TWO
WHILE HYAZINTH VON STRACHWITZ WAS TRAINING for his commission and developing his military skills, Europe was moving inexorably towards conflagration.
In August 1914, over one and a half million Germans with spiked helmets on their heads and glory in their hearts streamed into neutral Belgium and France. A shot in distant Sarajevo, the provincial capital of Bosnia Herzegovina, was the starter’s gun, but the powers of Europe had been lining up and sparring well before this. There was a flurry of telegrams, ultimatums, diplomatic threats, overtures and bombast beforehand, but the push to war had by this time developed a momentum of its own. An extremely strong will and fervent desire for peace by all parties would have been needed to stop it, but this was absent in the summer of 1914. The expectation of a short war made it all acceptable, especially when weighed against each country’s perceived gains.
“You will be home before the leaves have fallen from the trees” the Kaiser, his withered arm tucked against his side, moustache bristling, extorted his departing troops.1 The German plans depended heavily on a short six-week campaign to defeat France, after which she would switch her forces to face Russia, which her general staff had accurately calculated would need six weeks to fully mobilise. As for the English, “The lowdown shopkeeping knaves,” as the Kaiser had once written, their inconsequential army would be rolled up along with the French.
The fact was that most of the leading statesmen and generals in Europe in 1914 misunderstood the nature of modern warfare. Based on past experience they anticipated conflicts to be short wars of manoeuvre with minimal causalities, even though the American Civil War and the Russo-Japanese war had provided salutary lessons to the contrary. Only a tiny minority—like General Helmuth von Moltke the Elder, who predicted after the Franco-Prussian War that the next war could last seven years, and Lord Kitchener—foresaw a much larger war than their contemporaries.
There was, then, not just an expectation of war by the different nations, but on the part of many generals and politicians, a real, almost palpable desire for war.
Germany, feeling alone and friendless, was desperately seeking greater power, status and respect, and a voice in world affairs. Germany’s army was acknowledged by many Euopean military officers to be the best in Europe, and therefore the world—as the armies outside Europe were not given much attention or credit despite Japan’s victory over Russia—and its navy was being built up to rival Britain’s mighty fleet. The Kaiser himself, although Queen Victoria’s favourite grandson, was jealous of Britain’s wealth and vast colonial empire. For him the issue was personal, and he went to great pains to snub Edward, Prince of Wales, at every opportunity. Germany certainly felt hemmed in, prevented from realising her true greatness, a feeling summed up by “Little Willie” the Crown Prince when he wrote the introduction to the book Germany in Arms: “It is the holy duty of Germany above all other peoples to maintain an army and a fleet ever at the highest point of readiness. Only then, supported by our own good sword, can we preserve the place in the sun which is our due, but which is not willingly granted to us.”2 The Kaiser’s comment to an Austrian officer really sums up many leading Germans’ attitudes. “I hate the Slavs. I know it is a sin to do so. We ought not to hate anyone. But I can’t help hating them.”3 This rather widespread dislike of the Slavs, partially brought about by a fear of Russia’s immense empire, was an attitude Hitler would take to the extreme, an extreme of which the Kaiser would not have approved, but which, like anti-Semitism, was nevertheless buried deep in the German psyche.
The French, for their part, wanted a war with Germany in order to take back the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, lost in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71. Russia, as self-styled protector of the Slavs, felt obliged to protect Slavic Serbia from the threats and ultimatums of Austria-Hungary. Besides which, Russia was tied to France by treaty. Of all the nations, Britain had the least reason to go to war. The invasion of Belgium was the excuse, but Britain’s treaty obligations to defend Belgium did not apply to a co-signatory of that treaty such as Germany. Britain had other concerns, but not compelling reasons, and the warmongers, which included H.H. Asquith, Sir Edward Grey and Winston Churchill, needed all their skill and persuasive powers to win over the Cabinet and Parliament. Britain also expected a short war in which its main contribution would be from the Royal Navy, meaning that casualties would be kept to an acceptable minimum. Going to war with such a scenario was really all too easy.
The machinations and discussions in the palaces and chanceries of Europe resulted in a chain reaction of events in late July and early August 1914, an all too neat timetable that would have made any railway station-master proud. Russia mobilised on 30 July. On 1 August France and Germany mobilised. Two days later, Germany gave Belgium an ultimatum to allow free passage of her forces through Belgian territory to attack France in a wide-flanking move as set down in the Schlieffen Plan. On 4 August, Britain declared war on Germany following Germany’s failure to comply with Britain’s ultimatum to respect Belgian neutrality. Germany then invaded Belgium. On 6 August, Austria, the country which had started the whole process after Sarajevo, almost tardily declared war on Russia.
