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It's a cool autumn morning, November 3rd, 1918. We're aboard one of the Imperial German Navy's pre-dreadnought battleships, the SMS Lothringen, currently lying at anchor in the harbor of Kiel, Germany. And Seaman First Class Richard Stumpf is heading to his quarters to put on his parade uniform.
Once dressed appropriately, he intends to go ashore and into town to join his fellow frustrated sailors. They will parade. They will march. They will demand better. And Richard is here for it. Okay, time out. Let me fill you in on the situation.
For years now, the German Navy has underfed and overworked its average sailors. Meanwhile, these somewhat abused seamen have little to show for their suffering. Indeed, apart from submarine warfare and the 1916 Battle of Jutland, German warships have largely spent this war hemmed in by Britain's effective blockade.
With a coming armistice then, one that may well effectively end the German Navy, the Imperial Naval High Command believes that the answer is to sail forth and meet the Brits in battle. Better to meet a glorious death in a watery grave than to be ended by an armistice. Ah, but their hungry, mistreated sailors see it differently. Why on earth would they want to go on a suicide mission merely to save the pride of their egotistical admirals?
Thus, upon receiving orders a few days ago to engage the Brits in an epic but deadly throwdown at sea, Stokers aboard a few ships responded by intentionally allowing the boiler's fires to go out. Full-on mutiny seized the dreadnought class SMS Hegeland and SMS Thuringen. The crew of the latter even locked up their petty officers.
The Navy answered by locking up hundreds of these mutinous sailors in Kiel. And that's why today Richard and hundreds of other sailors are taking to the streets to protest the incarceration of their naval brothers. And with that background, let's return to the story. Down in his quarters, Richard and other sailors are nearly done dressing. But as they buckle belts and button coats, a few officers enter asking what they can do to appease the men. Sympathetically, Richard answers, "If you have nothing against our officers,
Nevertheless, we shall parade in the streets to obtain our rights." Nearly the whole crew agrees. The SMS Lothringen all but empties as sailors make for shore. Reaching Kiel's old port barracks later that afternoon, Richard is astounded. Everywhere he turns, he sees endless droves of sailors and on one side, a long line of rifle bearing marines who've joined them. Damn, this parade has gained traction.
Departing from the parade ground, the sailors and marines make their way to the flagship now at port, the SMS Baden. After a brief shouting match between the crowd and the captain, a full third of this dreadnought battleship's crew join its ranks. Continuing on, an impromptu marching band gives some semblance of order, while another 40 men fall in as they reach Pieterstrasse, that is, Pieterstreet. But soon, our narrator, Seaman First Class Richard Stumpf, realizes that they do indeed only have a semblance of order.
that they're turning into a leaderless mob. And he worries that things might get out of hand. It's now 6 p.m. The boisterous throng of servicemen are in front of the city's marine barracks. Within a moment's time, they rip the gate off its hinges. The flustered, angry sailors then pour through the opening. One elderly major dares to oppose them. Several men surround him, take his gun and sword, then roughly handle him as they tear at his epaulettes.
Richard looks on aghast. He feels sympathy for the elderly officer only trying to do his duty. This isn't what Richard had in mind when he came to Kiel to march for his rights. Freeing a few men, being detained at the barracks, the mob of sailors continues on. Politically on the right, Richard grows uneasy as one speech giver calls out that they should hang the Kaiser. His discomfort grows as red cloths and a red bed sheet make for impromptu flags.
He's appalled at a dock worker who takes the quickly raised speaker stand near station headquarters to call for the establishment of a Soviet Republic. But despite his fellow sailors' communist sympathies, or should I say Bolshevism, as these communist-minded Germans are inspired by the recent Bolshevik revolution in Russia, Richard is pleased to see how relatively non-violent things have stayed. Well, if only he knew what was going on elsewhere in Kiel. It's now just past 7 p.m.,
Among the thousands marching through the streets tonight, a different group far from Richards is approaching the military prison where the stokers who let their ship's boilers go cold are being detained. And these marchers are determined to see these men freed. They howl, shout, and yell. Their angry cries are greeted by soldiers loyal to the Kaiser. Troops quickly choke off the street. A commander orders the advancing sailors to stop, but they ignore him.
The officer then orders his men to fire above the sailors' heads. The throng is undeterred by these warning shots. The endless mass of men continues to advance toward them. The commander orders another volley, but this one is no warning. Bullets tear through flesh. Some sailors fall dead, others scream in agony, while still more return fire or throw stones. This is no longer a mere parade through Kiel. This is the start of the German Revolution.
Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. That violent confrontation on the streets of Kiel left eight sailors dead and 29 more wounded. But the Kaiser soldiers weren't without their losses either. Their commander and one lieutenant died, both taken out by knives and stones.
Clearly, Germany isn't only struggling on the front, it's struggling at home. It can no longer sustain this war. And that brings us to today's story. The armistice that, after four long, blood-soaked years, will finally silence the guns of World War I. To properly contextualize this hallowed moment, we'll start at the same place Germany does as it seeks peace, by looking to U.S. President Woodrow Wilson's proposed path to peace. His 14 points.
I'll remind you what these are before we listen to Woodrow pitch them in a September 1918 speech. We'll then follow his back and forth with the Germans and follow other discussions among Allied leaders, all of which will ultimately lead us to a cold and fraught moment of diplomacy between four Germans and four Allied leaders in Marshal Feldenhof's train carriage somewhere secret in France's Compiègne forest.
With no leverage and a revolution consuming their nation, the German delegates are in a tough spot. But ultimately, we'll see an armistice struck. We'll then end this war, this brutal, awful war, as we watch it continue to take lives right up to the moment that the armistice takes effect at 11 o'clock on the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918.
