is very different now. But I say the L's were conquerors. There were
nothing like enough of them for a continuous line; so they had picked
out all those sections which commanded any possible advance of the
enemy, and held them as masters. For the intervals, the gullies, they
detached large scouting parties which met any forward move halfway.
The work which this meant for all will remain with me as giving a
picture of a Russian regiment after a check. All the officers and men
were alert and looking to the next move in the game. A soldier who
guided me, confident and intelligent, stopped only for a moment in
his conversation, to say: "But, as a matter of fact, sir, there are
very few left of us." Regiments that can take punishments like this,
communicate their spirit and tradition to those of the new recruits who
are so fortunate as to join them.
From one occupied point to another, our little party of officers and
men walked freely over the open, in face of the neighbouring Austrian
plateau, till each of our cleverly chosen positions had fallen into its
place in our survey. I had a long walk back; in fact, I did not get out
of the range of the Austrian plateau till the next day. My two soldier
guides and I sat down and smoked by a stream for a while, and they told
me that of their fellow villagers who set out at the beginning of the
war, the one had lost sixteen out of eighteen, and the other fifty out
of sixty. One of them, with three comrades, had fought his way back,
when the rest of his company was lost.
The position is changed now, but I feel that the more we know of this
fighting, the more we shall understand of the Russian spirit and of the
Russian sacrifices, and the clearer will be the picture of the Russian
advance.
_May 1._
Waiting at a railway station, I met a young officer who was taking
home the body of his brother. The young man met his death leading a
night attack. He took his company further up than any, and even got
through the wire entanglements and into the enemy's trenches. The
deadly fire of the machine guns made it necessary to draw off the men,
and this company got the order late. Some fought their way through,
but their leader was mortally wounded. The brother was serving in the
neighbouring artillery and was able to be with the dying man to the
last. He said that his brother might easily have surrendered with
others, but it would always be a satisfaction that he did not "hold up
his hands and go into Austria."
At staff headquarters of the army I passed many funerals. Here the
enemy's airmen make a visit almost every day. Two days ago, and again
to-day, they appeared in force and dropped their bombs almost without a
break. The air battery and picked riflemen kept up an incessant fire on
them. Yesterday I watched an aeroplane under fire of Russian shrapnel.
The shells burst all round it and evidently forced it to give up its
intention of reaching the town: it sped away northwards. These raids
have had hardly any success. Even the bombs which lodged where they
were meant to, on the railway or on the aerodrome, did no real damage.
The net result is a small number of wounded, including civilians and a
sister of mercy.
An officer whom I met in the trenches, and of whom I wrote under the
name of "George," has very appropriately been appointed one of the
judges of recommendations for the George Cross. The soldier's George
is given for any signal act of bravery, and the men thus honoured
are always found to be the rallying points in further attacks. The
officers' George is in four classes. Only some four individuals have
ever received the first class, beginning with Kutuzov. The second
class, which is for very definite achievements of generalship can only
be given to Generals (Ivanov has it for the conquest of Galicia), and
the third only to Generals and Colonels. The fourth, which is for any
act of courage or initiative, can be won by any officer. The different
achievements which can win the George are clearly set out. The two
first classes are conferred only by the nomination of the Sovereign;
for the other two there is in each army what is called a "Duma," or
panel of selectors.
My friend, who is one of the bravest and simplest men that I have met,
told me very interesting things about his work. His own standard of
bravery is not striking acts of daring, but the maintenance of normal
composure in the performance of dangerous tasks. It is, I think, a
standard which will appeal to Englishmen. One of the most typical
instances of Russian courage that I know is among the records of the
battle of Borodino. An aide-de-camp galloped up to a commanding officer
and, pointing towards a hill, said: "The Commander-in-Chief asks you
to attack there." As he spoke, a cannon ball carried away his extended
arm; he simply pointed to the hill with the other, and said, "There: be
quick."