So finally after years of arms build-up, treaty negotiations, diplomatic plots and subterfuges, Europe got the war she wanted, indeed deserved; but it would not be the short war expected. It would last four long, blood-soaked years, causing fifteen million deaths.
For Hyazinth von Strachwitz, it was war at last, and with it dreams of glory. Cavalry charges with the sun gleaming on burnished breastplates, pennants fluttering on lances, thundering horse’s hooves trampling down a fleeing enemy. All very normal, and for the time, praiseworthy thoughts for a young cavalry officer seeking to prove himself in his chosen profession. Victory and a hero’s return were never in doubt, so the sooner he could get to grips with the French, the better. He would no longer have to cast envious eyes at the grizzled veterans of the victorious Franco-Prussian War.
He rode out to war at the head of his squadron with the shouts and cheers of ecstatic civilians ringing in his ears, a joyous sound filling him with pride. But the euphoria was not to last. On average a corps required just over 6,000 wagons, and all too soon the moving columns all piled up. Dust settled in clouds over parched and thirsty troops, while men and wagons slowly crawled forward, or waited interminably for their turn to move. No gaily uniformed Napoleonic columns these, but a grey purposeful mass. Only the infantry constantly singing the national anthem and popular songs like “Die Wacht am Rhein” brought any life to the march, but even this began to irritate the quieter cavalry after a while.
The young Garde du Corps officer was still optimistic that this would be a cavalry war, like so many of the wars in the past, and indeed his superiors had similar expectations, although they were going to be more clever in the use of their horsemen compared to the glory-seeking French, for whom the massed charge was de rigueur, epitomising their offensive spirit. The British also hoped to use their cavalry extensively, although some—like General Sir Ian Hamilton, who had been an observer during the Russo-Japanese War—had a more realistic view. Based on his observations he concluded that in a modern war, the only role for the cavalry was to cook rice for the infantry.4 It was a view that did not go down well with the British War Office.
Despite the feelings of junior officers like Hyazinth von Strachwitz—and indeed many senior officers—and much to their chagrin, the Germans deliberately sought to avoid a major cavalry encounter. However, notwithstanding this reluctance, on 17 August, the 3rd Squadron had its baptism of fire in the region of Dinaut. While on its march to the Marne the regiment fought several engagements, including one at St Quentin and one attacking Givenchy. These clashes, given the size of the German cavalry force available, were not significant.
At the commencement of hostilities the 1st Cavalry Division consisted of the 1st Cavalry Brigade; the Garde du Corps; the Guard Cuirassers; 2nd Cavalry Brigade of Uhlans (Lancers); 3rd Guards Cavalry Brigade of Dragoons, heavy cavalry, essentially mounted infantry; 4th Guard Cavalry Brigade of Hussars (Light Cavalry); and Uhlans (Lancers). This last brigade was shortly broken up, with its squadrons assigned as divisional cavalry to the 1st and 2nd Guards Infantry Divisions. Machine gun, signals, pioneer, and motorised transport units were not up to established strength and were added during mobilisation.
Lieutenant von Strachwitz’s first assignment was leading a reconnaissance screening patrol ahead of the main body. His mission was to try to find the enemy and report back. He was under strict orders to avoid large units and only engage smaller ones if unavoidable or if he had the possibility of capturing a prisoner. He was to observe enemy formations or columns to gauge their strength and the direction of their march. If he encountered a larger formation of cavalry, a brisk exchange of fire was all that was expected, followed by a retreat of carefully judged speed, in hopes of luring the French back onto the waiting machine guns and rifles of the Jaeger Light Infantry.
To a headstrong, eager young lieutenant, it was boring work, no matter how necessary or effective it was. For the most part there was no enemy to be seen. Although squadrons of French cavalry in their blue coats and helmets topped with flowing horsehair mane were out scouting, and spoiling for a fight, the Garde du Corps officer could not engage them. This was not what he or his men had envisaged the war to be, or indeed what a cavalry troop was trained to do.
