationary south of Philadelphia. Their strategy seemed to be one of
waiting until the two armies could strike simultaneously against
Washington from the southeast and against Baltimore from the northeast.
On the ninth of October this moment seemed to have arrived, and we
learned that von Hindenburg, with a hundred thousand men, was advancing
towards the Susquehanna in a line that would take him straight to the
Maryland metropolis. A two days' march beyond the river would give the
enemy sight of the towers of Baltimore, and how the city had the
slightest chance of successful resistance was more than I could
understand.
I come now to the battle of the Susquehanna, which my lucky star allowed
me to witness in spite of positive orders that war correspondents should
not approach the American lines. This happened through the friendship of
Vincent Astor, who once more volunteered his machine and his own services
in the scouting aeroplane corps. I may add that Mr. Astor had offered his
entire fortune, if needed, to equip the nation with the mightiest air
force in the world; and that already four thousand craft of various types
were in process of construction. With some difficulty, Mr. Astor obtained
permission that I accompany him on the express condition that I publish
no word touching military operations until after the battle.
On the morning of October 10th we made our first flight, rising from the
aerodrome in Druid Hill Park and speeding to the northeast, skirting the
shores of Chesapeake Bay. Within half an hour the broad Susquehanna, with
its wrecked bridges, lay before us and to the left, on the heights of
Port Deposit, we made out the American artillery positions with the main
army encamped below. Along the southern bank of the river we saw
thousands of American soldiers deepening and widening trenches that had
been shallowed out by a score of trench digging machines, huge locomotive
ploughs that lumbered along, leaving yellow ditches behind them. There
were miles of these ditches cutting through farms and woods, past
windmills and red barns and rolling wheat fields, stretching away to the
northwest, parallel to the river.
"They've done a lot of work here," said I, impressed by the extent of
these operations.
Astor answered with a smile that puzzled me. "They have done more than
you dream of, more than any one dreams of," he said.
"You don't imagine these trenches are going to stop the Germans, do you?"
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