At many points of our line there has been a complete lull. One battery
which I visited, standing on some thickly wooded hills, was building a
wooden villa for the officers, and had already put up a camp theatre
for the performances of short plays written by the men. There was
little but the ordinary diversion of shooting at aeroplanes.
Prisoners continue to testify to the discontent in the enemy's armies.
For instance, an Alsatian says that any Alsatian would come over at the
first opportunity. A German says that the conditions in his regiment
are such that he would have shot himself but for regard for his family.
Czechs report further mutinies in their regiments which have been
punished with military executions. The Ruthenian regiments, which
cannot now be reinforced from Galicia, are rapidly melting away. Even
the Hungarian soldiers are described as desirous of peace.
_May 3._
The advance of the Russians over the Carpathians was sure to draw a
counter-stroke, and it has come just where many have expected it, but
with tremendous force. This is because it is not so much the work of
the tired Austrians, but rather the biggest effort that Germany has
yet put forth in her attempts to bolster her ally. We have all been
preparing for May, and Germany and even Austria have evidently made
great preparations. The food supply in the Austrian army has been much
improved; the proportion of Germans on the Austrian front has been
enormously increased; heavy artillery has been concentrated; and the
Emperor and Hindenburg have been reported to be here.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF TARNOW-GORLICE from May 1. 1915.]
I set out with a nice bright-eyed chauffeur who did a splendid day's
work with me. We had the main road for some distance, and none of the
varieties later seemed to trouble him. We went along a valley, and in a
house standing high by a church we found the staff of the Division. I
had friends; and I was soon dispatched with a tall determined Cossack
to the point where the road climbed the hill. Here we left our machine,
and in a hundred yards or so we had the whole scene before us.
There was a hut on the top of the hill; sitting in front of it one
could see for at least ten miles in either direction. The Division
was holding a front of eight miles with the Z's on the left, the O's
in the middle, the R's on the right and the I's in reserve. The O's,
who were just beyond a hollow, occupied a low line of wooded heights a
thousand yards in front of me. The Z's held a lower wooded ridge, the
R's connected with the O's over a valley and were posted along a less
defined line, of which the most marked feature was a village with a
little church tower. Against these three regiments were nine, mostly
German, and backed by the most formidable artillery. Beyond each of
the flanks of the Division one could see at intervals black clouds of
smoke; one thick stream of smoke that stretched into the skies came
from some distant petroleum works. The whole line of the R's was being
pounded with crash after crash, sometimes four black columns rising
almost simultaneously at intervals along it; under each would break out
little angry teeth of sparkling flame; the only thing that seemed not
to be hit was the church tower, which, as each cloud died down, came
out simple again in the bright sunshine. The Z's were in patches of
smoke that sometimes disappeared for a time.
What was happening to the O's was not so clear; so after watching the
shells and shrapnel bursting along the line and on the slope for some
hours, we descended by some winding gullies, drawing a shrapnel as we
passed over a low shoulder, and soon reached the staff of the O's.
Under the nearer wall of a hut, a group of officers was working the
telephones, while a number of soldiers lay on logs around. The Colonel
came forward to me with a preoccupied smile: "A convoy for the flag,"
he explained, and turning to his men; "you have the flag there?" Then
he took me into the open and pointed at the ridge some six hundred
yards away: all his left was at grips with the enemy who had come
through at several points, and on the right his men were fighting at
the close range of two hundred yards in the wood beyond the crest.