A new opportunity presented itself, and he volunteered to lead long-range reconnaissance and fighting patrols deep behind the enemy lines. It was an extremely dangerous assignment, but it gave him what he craved: an independent command, and above all, action in the finest cavalry tradition. It was heady work. They cut telegraph lines, vital for enemy communications, then ambushed the repair parties. They also attacked small supply columns, captured couriers and slashed through any small rear-area units made indolent by their safe and comfortable billets.
His first patrols were still near the fluid front line. His results in disrupting the enemy rear and the intelligence he gathered were outstanding, so that he was quickly awarded the Iron Cross (2nd Class). He was establishing a reputation for himself as a daredevil, gaining the nickname of the last horseman (cavalryman). He gradually extended his operations further into the enemy’s rear where he found vulnerable and less alert foes. These actions led to him being recommended for the Iron Cross (1st Class).
One one extended raid the French sent their cavalry in pursuit, but von Strachwitz never tarried in one spot so the French were always behind him, not knowing where he would strike next. Nevertheless the net was closing in, so von Strachwitz took the more audacious course, and went even deeper behind the French lines. His patrol also disrupted the Limoges–Bordeaux railway, and he blew up the signal box at the Fontainebleau station. His patrol actually reached the outskirts of Paris before wheeling away. Increasingly alarmed, the French increased the number of troops searching for him. Several battalions of infantry and squadrons of cavalry were out searching for him, and the populace was alerted to his presence. A German patrol causing mayhem well in their rear was not just a serious affront to their Gallic pride, but as they were well aware, it was an important intelligence source for the Germans.
Von Strachwitz felt the full weight of the pursuit and knew that if he remained where he was, capture was only a question of time. He attempted a breakthrough to the German lines at the Marne, near Chalons; however, the French forces were too thick on the ground. Over the next six weeks he was constantly on the move, getting very little respite as French units continued to seek him. A skirmish with one of these left one of his men wounded, slowing them down. His only option now was to make for the Swiss border, where he would not only find safety but also medical treatment for his wounded cavalryman. The weather now turned against him. Heavy, unremitting rain drenched him and his men to the skin. His men’s health had now also become a factor. He had no option but to rest his exhausted men near a village.
Whether by luck, or more likely due to information from a French villager, a French patrol came across the bivouacked Germans and surrounded them. The inevitable capture had serious consequences for von Strachwitz. He and his men had been captured wearing civilian clothes. This meant that they would be treated as spies or francs-tireurs (partisans), and as such could be tried and shot. Von Strachwitz claimed, and subsequently used as his defence, that he had merely stolen some civilian clothes for his men to wear while they dried out their uniforms.
This rather lame excuse does not sit well with either von Strachwitz’s temperament and character, or standing military practice as carried out by all armies, especially the Germans, for whom the uniform was sacrosanct. Throughout both the world wars, armies were frequently exhausted and soaked to the skin from rain, snow and mud, often for weeks at a time. At no point did their commanders, especially in the presence of the enemy, insist that they pillage and wear civilian clothes. It was not only against the strict rules of war, with the death penalty on capture, but against army regulations. Furthermore it was a simple matter of pride to wear the national uniform, no matter how wet, torn or ragged it got. Civilian clothes were used by selected units or for special missions—e.g. the Brandenburg Regiment wore civilian clothes on missions behind enemy lines for sabotage or reconnaissance in World War II. The wearing of such garb was a seriously considered military tactic. Von Strachwitz, aware of the regulations, and of the consequences if he was caught in civilian clothing, would not have ordered his men to wear them simply to keep dry—the death penalty was a high price to pay for comfort. More likely his use of civilian clothing was a deliberate attempt to deceive the enemy, and his best, perhaps only chance of escape. It fits with his imaginative, daring tactics of World War II when he sent his panzers behind Russian lines, often pretending to be a Russian tank column.
The French of course were not having any of his excuses. Von Strachwitz was rightly treated as a spy or a partisan and was almost shot on the spot. Only a last-minute reprieve to ensure his interrogation and a show trial saved him. But not for him the barbed wire of a prisoner-of-war camp and the company of his fellows. He was tried by a court martial, found guilty and sentenced to death, a harsh blow to a young man in his prime, and a degrading one for a proud aristocratic cavalry officer.