But having done all of that and taken stock of all the loss, we'll see the joy and relief that washes over all the soldiers, Allied and German alike, as their nightmare ends. Well, ready to experience one of the most intense moments in the history of diplomacy? Then let's get to it. And we start with our professorial president waxing eloquent with his 14 points. Rewind. Woodrow Wilson is no fan of war.
On the contrary, the former New Jersey governor and Princeton professor and president turned US president is a proponent of peace. We've seen that in several past episodes. In 1:32, we heard that effective if boring campaign slogan, "He kept us out of war," and witnessed how pained the professorial president was to ask Congress to declare war. In 1:33, we caught the full contrast between him and his hawkish predecessor, former President Theodore Roosevelt.
And in 136, we got a taste of Woodrow's 14 points, which, if adhered to, he hopes will ensure a lasting peace after the Great War. But do we remember just what these 14 points are? Well, here's a quick refresher. Woodrow first presented his 14 points while speaking to Congress at the start of this year, on January 8th, 1918. The professorial president called them, quote, the program of the world's peace, the only possible program, close quote.
His right-hand man, Edward House, better known by the honorary title Colonel House, described the 14 points as, quote, a declaration of human liberty and a declaration of the terms which should be written into the peace conference, close quote.
The first five points are rules that Woodrow wants all nations to follow: no secret treaties, freedom to navigate the seas, free trade among all nations signing the coming peace, arms reductions, and finally, an "adjustment of all colonial claims" that takes the will of colonized peoples and questions of their own sovereignty into mind.
Points 6-13 call for specific changes to the map of Europe and the Ottoman Empire, none of which are surprising if you recall the territorial throwdowns that helped cause the war.
They include: the Central Powers evacuating Russia, Germany evacuating a restored Belgium, Germany returning Alsace-Lorraine to France, an adjustment of Italian borders along nationalist lines, self-determination in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, new borders drawn in the Balkans, a Turkish state with free trade in the Dardanelles, and finally, an independent Poland. As for his last, 14th point, Woodrow wants to see an end not just to this war, but to all wars.
He wants an organization, say a league of nations, if you will, to ensure that everyone, big countries and small, are treated fairly. Huh, that's very New Jersey plan of you, Professor Wilson. Constitutional convention jokes aside, Woodrow Wilson believes his 14 points are the way to a lasting permanent peace.
In fact, he's so sure of it that as the beleaguered central power of Austria-Hungary tries to initiate peace talks on September 14th, 1918, Woodrow quickly rejects them. In the president's mind, there's nothing to discuss. He's already made the terms clear. Austria-Hungary can get back in touch when they want to agree to his 14 points. But is it wise to take such a hard stance on these points, especially when his points are well-meaning but vague?
After all, who decides what a quote-unquote impartial adjustment of colonial claims looks like? Who defines self-determination and other such terms? Those questions aren't important to Woodrow. As America enters the Meuse-Argonne campaign, its largest battle to date, one that will send tens of thousands of young doughboys to their graves, Woodrow wants their blood sacrifice to mean something.
This war must be, to borrow a phrase recently coined by English author H.G. Wells, the war to end all wars. Thus, the idealistic president is ready to pitch his 14 points to everyone, including the American people. It's about 8.30 in the evening, Friday, September 27th, 1918.
We're in the towering, yellow brick Metropolitan Opera House, located at the corner of 39th Street and Broadway in New York City's Midtown. And the hum of 6,000 antsy people is echoing from the orchestra seats all the way up to the fifth floor balcony. The crowd cheers as the Pelham Bay Naval Reserve Band plays a rousing new piece by the much-celebrated composer John Philip Sousa called "The Liberty Loan March." That's what tonight's all about.
getting people to buy up Liberty Loans to pay for the war. But Liberty Loans aren't why the Metropolitan Opera House, aka The Met, is packed tonight. The people are here because of who's speaking: U.S. President Woodrow Wilson. The audience falls silent as a soldier, sailor, and marine, bearing the stars and stripes, march past the golden Damask stage curtains.
Behind them follows the thin-haired chairman of the Liberty Loan Committee, Benjamin Strong, then the unmistakable top hat and pince-nez glasses of the square-jawed president, Woodrow Wilson. Following an introduction by Ben, the crowd quiets down and Woodrow begins. My fellow citizens, I am not here to promote the loan. It is my mission here tonight to try to make it clear once more what the war really means.
you will need no other stimulation or reminder of your duty. The war has lasted more than four years, and the whole world has been drawn into it. The common will of mankind has been substituted for the particular purposes of individual states. Individual statesmen may have started the conflict, but neither they nor their opponents can stop it as they please. It has become a people's war.
Okay, so in Woodrow's mind, ending this war isn't just about Germany surrendering. It must bring about change for all people, the Allies included. He continues, If it be, indeed, and in truth, the common object of the governments associated against Germany, to achieve by the coming settlements a secure and lasting peace,
It will be necessary that all who sit down at the peace table shall come ready and willing to pay the price, the only price that will procure it. That price is impartial justice in every item of the settlement, no matter whose interest is crossed. That indispensable instrumentality is a League of Nations. Ah, there it is. Woodrow's League of Nations.
And he tells the crowd that this "league" will guarantee his other 13 points, such as an end to special alliances or secret treaties. Woodrow calls this League of Nations a "common family," a family that the United States will be a part of. In closing, Woodrow brings his fundraising audience's minds back to Liberty Loans by suggesting that Germany must know the world will only accept the war's end on these terms.
That is, on Woodrow's terms. Peace drives can be effectively neutralized and silenced only by showing that every victory of the nations associated against Germany brings the nations nearer the sort of peace which will bring security and reassurance to all peoples and make the recurrence of another such struggle of pitiless force and bloodshed forever impossible and that nothing else can.
