Such a silent advance into gloomy, unknown Russia has its own beauty.
The night is still, hanging like a dark veil over the land. One sees
nothing of the villages which lie to the right and left; one has no
idea of the depth of the woods which open before him and then close
again; one feels only the sand or the clayey soil under his feet, and
has but one measure for everything--the passing of time.
For two days past we have been out of touch with the enemy. On the
whole front our machine guns have driven him out of his invisible
positions. He has vanished, and only the trenches are there in which
he sought again and again to carry on a rear-guard fight. They stretch
on both sides of the road which we follow. Deep, black and wavering,
the line runs in the dirty gray of the half-melted snow. And on the
tops of the low ridges a tender, silvery light glimmers. It is the new
day which pierces through the darkness.
Our brigadier trots by with his staff. The tall, big-boned bay which he
has ridden for the last four months throws in our faces for a second
the foam of his flanks. The old gentleman sits bent forward in the
saddle, as if that forward lurch would help him to see further into the
blackness.
No sound anywhere. An icy breeze from the north-east blows in light
puffs over us and whistles through the bare branches. Our men move
along, silent and patient. Occasionally one lifts his head and scans
the sky. Have the heavy clouds which have obscured the night broken
at last and will the sun appear? For the sun--that is their greatest
longing. They have dreamed of it when the rain beat for hours and hours
on the tin of their eating utensils and they have sighed for it in the
dampness of the cramped trenches.
To-day the sun is coming. With a pale, irridescent glimmer it announces
its imminence on the horizon, gladdening with its first light hundreds
of thousands of hard, beard-covered countenances.
Presently day breaks. Again around about the marching column lies the
monotonous, melancholy, rolling country which in the last weeks its
feet have trodden and into which its spades have dug. These are the
same windmills which reach their shattered arms into the air, the same
poor frozen birches on the roadside, and on the right hand the same
black, cloddy woods which we have so often encountered.
Suddenly there comes a shot--a short, slight report. Not one of our
people turns his head. Only one of the munitions train animals which
trot behind the company in long teams pricks up his ears for a moment.
The captain guides his horse up the left bank of the road and inspects
the train. His square, creased face, which never smiles, extends to the
men an unspoken morning greeting. Every day the company awaits that
greeting. And evening never comes without the captain having looked
for a second earnestly and curiously into the eyes of every one of his
soldiers. His people know that and it makes them strong and tough.
Then the regimental adjutant comes on the jump.
"Herr Captain, take over the command of the battalion! The first
battalion will form connection with the tenth division. Clear the wood
and drive the enemy eventually toward the north-east!"
Our captain nods and salutes. As he rides on he studies the map and
gives his commands simultaneously wherever he goes.
Four scouting patrols separate themselves from the column and swarm
over the white and brown patches of open fields to the right. Behind
them the companies, bending low to protect themselves, seek their way.
The captain has dismounted and leads. Again and again he signals "Down"
with his riding stick to the neighboring detachments and looks through
his field glasses. The other officers also inspect the wood's edge,
which is now outlined sharply in the purple morning glow.
The patrols become smaller and smaller and vanish behind the first
trees.
A minute of waiting and then we go ahead again. Almost at the same
moment comes a short, sharp crackling from far ahead of us. The last
report sounds like a sort of distant singing in the clear air. Then
silence again.
"Forward," our commandant points with the riding stick. The first
company spreads itself out. The others follow slowly in closer order.
The situation is not yet cleared up. And again we are rooted for a
quarter of an hour to the watery, slippery surface. The wet cold of the
earth eats quickly into our bodies. A few of the men lie flat on their
backs, using their equipment to protect them from the dampness.