We crouched behind the houses amid a constant roar of shells bursting
all round us, and firing some of the neighbouring huts. The telephones
worked incessantly. Now each of the battalion commanders reported in
turn--one, that his machine guns had been put out of action, another
that there were gaps in his line, a third that he was holding good,
but hard put to it. The Colonel explained that his last reserves were
engaged. A message came that his right flank was open and was being
turned. He seized the telephone and called to the reserve regiment:
"Two companies forward at the double," reporting his action directly
to the staff of the Division. There was a peculiar humanness about
all these messages; in form they were just ordinary courteous
conversation. The question which brought the most disquieting answers
was "Connexions." The Z Colonel reported that his line was penetrated
at more than one point, but was holding out. The R telephone gave no
answer at all. Life there was unlivable, the trenches were destroyed,
and on my way I had heard from soldiers a report that when taking
ammunition to the R's they had seen the Austrians in our lines. Shells
and shrapnel were crashing all round us, especially on our rear; a
great cloud rose where I had sat at the top, and a hut that I had
passed on the way down broke out in full flame. Nearer down there fell
four black explosives at regular distances of fifty yards, "the four
packets" as one officer called it. Our cover would all have gone with
a single shot, and the men crouched to avoid the falling splinters
from each shell. In this depressing atmosphere there went on the
conversation between the Colonel and the divisional staff: "I can get
no contact, with the R's. Cavalry is reported on both of my flanks.
The R's have had to retreat." The answer was an order to retire at
nightfall. Three hours at least had to run. The order was communicated
in French over each battalion telephone. The Colonel apologised for
his elementary French; anyhow it was the French of a brave man. As
disquietudes increased, the permission came to retire at once; but the
Colonel answered that this could not be done: he was in hot defensive
action, and the enemy would follow on his heels; at present he was
holding his own.
Twice on the telephone the fatal word "surrounded" had been used. My
hosts urged me to go. "We have each a different duty," they said.
It was with little heart that I faced for the slope, turning a few
yards off to salute these brave men once more. They were some wounded
struggling up the gullies, one with a maimed foot, whom we helped along
but who had to sit down at times and smoke. As we began to approach
shelter, we suddenly saw on the hills to the west of us men coming
down the slope towards us. "Perhaps ours, perhaps the enemy," said
my Cossack, who never turned a hair throughout the day. We got our
lame man up the big hill, but as soon as we had passed the crest he
said that his strength failed him, and sat down with several others
round a well. The next thing was to look for the motor. We were now
in comparative safety; for we were out of the line of fire, and the
valley to the north of us was full of our own people. Officers galloped
forward, looking at the line of our retreating field trains. In the
valley there was a long train of wounded. I at last found our motor in
the midst of it. We packed in the men with the worst wounds that we
noticed; they lay without a groan, and one old soldier said: "Thanks
to Thee, O Lord; and eternal gratitude to you." A young soldier with
an eager face pressed forward with a letter, begging us to take his
wounded officer, whom he had brought five miles from the distant lines
of the R's. "Harchin"--that was his name, was like a loving son, with
his captain, walking by our side or standing on our step for mile after
mile and all the while helping to hold the litter in position. He told
us that no living man could have driven the R's from their position:
but that the whole area was covered with shells till trenches and men
were levelled out of existence. The companies left comparatively intact
had all joined on to the O's. Of the O's themselves we could only hear
vague rumours; it was said that most of them had made their way back.
There was no panic, no hurry in the great throng, as it retired.
Each was ready to help his neighbour. Crossing a long hill we had to
transfer some of our wounded to an empty cart which we commandeered,
the men moving without a word. In the night Harchin kept holding up his
officer and giving any comfort that he could. "It's quite close now,
your nobility, it's a good road now," he would say. We reached a hut
where the kind Polish hostess showed us beds for our wounded; Harchin
was constant and tender in his care, and I left the two together to
await the arrival of the doctor. A private with a crushed face refused
to lie on his bed for fear of spoiling it, and sat holding his bleeding
head in his hands.
Through the darkness and past an incessant train of army carts, which
without any shouting did all they could to give us passage, I made my
way to the corps of the staff and to the next Division; where I slept
long into the morning. It was only later that we knew the full scope of
our losses. The Division had against it double its number of infantry
and an overwhelming mass of heavy and light artillery. It had held its
trenches till it was almost annihilated.