Germany is constantly intimating the terms she will accept and always finds that the world does not want terms. It wishes the final triumph of justice and fair dealing. With those words, the president has spoken his piece. The band again bursts into their new march as Woodrow leaves the stage. So our professorial president is giving America the hard sell on his vision for world peace. What about all those countries he's speaking about, though? Are they listening?
Well, there's at least one group abroad that's listening very carefully. The German high command. On September 27th, 1918, Germany is brought to its knees as French, British, and American forces carry out Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch's multi-front attack. The next day, German General Erich Ludendorff tells German Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg they must seek an armistice. Paul agrees. Germany can't hold out any longer.
The two military commanders oust the current chancellor in favor of the Kaiser's cousin, the liberal-minded Prince Max von Baden. Now, I'm not saying that appointing Max is pure nepotism, but the Kaiser's chief of the military cabinet calls this sickly, inexperienced 51-year-old Bavarian aristocrat, and I quote, an arrogant ignoramus. All the same, Max does as he's told.
On October 6th, the new German chancellor informs the American president that Germany wants to arrange an armistice based on his 14 points. Sounds like a win for Woodrow. The president has a problem though. He's been very clear to the American people that the German government is evil and autocratic. Many want to see the second Reich pummeled. In fact, Arizona Senator Henry F. Ashurst recommends to the president, quote, a wide pathway of fire and blood from the Rhine to Berlin, close quote.
Yet, Germany is only coming to Woodrow because they believe he will be fair with them. The idealistic, professorial president seems to realize this, saying, "I am now playing for 100 years hence." On October 8th, 1918, he sends Germany a reply, asking them for assurances of their intentions, meaning that they must evacuate Allied territory. Additionally, Woodrow wants Germany to embrace democracy.
Yet, even as the British break through at Cambrai and the Americans butt up against the Krimhilde Line, Germany's Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg and General Erich Ludendorff take heart that their crumbling lines aren't crumbling faster still. They're not ready to cave unquestionably to these 14 points. Accordingly, Prince Max von Baden replies to Woodrow on October 12th by assuring the American president of Germany's democratic intentions, but otherwise skirting his questions.
But Max is starting to see the writing on the wall. This leads to him and General Erich Ludendorff having it out. Erich yells at Max, claiming that there can be nothing worse than Woodrow's demands. To this, Max shouts back, Oh yes, Zircon! The invasion and devastation of Germany! Whoa. Not bad for an arrogant ignoramus, Max. On October 23rd, Woodrow replies yet again,
Not appreciating Max's previous equivocating note, the American president sends all the correspondence between him and Germany to the Allies with the recommendation that they start formal negotiations for peace. Furthermore, he makes it clear that their response must come in two parts: 1. Whatever military terms the Allies want, and 2. An agreement to the 14 points. Woodrow might be an idealist, but he's not playing games. This is effectively a call for Germany to surrender.
But in truth, Woodrow has less say in this armistice than he might like to think. Two weeks back, on October 9th, Marshal Ferdinand Foch drafted up terms for an armistice, and he doesn't feel bound by these 14 points. As the Frenchman will later put it in his memoir, the Allied governments had no reason to reject the principle of the 14 points as a basis of peace, except that, if deemed advisable, they might ask that some of them be modified or elucidated.
Okay, so Ferdinand sees the 14 points as guidelines, not rules, and is more concerned about making the terms of this armistice a group project among the Allies. Well then, sounds like it's time for another meeting of the collective Allied commanders. It's sometime in the afternoon, October 25th, 1918.
British Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, French Commander Philippe Pétain, and American Commander Black Jack Pershing, and still others, are packed into Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Fauche's headquarters at the 165-year-old, white brick, three-story tall, Hôtel du Franc de Saint-Lieu. Ferdinand's called these mustachioed men together to discuss the terms of a possible armistice. Ferdinand begins by addressing the group.
He then cuts to the chase with his thoughts on the matter. Sir Douglas Haig now chimes in.
He suggests that, if the Germans fall back to their fatherland, they could hold out against far superior numbers. But worrisome as that is, the allies are spent and short on men. With that in mind, he recommends moderate terms. Germany should pull out of Belgium and France and return anything they took.
Those are terms they'll agree to right away, and frankly, the Scotsman likes the idea of the Germans being back in Germany, adding, But Ferdinand couldn't disagree more.
He answers the British bulldog. It cannot be said that the German army is not defeated. Certainly, the Allied armies are not new, but victorious armies are never fresh. When one hunts a wild beast and finally comes upon him at bay, one then faces greater danger. But it is not the time to stop. It is the time to redouble one's blows without paying any attention to those he himself receives. Jean-Philippe Pétain speaks next.
He spreads out a map on the table in front of them and declares that what's most important is that Germany cannot resume hostilities. To make sure they can't, he proposes an allied occupation along the German border and requiring the Germans to fall back so quickly that they have to give up many of their big guns and much of their railroad infrastructure. Blackjack then jumps in.
Frankly, he's not a fan of any armistice. The Allies are winning, so he wants to push for full surrender. He wants to push into Germany itself. I think that the damage done by the war to the interests of the powers with which the United States is now associated against Germany has been so great that there should be no tendency toward leniency with Germany and her Allies in fixing the terms of an armistice.
Blackjack proposes that they give Germany 30 days to evacuate all foreign territory while the Allies occupy the German border. Further, Germany should surrender all of its U-boats, that is, its submarines, and its ports. Doug interrupts Blackjack on that train of thought, though. That is none of our affair. It is a matter for the Admiralty to decide. The American general pushes back, answering, The American army is operating 3,000 miles from home.