Fortunately for him, on 14 October 1914, his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment in a French penal colony. It was a questionable improvement given the harsh treatment in the French civilian prisons and the hellish conditions of their penal colonies, where brutal treatment and tropical diseases eventually killed off most inmates. He was in the fetid hold of a French prison ship when the decision on his incarceration was reversed and he was sent back to a mainland prison. There is no doubt that had he been sent on to the penal colony, his end would have been completely different.
Little changed since the early to mid-19th century, French prisons at this time provided no stimulation, with no exercise beyond walking around a prison cell, poor and monotonous food, and all too often harsh treatment from the guards. It was a depressing life of drudgery and boredom, that stultified the mind and made the body listless, and for the guards more manageable. For a physically active, mentally alert person like von Strachwitz, it was hell on earth. Escape was permanently on his mind, necessary for his survival in order to escape the rot entering his mind and soul, enfeebling his body. He kept his mind active by endlessly searching for escape possibilities, observing guard and prison routines and the system and physical structure of the prison, looking for weaknesses or lapses. He befriended warders for information. This self-imposed reconnaissance, and his resulting escape attempts kept him sane. His general debilitated condition, however, made his frequent escape attempts futile, though he never gave up. If the attempt was all that he had, then it mattered for its own sake, so he kept at it, despite frequent beatings from his guards. The brutality of the guards and their treatment of him varied, too, depending on French successes or losses at the front.
He spent time in several prisons, often being moved after an unsuccessful escape attempt. He was incarcerated in prisons in Lyon, Montpellier, Île de Re—a citadel on a rather flat island which was one of the largest prisons in France—and Fort Barre, a particularly harsh prison for the worst offenders, where he was starved and routinely beaten. Here he began digging an escape tunnel, but it was detected. As a punishment he was put into solitary confinement, where his only sustenance was a loaf of coarse bread, and a pitcher of water. He was then sent as a punishment to be chained up in the fetid hold of a French cargo ship, plying its way between Toulon and Thessalonika in Greece. Brutalised, starving and left to rot in his own excrement he was very close to death, so was sent back to Fort Barre.
Eventually he was transferred to a camp for German officers at Carcassone. From there he escaped and was on the run for two weeks before being recaptured, after a cut to his heel gave him blood poisoning, rendering him too ill to continue. His health steadily deteriorated until the French authorities became concerned. They were therefore amenable to a Swiss Red Cross request, after one of their routine inspections, to transfer him to a hospital in Switzerland for treatment and convalescence. The intention was that after a period for recovery, he would be returned to the French penal system. It was none too soon, for had his incarceration continued von Strachwitz would have died, or at best suffered permanent physical disability.
He was transferred to a hospital in Geneva where his treatment undoubtedly saved his life. Proper food, medicines and rest slowly restored his health. He was allowed visitors, which included his mother and even the Kaiser’s sister, the Queen of Greece. However, the fact remained that he was still a French prisoner, and would have to return. Escape remained a distinct and attractive option, but his past escape attempts had taught him that capture and swift deportation to France was the most realistic outcome. His solution was to feign insanity brought about by his brutal treatment. It was more than plausible to the Swiss who had seen his condition when he entered their hospital, and perhaps it was not too far from the truth for von Strachwitz himself.5
He was sent to an insane asylum in Herisau, Switzerland, where if conditions were bad, they were still a vast improvement to a French gaol. It was here that he sat out the rest of the war. He thus avoided the brutal, muddy reality of trench warfare that would otherwise have been his lot, which might have been an experience almost as bad as his imprisonment. A cavalryman to his boot-tips, the static warfare of the Western Front would have horrified him, and perhaps even killed him while carrying out some reckless charge or raid on the enemy trenches. Or perhaps he would have volunteered to fly, an occupation with an equally low life expectancy, but where the possibility of a hero’s life and glory, however brief, awaited. The fact that he did not experience the stalemate of the trenches certainly helped to maintain his belief in the cavalry ethos of rapid movement and dashing attack. He would put such conviction to good advantage in the war to come, when he led his panzer formations with the same daring he had led his cavalry patrol in World War I.
NOTES
1. Barbara W. Tuchman, The Guns of August (Folio Society, 1997).
2. Ibid., p.67.
3. Barbara W. Tuchman, The Proud Tower (Folio Society, 1997), p.323.
4. Tuchman, The Guns of August, p.76.
5. Günter Fraschka, Der Panzer Graf (Erich Pabel Verlag, 1962); Hans Joachim Roll, Hyazinth Graf Strachwitz (Fleschig, Germany, 2011).