_May 4._
When I woke up in the morning, the deserted school where the staff had
stretched their beds was alive with work and anxiety. The lines lay
only a mile and a half outside the town of Biecz, and the Germans
and Austrians were making a tremendous attack on them, pounding them
with the heaviest artillery and advancing on them in close column
again and again. The leader of this Division is a fighting General,
robust, active and of great composure. The Staff was very close up
to the front, and our own immediate movements depended on to-day's
results. As we were being shelled, we went for lunch to a neighbouring
Polish monastery, a pleasing white-walled building on a hill. It was
deserted but for one or two monks; and its cloisters and wall-paintings
and stations of the Cross were like an oasis far from the war. I lay
down in one of the empty rooms and had some more hours of sleep.
On my return to the school building I found that the situation was
critical. From the balcony the General viewed the lines and gave some
short directions. In the summer weather one watched groups of soldiers
descending from the neighbouring hill and making for the bridge at the
foot of our house. They were ours and were being relieved; and they
formed up into order and were addressed by an officer before crossing
the bridge. The enemy had been beaten off in every infantry attack, but
many parts of the lines were now non-existent, having been reduced to a
series of shell-pits by the German artillery.
With a young Cossack I started out for the D regiment. The
picturesque little town--all the Polish towns are full of pleasing
architecture--was crowded with troops, and the atmosphere was one of
uncertainty. Men were sheltering from the hot fire all along the banks
of the sunken road. On the top of the hill were a few huts through
which we threaded our way, dodging an exposed area where shells burst
continually. Further on we found to the right of us a deep valley thick
with lofty trees. On the edge of this wood were a number of soldiers
who had lost touch with their regiments. We stopped them to find our
way. The D regiment, we learned, was no longer at the front; and indeed
on this side we should not find any lines at all. We were told that the
Austrians were already in the wood, which later proved to be true. The
fire was heavy here, splinters falling upon us through the trees; and
the stragglers hurried away.
Turning to the left I found myself at the head of a wide hollow in
the hills. Over it soldiers were moving forward. Making my way to one
of the huts, I found the Brigadier-General and got leave to accompany
this advance. It was the first regiment of the famous Caucasian Corps
just arrived after an all-night march, and going up to the attack.
A battalion commander stood just below the hut, putting his men in
position. He was a quiet little man, already elderly and with an old
voice, that sounded vigorously, however, across the slope. "You shall
come with me," he said. The men who had been sitting in groups, made
their way by companies up the different clefts in the hollow and soon
lined into the ridge beyond. The commander moved about among them at
an easy walk, directing some, hurrying on others. The men went forward
on their knees, separating off into what the Russians call a "chain,"
where any one with initiative, by finding cover a little further
forward, gives a lead to all the rest. The officers walked upright
throughout.
When the crest was lined, the commander went forward in different
directions. On his return he gave a few orders to his officers; one of
them was a little excited, and called out: "I have an instinct that
it will go right; God grant that it is a true one," and turning to
his men he shouted, "God is with us." Except for this, nothing broke
the atmosphere of the evening stillness. "Well, children," said the
commander, "what shall I say to you? With God! Forward!"
One company went off to the wood on the right, and after a few minutes
another with the commander and myself moved forward over the bare hill,
leaving two others to follow in reserve. Throughout the men advanced
in little groups, creeping in line with each other; the officers
walked about freely, often in advance of the men, or encouraging any
that showed too much caution. We soon saw that the ground was clear in
front of us, and we descended the hill a good deal more rapidly. The
commander and I branched off into the edge of the wood; all the time he
was calling out to keep touch with the company on our right; he turned
and smiled to me as the shrapnel tore away some of the boughs.
At the bottom the machine guns were hurried up, and we ascended the
further slope. We were now on a bare height, which was like a tongue
projecting forward, and a hot musketry fire was opened on us. A man
near me called out that he was wounded and rolled himself down to the
hollow, where a bearer set about bandaging him; a shell burst beyond
us and another called out. I could only see what happened to the men
nearest to me. The commander continued to stroll about among the men,
in the same way as he would have done out of action; several of the men
begged him to lie down. We went round the outside of the height, and he
brought his men everywhere to the edge of it and told them to entrench
themselves, which they set about doing at once.