"German submarines constitute a formidable menace to our sea communications." Ferdinand takes Black Jack's point. "The suggestion of General Pershing regarding submarines seems to me a reasonable one and his demand well-founded." The Frenchman asks Sir Douglas Haig if Black Jack's counter has changed his mind on the issue of U-boats. The Scot answers that it hasn't. Doug sees himself as being practical, keeping his thinking to terms of what they can really enforce.
Thus, Doug still recommends exactly what he told British Prime Minister David Lloyd George just a week ago. We only ask in the armistice for what we intend to hold, and that we set our faces against the French entering Germany to pay off old scores. And with that, the meeting's over. Ferdinand thanks the men and asks them to submit their proposals in writing. The next day, October 26th, Ferdinand drafts up conditions for an armistice. He's with Blackjack. No moderate terms.
Germany will leave Belgium, France, Alsace-Lorraine, and Luxembourg, surrender a significant number of artillery, machine guns, train cars, locomotives, and submarines, and allies will guard ports and the German border. French President Raymond Poincaré tells Marshal Ferdinand Fauche that these conditions will be completely unacceptable to the Germans. Ferdinand doesn't even flinch. For years, he's watched the German war machine ravage his homeland and slaughter countless Poilus under his command.
so he doesn't much care what Germany finds acceptable. Ferdinand has Le Borch by the throat, and he won't settle for half measures. Answering through his thick mustache, the Frenchman coldly tells his president that if Germany rejects his measures, then we will continue the war. This message is sponsored by Greenlight.
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way to run your household, customized to your family's needs, and the easy way to raise financially smart kids. Get started with Greenlight today and get your first month free at greenlight.com slash Spotify. In the midst of all of this armistice talk, let's recall that we're now in the final days of October 1918, and the Allies' simultaneous tout le monde à la bataille, 100 days offensive, is proving to be a nail in the Second Reich's coffin.
That's not to say that these Allied gains are without sacrifice. Black Jack Pershing's 1st and newly organized 2nd American Armies are experiencing their own special living hell in the Meuse-Argonne Offensive this month, as we know from episodes 142 and 143. But even as the doughboys press deeper into the Hindenburg Line, the defensive line's namesake, Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg and General Erich Ludendorff, are stubbornly digging in their heels over this armistice.
That's particularly true of the latter. On October 24th, an unauthorized telegram, likely more reflective of the general than the field marshal, even though it's in Paul's name, denounces Woodrow Wilson's, quote, demand for unconditional surrender, close quote, and calls on German soldiers to, quote again, to continue our resistance with all our strength. This telegram is an absolute blunder. Germany's legislature, the Reichstag, is furious.
Meanwhile, the Field Marshal and General have a meeting with Kaiser Wilhelm II that takes a bad turn. Growing increasingly worried about calls for him to give up the throne, Wilhelm rails against Erich Ludendorff. The General loudly demands to be relieved of his post. Wilhelm is happy to oblige. Paul von Hindenburg is able to keep his job, though. He's perceived as the cooler head of the duo. Erich Ludendorff's resignation is announced in movie houses across Berlin, and audiences respond by standing and cheering.
The next day, October 27th, 1918, Chancellor Max von Baden accepts Woodrow's conditions. But as we know from this episode's opening, the Imperial Naval High Command isn't on board with this armistice and issues that suicide attack order, thereby precipitating the mutiny in Kiel and the German Revolution. It's not a good time to be Kaiser Wilhelm II. But the Kaiser's woes do not end there.
On November 1st, before the Kiel Mutiny even erupts, the American 1st Army's commander, General Hunter Liggett, unleashes his renewed attack in the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Well supported by artillery and planes commanded by the U.S. Air Service's aggressive Colonel Billy Mitchell, the meticulously planning, solitaire plane general's new and rested troops move forward with a fury. By the end of the day, all of Hunter's objectives are accomplished. The German army is in full retreat.
With the army collapsing on the front, the navy in a state of revolt, communists or Bolsheviks as they're called trying to displace the Kaiser and Austria-Hungary folding altogether, Chancellor Max von Baden and what's left of the German government have no options left. They send a message to Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch saying that, as Woodrow Wilson has named him the representative of the Allies, German plenipotentiaries are prepared to meet him wherever he wants. This is it.
Germany is ready to finalize an armistice. It's an early, frigid morning, November 8th, 1918. Allied Supreme Commander, the one and only Marshal Ferdinand Foch, and his faithful Chief of Staff, General Maxime Weygand, and two British admirals, Sir Rosalind Weems and Sir George Hope, are seated and waiting in the Marshal's ornate, luxurious, dining-car-turned-headquarters-on-wheels, otherwise known as Train Carriage 2419D.
The train is parked in northern France's Compiègne forest at a secluded opening amid the largely oak and beech trees known as the "Retourne" clearing. It's in this forest, in this clearing, and in this train car that these allied leaders are meeting the German delegation which, after significant delays, only arrived here this morning to discuss a war-halting armistice.
It's a cold, out-of-the-way location chosen to spare the Germans from the humiliation of a more public venue. But I doubt if Ferdinand cares. As 9:00 am approaches, the Marshal is ready for this different kind of battle. He sends for the Germans. The German delegation's four members,
Major General Detler von Winterfeld, Count Alfred von Obendorf, Captain Ernst Wanzelow, and their leader, a rotund, thin-haired, bespectacled politician, Matthias Erzberger, exit their train and begin trudging down the frosted railroad tracks toward the Allies' carriage. Which force this is, they don't know.
