Now let us see what the 5th French Army was doing. It was moving northwards towards the upper reaches of the Grand Morin, and was heavily engaged with the bulk of von Kluck's army. Again and again it made frontal attacks, but little ground was gained. Farther to the east the 9th French Army was struggling with that of von Buelow near Sézanne, its right being opposed to the right wing of the Saxon army. The 4th French Army, still farther to the east, was being violently attacked by the Duke of Würtemberg, who was trying hard but in vain to pierce the Allied centre. On the Allied right the Crown Prince was more successful: he was able to push back the 3rd French Army for a little distance.
On the whole the fortune of the day seemed to rest with the Germans. But von Kluck now knew that he was in deadly peril. The surprise army had turned his right wing; the British were attacking him on the right flank, and the 5th French Army was holding him in front. He knew that he was in the tightest possible place, and that he would need all his skill and resolution if he was to escape from the trap laid for him. The Crown Prince might be rejoicing, but von Kluck was in "doleful dumps."
[Footnote 95: "Our Lady;" the great historical cathedral of Paris.]
[Footnote 96: _Gal-le-ay´ne._ Born 1849; commander-in-chief in Madagascar (1896-1905).]
[Footnote 97: _Bwā d'Boo-lon´_ (_n_ nasal), the great public park (2,158 acres) of Paris.]
[Footnote 101: Huge explosive shells which send up a dense mass of black smoke. Our soldiers also call them "coal boxes" or "Jack Johnsons."]
Early on Monday morning, 7th September 1914, the guns of friend and foe began to thunder in the river valleys of the Ourcq, Marne, and Petit and Grand Morin. As the sun rose higher and higher in the sky the cannonade grew fiercer and fiercer. Over the peaceful hills, the shining water, the stubbles, the pastures and wheat fields, delicate white balloons of bursting shrapnel were constantly seen. At a hundred different places along the far-flung battle line Allied infantry were worming their way towards the enemy, anon rising from their cover at the sound of a shrill whistle, rushing ahead, and dropping again into concealment amidst the rattle of rifles and machine guns. A desperate conflict was in progress from the Ourcq to Verdun, a distance of wellnigh one hundred and fifty miles.