We could see where the bullets came from, on the low ground in front.
To our left was a ridge with trees, along which we could see men
on horseback coming from the direction of the enemy. To our right,
beyond the wood, was a high ridge covered with men who appeared to be
advancing upon us but did not open fire. Later it seemed that they
were stationary, and we could not make out whether they were ours or
theirs, so a scouting party was sent to find out. Suddenly a column
of blue figures was seen coming up close on our front. In what seemed
a minute, two of our machine guns had been moved to this side. Round
some brushwood thirty yards away came the first rank of the column; one
caught sight of a line of pale faces; I remember a slim fair-haired
youth who peered anxiously forward. Our commander shouted orders; our
machine-gun men, standing up and with indignation on their faces,
ground out a shower of bullets, and the Austrian column disappeared
into the wooded valley.
Night was closing in, the enemy's cannonade was slackening, and the
time was approaching when the physical superiority of man to man would
put the balance firmly on the Russian side. The men were entrenching
themselves; and the commander wished to send a message to the brigade
about the undefined troops on his right. I was going with this message
and had not got more than two hundred yards from the front when I
heard shouts of hurrahs, which marked the beating off of another
Austrian attack. A few more shells burst on our way back, but my
companion muttered to the enemy: "It's getting dark, brother"; for,
once technique does not dominate, the Russian feels that he is master.
On the road we found a large batch of Austrians (Poles) taken in the
wood. I was invited to examine them; they had had no food that day;
there was much disaffection in Austria; they were strongly against the
Germans and were glad that for them the war was over. Our report was
delivered; the troops on our right were Russians. Later there came
other and sadder news. The little commander was brought back into the
town wounded in the head in the last Austrian attack.
In the evening I rode with the Divisional Staff several miles to our
new quarters. All along the road he stopped any straggling soldiers
and asked closely what had happened to their regiments. This was all
extremely well done; he was really severe only to one batch who told
him an obvious lie. Altogether the retreat, for it was that, was
unattended by any panic. Going at a sharp trot, we reached our new
quarters at three in the morning.
_May 6._
I woke in a farmhouse, in a village that was filled with the divisional
field train. The Divisional General had gone off early to the front
to rectify the new positions. The news that came in was uncertain and
anxious. The first hut which the General and his staff had entered had
been made untenable by the enemy's artillery. The second hut that he
visited was also set on fire. No further news of him came till late in
the evening that he had barely escaped capture.
Word came that the staff would be moved further back. The field trains
were set in motion, and we travelled without any kind of confusion
across a beautiful range of wooded hills. We stopped more than once to
see the fight that was going on below us. It was a blazing line of fire
and smoke, the twin yellow and white bursts of the Austrian shrapnel
being almost lost in the white or black smoke of the German artillery.
We travelled very slowly and for a good part of the day; officers and
men were full of vexation at having to retire before troops which they
felt themselves capable of beating with any equal conditions: among
themselves there prevailed a simple good humour.
I rode at different times with the adjutant, the chief of the field
train, and the divisional doctor, all of whom were perfectly cool and
collected. We made different wayside halts, and in the afternoon drew
up in a large village also full of field trains. Here we took rest and
refreshments, while different rumours came in from all quarters: and
in the evening I drove in for news to the staff of the army at Jaslo,
which was now close to the enemy.
From nearly all the regiments of the corps which I had accompanied,
great losses were reported; on the other hand, practically every
infantry attack had been driven off with great loss to the enemy.
The trenches had been left only when the enemy's artillery had made
them untenable. In some parts the systematic ploughing up of whole
given areas had gone so far behind our lines that even approach to the
trenches had been made impossible.
The game was not lost even on this ground, and immediate measures had
been taken for counter-attacks the following day. Meanwhile Jaslo was
under an intermittent but violent bombardment of aeroplanes; and all
the hospitals were being moved to the rear.