The French have provided them with a fine train, including former Emperor Napoleon III's saloon car, but have not told these plenipotentiaries a single unnecessary detail. Stepping into the Marshal's train car, Matthias holds tight to his copy of Woodrow Wilson's most recent note and his authorization to speak for Germany. He also takes in the carriage's interior: a beautiful dark wood finish, green curtains, red carpet.
Wow. Our German delegation leader's suit suddenly seems a bit underdressed. His eyes then fall on the long conference table in the car's center, at which are the four smartly-uniformed Allied representatives. As General Maxime Weygand salutes the German delegates, Matthias can't help but notice the absence of any Americans. Only the Brits and the French, against whom the Germans have waged four bloody years of war. Yeah, this won't be pretty.
Swallowing hard, Matthias and his fellow delegates take their seats. With an unwelcoming look and tone, Marshal Feldener Foch addresses the German's bespectacled leader. "What is the purpose for your visit?" Matthias replies with equal formality. "The German delegation has come to receive the proposals of the Allied powers, looking to an armistice on land, on sea and in the air, on all the fronts and in the colonies.
Still as cold as the November morning's air, Ferdinand replies, "I have no proposals to make." "What? Odd." The handsome, mustachioed German count, Alfred von Obendorf, tries to clarify for Matthias Erzberger, "The German delegation asks the conditions of the armistice." Ferdinand tugs at his mustache and tells them he has no conditions to offer.
Terribly confused now, Matthias pulls out his note from President Woodrow Wilson and says that Ferdinand is authorized to make the conditions for the armistice. The marshal grips the large table. Do you ask for an armistice? If you do, I can inform you of the conditions subject to which it can be obtained. Okay, this is a power play. Ferdinand is going to make them say it.
Matthias and Alfred look to each other, then back to Ferdinand, and declare that Germany asks for an armistice. Fantastic. The Marshal has his chief of staff, Maxime Weygand, read the terms. As soon as he finishes, Matthias tells Ferdinand that the fighting must be suspended to stop the unnecessary loss of life and, well, so that Germany can use its army to stop a growing revolution, possibly a Bolshevik revolution, that's brewing back home. Ferdinand remains unmoved.
After all these years of war, his heart has no love in it for Germany. He answers, "Hostilities cannot cease before the signing of the armistice." With that said, the Frenchman only adds that Matthias and his delegation have 72 hours to sign the armistice. He then leaves the room. Matthias Oertzberger will later summarize this moment in his memoir.
The moment when Marshal Ferdinand Foch made it clear that he had little concern for Woodrow Wilson's warmer words or any interest in negotiating. To quote the German plenipotentiary, Negotiations on the terms could not be allowed under any circumstances. Germany could accept or reject them. There was no third option.
Yes, it seems that in this first meeting, which lasted a mere 45 minutes, Ferdinand presented what the French call a fait accompli, and it's an embarrassing one at that. But the marshal did agree to have his companions explain the terms further that afternoon. Meanwhile, Matthias sends Count Alfred von Obendorf off to inform German leadership and spa of the terms, which must be done in person to make sure the message isn't intercepted.
At the same time, the lead German delegate also radios less sensitive information to Spa, saying that if he has to sign this armistice as is, it will be under protest. It's pretty obvious to Matthias that the demands are impossible for Germany to fulfill. He fears it will lead to starvation, anarchy, and the rise of Bolshevism back home. And things are changing rapidly in the fatherland.
The following day, November 9th, Chancellor Max von Baden informs Kaiser Wilhelm II that imperial Germany is at its end and that if he likes his neck, he needs to abdicate the throne. Wilhelm stands strong and refuses, but he's lost the people. In Berlin, soldiers are mutinous and tens of thousands of revolution-minded workers have taken to the streets. So Max declares abdication for the Kaiser anyway, along with his own resignation.
Germany is now a republic and will avoid Bolshevism as the far less radical Social Democratic Party leader Friedrich Ebert takes the chancellorship. As for dethroned Wilhelm, he's anxious to avoid the same fate that befell his third cousin, Tsar Nicholas II, and soon flees in a nondescript car for asylum in the Netherlands. There, this first grandchild of Britain's famed Queen Victoria will live in the Castle of Dorne until his death in 1941.
And as all of this unfolds in a matter of days, Matthias Erzberger learns of these events that Sunday in the worst of ways. Isolated in the Compiègne forest, French employees on his parked train show him a newspaper announcing the abdication of the Kaiser. Imagine being abroad, representing your nation, and checking the news on your phone only to find that the government you represent has collapsed.
Luckily, still hanging in there, military leader Paul von Hindenburg sends word to the German delegation that the new government does want them to continue their negotiations. But he adds that if they can't get any concessions, you should conclude the armistice anyway. Well, if Matthias is going to get any concessions, he better hurry. Those 72 hours are just about gone. The sun sets and the delegates work into the night.
with a few minor changes. A reduction in some of the war materiel to be surrendered and more notably, a shift in the neutral zone's line on the Rhine river's right bank. Finally, the armistice is... what it will be. Harsh as the terms still feel to the German delegates, it's time to silence the guns of this war. It's 2:15 in the still dark morning, Monday, November 11th, 1918.
The four German and four Allied delegates alike are exhausted. They take their seats yet again on their respective sides of train carriage 2419D's long conference table. Sitting opposite Germany's Matthias Oertzberger, Marshal Ferdinand Foch starts things off by announcing that they've gathered to approve the definitive text of the armistice. The Marshal's faithful chief of staff, General Maxime Weygand, then begins to read it out loud.
As the French general reads, Matthias raises objections and concerns to just about every article. Most are small nitpicks. Until Maxime comes to Article 26, that is. The French general reads: "The existing blockade conditions set up by the Allied and associated powers are to remain unchanged, and all German merchant ships found at sea are to remain liable to capture." With a nod to episode 132, I'll remind you that this blockade has starved German women and children for years.
It was Germany's justification for unrestricted submarine attacks. Of course then, it remains a sore point. Can the Germans really agree to continue allowing their people to starve? The Germans put their foot down. Matthias calls this tantamount to continuing the war and joins with Count Alfred von Urbendorf in telling the Allied commanders that this action is, and I quote, "not fair." Fuming, Britain's monocle-clad Admiral, Rosalind Weems, jumps up.
He answers, "Not fair! You sink our ships indiscriminately!" An hour of debate follows. Ultimately, the Brits agree to bring the Germans' concerns regarding the blockade to Parliament, while Ferdinand agrees to a concession in which the Allies will provide food during the armistice. The discussion drags on till 5:12 AM. At this point, they finally agree to sign.
Francis Ferdinand Foch is first, followed by Britain's Roslyn Weems. Then the German sign. Matthias goes first, Alfred next, followed by the general and the captain, representing the German army and navy respectively. Just as fatigued as the French and British by these four long years of war, this armistice is a bitter pill for the Germans to swallow. And tears roll down their defeated cheeks.
With the signing complete, Ferdinand suggests that, since the armistice calls for all fighting to end six hours after it's signed, they just say that the signing happened at 5:00 a.m., for simplicity's sake. The fighting then will end later today, at 11:00 a.m., on the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Matthias asks for a last word before they leave. Ferdinand agrees.
The German plenipotentiary pulls out a prepared statement, a statement of protest at what they see as a humiliating armistice. It reads in part, "...the German government will naturally make every effort within its power to see that the terms imposed are fulfilled. The German nation, which for fifty months has defied a world of enemies, will preserve, in spite of every kind of violence, its liberty and unity."
A nation of 70 million suffers, but does not die. Ferdinand remains unmoved. If Germany is humiliated, he sees it as well-deserved. The Marshal acknowledges their statement by answering flatly: "Très bien. It's now 5:30 in the morning. All of the men, German and Allied, stand and leave." To quote Matthias one last time: "No handshakes, though exchanged. It's understandable."
So much distrust. The Germans are embarrassed and a lot of blood has been spilled. And some yet will be, not the least of which is that of our thin-haired, bespectacled German delegation leader. Three years from now, Matthias Erzberger, blamed for stabbing Germany in the back with his signature today, will be murdered while on a stroll in his beloved fatherland. The death, the carnage, the devastation. It's all almost over.
In a few hours from now, when the clock strikes the 11th hour on this 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, it will officially all come to an end. But before we go there, how have these last few days treated our doughboys still soldiering on in the Meuse-Argonne offensive? Even as these war-halting negotiations were moving forward in early November, the Americans, like the other Allies, per Allied Supreme Commander Ferdinand Foch's directions, kept the pressure on the Germans.
On November 4th, the U.S. 5th Division pressed across the Meuse River. American Expeditionary Force Commander General Black Jack Pershing was pleased. And in a throwback to episode 142, let's acknowledge that this far exceeded what French General Philippe Etain thought the Americans could accomplish before Christmas. But Black Jack's aggressiveness did get him in a little hot water around this time. First, he found himself at odds with President Woodrow Wilson while pushing for unconditional surrender over an armistice.
Black Jack's got the flu, so he's able to play this overstep off as a simple mistake. Second, the Missourian found more trouble when he gave orders that led 5th Corps Commander General Charles Summerall to lead his doughboys out of the American center to take Sedan. It's a relatively small town, but enormously symbolic to the French. This is where Napoleon III surrendered to Prussia's Iron Chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, in 1870.
Though the Franco-Prussian War dragged on a few months after that, Sedan is effectively where the Second Empire fell and Germany gained the strength to take Alsace-Lorraine. In other words, for the Americans to take it, well, to quote historian Donald Smythe, it would be as if General Rochambeau had shouldered General Washington aside at Yorktown in 1781 and said, here, let me accept Cornwallis' surrender.
Not to worry, all was set right. The Yanks stood down, allowing the French the honor of liberating Sedan. As for Blackjack, he gave a pass to all involved since they were both his favorites and, well, this was really his fault. Meanwhile, as the days passed and negotiations moved forward in the Compiègne forest, the Allies continued to push.
Indeed, even as Ferdinand Foch negotiated, the Allied Supreme Commander ordered as much on the evening of November 9th, 1918. The enemy, disorganized by our repeated attacks, is withdrawing along the whole front. It is important to coordinate and expedite our movements. I appeal to the NRG and the initiative of the Commanders-in-Chief and their armies to make decisive the results obtained. And well, that brings us back to this morning, to November 11th, 1918.
Word that the German delegation and allied representatives have signed an armistice to take effect at 11 a.m. today quickly makes its way to the U.S. Signal Corps telegraph office. Receiving this joyous news, a captain at the telegraph office nevertheless can't pass it along. His line is down. Horror-stricken at the thought of American forces not receiving word on time, he dashes to the switchboard office where a friend of ours from episode 139, hello girl Grace Banker, gladly surrenders her headset to him.
The captain bellows out the news of this armistice and its 11 o'clock start. Whew, thank God. But even these efforts can't reach every serviceman before 11 a.m. Nor does the war end until the agreed upon hour. And so, men will continue dying on the Great War's battlefields right up to the last minute. It's around 10:45 in the overcast and misty morning, November 11th, 1918.
We're in the American sector of the Meuse-Argonne where the handsome 23-year-old mustachioed doughboy, Henry Gunther, is staying low on the wet ground with a party of riflemen ahead of the rest of the 313th Infantry. A German machine gun nest blocks the way between them and the village of Ville de Vence-Chaumont on the extreme right of the 79th Division sector near Verdun. But the Yanks are moving with extreme caution here. There's just no point in heroics now.
The war literally ends in 15 minutes. But Henry is anxious as he advances and grips his rifle with a bandaged hand, still healing from a bullet through the wrist a few days back. This square-jawed soldier has been trying to prove his loyalty to his country. See, Henry wasn't thrilled when the draft ripped him away from his Baltimore home, fiancée, and a nice new job at the bank. We know this because he griped about it in a letter to a buddy back home urging him not to enlist.
Well, an army censor read that letter, and that resulted in Henry's demotion from sergeant to private, as well as a dear John from his fiancée. Ouch. And you know, Henry can't help but think that his German heritage also has something to do with it. Ever since then, this young doughboy's taken the most dangerous of tasks, never hesitating to put himself in harm's way as he obsessively seeks to redeem himself, to prove his loyalty to the army and his country.
And with only minutes left in the war, the Baltimore native is running out of chances to prove his valor. All of a sudden, Henry fixes his bayonet. He does it so quickly that his friend, Ernest Powell, lying next to him, barely even sees it happen. The determined doughboy then rises and shouts, I'm going to take that machine gun nest. Ernest and the rest of the doughboys yell at Henry to stop, screaming at him, in a few minutes, the war will be over.
But it's no use. Henry holds tight to his rifle, ignoring the shouts behind him. The Germans see him and immediately, likewise, shout at him to stop, to go back. But Henry won't listen. He fires at the exposed Germans. They keep yelling for him to stop, but Henry only fires again. The Baltimore native is just yards away from the machine gun nest now, with a heavy heart. The Germans can see that they have no choice if they want to live. They fire their machine guns.
A bullet strikes Henry in the temple. He collapses on the ground, dead at 10:59 a.m., one minute before the war's end. As the silence of 11 a.m. sweeps across the field, the German machine gunners come out with a stretcher. Respectfully, they place Henry's body on it, then carry him back to the American lines, where they tell the doughboys how they tried to make him stop. The German gunners insist on shaking hands before returning to their own lines.
A few days from now, General Black Jack Pershing will recognize Henry Gunther as the last American casualty of the war. Henry will receive the Distinguished Service Cross and be reinstated as a sergeant. All posthumously, of course. So yes, Henry does get the recognition he so desperately sought, but at the cost of his life. He numbers among 320 Americans and more than 10,000 troops on all sides that die on this very day that the armistice takes effect.
While Henry never gets to see 11 a.m., the Doughboys that do have mixed feelings. For some, they're not so much happy as unsure. Captain Bob Casey writes in his diary, the silence is oppressive. It weighs in on one's eardrums. Meanwhile, Private Jack Barkley asks, what's an armistice? Good question, Jack. For many, this is a time to mend fences. Corporal Edward Banner joins others in the 109th Regiment as they climb out of their trench.
He'll later recall how he and his fellow soldiers "went up and shook hands with the German soldiers, who were very friendly with us." Joe Rommdell stands around a bonfire with the gray-clad Bosch soldiers. He'll later write, "Just a little while before, we had been trying to kill one another. But now everyone was so glad that the war was over that we forgot all about it." Some of the people that we've met in previous episodes also share their feelings.
Blackjack's chief multilingual switch operator, Hello Girl Grace Banker, is among those in a state of disbelief. She writes in her diary: "We have lived so long under war conditions that it doesn't seem that it could come so simply.
In command of New York's highly decorated Black Regiment, the Harlem Rattlers or Harlem Hellfighters, Colonel William "Big Bill" Hayward strikes a more grandiose tone, declaring, "The day Christ was born was the greatest day in the history of the world. And this day is the second greatest." His pride is well-founded, as noted by one of the Rattlers under his command, Sergeant Noble Sissel.
This gifted musician and brave soldier notes with satisfaction that as the war's final shots rang out, an American flag fluttered on the banks of the Rhine River. And how did that flag get there? To quote Sis, "Those two hands that place the stars and stripes, the emblem of liberty, are two trusty black hands." Artillery Captain Harry S. Truman heaves a sigh of relief as he realizes that he's lived to the war's end.
Oh, if only this young, future U.S. Vice President and President knew the burdens his shoulders will yet bear in the decades ahead. I suppose we could say the same of Major George S. Patton, who, still in a hospital after being shot in the leg almost a month ago, is thinking about his friend, Captain Math English. We bore witness as Math stood with George in episode 142, braving flying bullets to plan the path ahead. Well, a bullet did finally catch the captain, and it killed him.
So now, as George lies in his hospital bed, he's writing a poem to honor his lost friend and all those that didn't get to see the end of this war. I won't read the whole poem, but if you'll indulge me, here are the first two stanzas: The war is over, and we pass To pleasure after pain Except those few Who ne'er shall see Their native land again To one of these my memory turns Noblest of the noble slain To Captain English of the tanks
who never shall return. Meanwhile, as the clock strikes 11:00 AM, our American commander, the one and only Black Jack Pershing, stands facing a large map hanging on a wall in his headquarters at Chaumont. He's glad the war is over, that the bloodletting is done. Still,
The aggressive general that he is, he doubts the wisdom of this armistice as he mumbles, "I suppose our campaigns are ended, but what an enormous difference a few days more would have made." Across the ocean, Woodrow Wilson can't help but smile ear to ear today. The president's longtime secretary, Joe Tumulty, who's with him among the celebrating crowds on Pennsylvania Avenue on the night of November 11th, will later recall in his memoir, "I shall never forget how happy he looked
In his countenance, there was an expression not so much of triumph as of vindication. This great war dwarfed the death and destruction of any previous war in human history.
You'll find some slight variances in the figures out there, but for our purposes, we'll stick with the report Leonard Ayers prepares for the U.S. War Department. First, let me point out that our statistician tells us that, quote, the total battle deaths of all nations in this war were greater than all the deaths in all the wars in the previous 100 years, close quote. In other words, this wasn't only the worst war ever to date, but it was the worst by a long shot.
From highest to lowest, here's how Leonard counts those battle deaths for the war's major participants.
Russia, 1.7 million. Germany, 1.6 million. France, 1,385,300. The United Kingdom, 900,000. Austria, 800,000. Italy, 364,000. The Ottoman Empire, 250,000. And finally, while skipping a number of other smaller participating nations, the United States, 50,300.
He totals battle deaths across all nations at just shy of 7.5 million, an enormous loss of human life. Yet, let me point out that these figures do not include the millions of soldiers who die from disease, the roughly 21 million wounded, nor the nearly 6 million civilians that this war killed directly or indirectly.
Even those additional points exclude the mentally destroyed, shell-shocked veterans. And let's not forget the loss felt even by those far away on the other side of the globe as communities mourn their once strong, bright, young sons, husbands, and fathers who never came home or did so in an unrecognizable way. And it's for these tens of millions of reasons, tens of millions of snuffed out or destroyed lives that we call this the lost generation.
As a late entry, and as Leonard Ayer's numbers show, the United States felt less of this enormous loss than other nations. But we would be wrong to dismiss the pain of those extinguished lives. Going a little deeper into the weeds on the U.S., about 4.8 million men, and, as we know from past episodes, some women, served across the Army, Navy, and Marines. Of those, 4 million were soldiers serving in the U.S. Army.
When we add American deaths caused by disease to Leonard's estimated 50,000 battle deaths, the Great War killed 125,500 of Uncle Sam's doughboy nephews. This is a fairly accurate figure, though we'll note that the Veterans Bureau will later estimate that, by 1930, 460,000 Americans will be dead as a result of their service in the Great War. The financial cost was $33 billion.
So yes, America felt this one less than the other major participants. But make no mistake, in joining the allies and likely turning the tide of the war, the United States felt the hurt. From New York tenements to Midwestern farms, from the South to the American West and beyond, millions of Americans must have sobbed quiet tears into their pillows at night while mourning their beloved yet mangled or never returning doughboy. But enough talk of the blood and treasure lost.
I think we feel, in some small sense, the enormity of it all. It's time then for us to let the war's guns fall silent. There's only one way to fully appreciate that. From the skies. Let's join our old friend, ace pilot Eddie Rickenbacker, as we say goodbye to this war that, they say, is the war to end all wars. It's about 10 a.m. on a dreary, overcast Monday morning, November 11th, 1918.
We're at the Rombert-Cours aerodrome in northeastern France and all planes in the 94th Aero Squadron's hangar are grounded for weather. Well, all but one. Eddie Rickenbacker won't let a few low hanging clouds stop him from taking one last trip over the trenches before the ceasefire goes into effect. It's now about 10:45 a.m. Eddie is flying a mere 500 feet or so above the trenches.
Looking down over no man's land near Conflon, he can see, quote, both Germans and Americans crouching in their trenches, hearing over with every intention of killing any man who revealed himself to the other side, close quote. Every once in a while, a burst of flame shoots out of one of the German trenches, throwing bullets at his way. Nothing to cause major damage, though, just a few small holes. It was only a half-hearted attempt by some German soldiers.
The American pilot glances down at his watch. One minute to 11 a.m., now 30 seconds, 15. And then, Eddie tells us it was 11 a.m., the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. Eddie will never forget this moment, watching from the heavens as peace sweeps across these trenches, instantly rendering them useless, bringing life back to that seconds-ago dangerous space in between known as No Man's Land. To quote our ace pilot,
I was the only audience for the greatest show ever presented. On both sides of No Man's Land, the trenches erupted. Brown uniformed men poured out of the American trenches, gray-green uniforms out of the German. From my observer's seat overhead, I watched them throw their helmets in the air, discard their guns, wave their hands, all up and down the front. The two groups of men began edging toward each other across No Man's Land.
Seconds before, they had been willing to shoot each other. Now they came forward, hesitantly at first. Then more quickly, each group approached the other. Suddenly, gray uniforms mixed with brown. I could see them hugging each other, dancing, jumping. Americans were passing out cigarettes and chocolate. I flew up to the French sector. There it was even more incredible.
After four years of slaughter and hatred, they were not only hugging each other, but kissing each other on both cheeks as well. Smiling, Eddie turns his plane toward the airfield, knowing he is on his way home. That, as he puts it, the war was over. Yes, Eddie, by God, the Great War is over. But that doesn't mean all is settled. After all, what will the German Revolution ultimately bring? And more than that, an armistice is no peace treaty.
What will the Allies do with Germany in the talks to come? Indeed, what will happen to all the Central Powers, the German, the Austro-Hungarian, and the Ottoman Empires? And with the United States having proven its international prowess, will President Woodrow Wilson's 14 points succeed? Will his dream of a League of Nations become reality? We'll answer these questions and more next time with the story of the Treaty of Versailles.
History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Sir Douglas Haig, read by special guest, John Newell. Episode researched and written by Greg Jackson, Will Keane, and Riley Neubauer. Initial research and outline by Darby Glass and Riley Neubauer. Translation of A Leibniz in Weltkrieg by Carol Woodford.
Production by Airship. Sound design by Molly Bach. Theme music composed by Greg Jackson. Arrangement and additional composition by Lindsey Graham of Airship. For bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit htvspodcast.com.
