THE BZURA FRONT IN JUNE
Dated:
WARSAW,
_June 9_.
Some one has said that there is nothing more monotonous than war. After
ten months of almost continuous contact with its various phenomena,
and week after week spent in the same atmosphere, where one is always
surrounded by the same types of men in the same uniforms, the same
transport, the same guns, the same Red Cross, and in fact everything
the same in general appearance, it becomes very difficult to get up
new interest in the surroundings, and that deadly monotony of even the
happenings makes it increasingly difficult to write about it. The types
of country vary here and trenches are not after one pattern, but after
one has seen a few dozen even of these there is a good deal of sameness
in it all. I have not been on the Bzura Front, however, since January,
and as little has been written about it by any one else since the big
January-February attacks on the Bolimov positions, it may be worth
devoting a short chapter to it, describing its appearance in summer.
The last time that I was out here was in January, when the ground was
deep in snow and slush, and the soldiers muffled to their ears to keep
out the biting winds that swept across the country. Now the whole army,
that is not fighting or otherwise occupied, is luxuriously basking in
the sunshine, or idling under the shade of the trees. The poisonous
gas campaigns, of which I have already written at length, having been
started on our Bzura line, seemed to justify a visit to the positions
here in order that I might speak with some degree of accuracy as to the
effects of this newest German method of warfare, from the trenches,
where the attacks were made, down through the varying stages to the
last, where one found the victims struggling for breath in the Warsaw
hospitals.
Leaving Warsaw early in the morning I went to the head-quarters of
the army immediately before Warsaw, and on explaining my desires,
every possible means of assistance was placed at my disposal including
an extra automobile and an officer interpreter. From the army
head-quarters we sped over a newly-built road to the head-quarters
of that army corps which is defending the line of the Rawka, where
the chief medical officer obligingly placed at my disposal all
the information which he possessed of the General commanding that
particular Siberian army corps on whom the experiment was first tried.
This man, an officer of high rank, was living in a small white cottage
standing by the side of a second rate country road, without a single
tree to protect it from the rays of the sun which in the afternoon was
beating down on it with a heat that could be seen as it shimmered up
from the baking earth, barren of grass or any green thing. Here was a
man, commanding perhaps 40,000 troops, living in one of the bleakest
spots I have seen in Poland, with nothing but a tiny head-quarters flag
and dozens of telephone wires running in from all directions to denote
that he was directing a command greater than a battalion.
As the greatest indignation prevails throughout the army on the
gas subject, I found the officers here very eager to help me in my
investigations, and the General immediately telephoned to the division
head-quarters that we would visit them and asked that an officer might
be provided to take us forward to the positions where the heaviest
losses occurred. So once more we took to our motor car, and for
another 6 versts, across fields and down avenues of trees, we sped
until at last we turned off sharply into the country estate of some
landed proprietor where were living the staff of the --th division.
These fortunate men were much better off than their commander, for in
a lovely villa, with a lake shimmering like a sheet of silver in the
sunlight behind the terrace on which the officers could have their
coffee in the evenings, the General and his suite lived. A delightful
little Captain, who seemed to be in charge of our programme, led us
to a window and pointing to a windmill in an adjacent field remarked:
“The German artillery reaches just to that point. From the time you
leave there until you reach the trenches you will be continually within
the range of their guns and for most of the time within plain sight of
their observers in their gun positions. However, if you insist we shall
be glad to let you go. Probably they will not fire on you, and if they
do I think they will not hit you. An automobile is a difficult target.”
With this doubtful assurance we started out again, this time heading
for regimental head-quarters, which we were told was a mile behind the
trenches. A few miles further, and we came on several battalions in
reserve near a little village. A small orchard here gave them shelter
from observation, and after their trying ordeal a few days before, they
were resting luxuriously on the grass, many of them lying flat on
their backs in the shade fast asleep while everywhere were piled their
rifles. These sturdy self-respecting Siberian troops are the cream of
the army and physically as fine specimens of manhood as I have ever
seen anywhere. From this point we turned sharply west and ran at top
speed down an avenue of trees to a little bridge, where we left the car
effectively concealed behind a clump of trees. At least that was the
intention, and one in which the chauffeur and his orderly companion
took great interest as one could see by the careful scrutiny that they
gave the landscape and then their cover.
Personally I think this is the meanest country to get about in during
the day time that I can possibly imagine. It is almost as flat as
a billiard table, and I am of the opinion that if you lay down in
the road you could see a black pin sticking up in it a mile away.
Everything around you is as still as death for perhaps ten minutes. The
sun shines, butterflies flit about and an occasional bee goes droning
past. There is nothing whatever to suggest the possibility of war.
You think it is a mistake and that you are at least twenty miles from
the Front; then you hear a deep detonation not far away and a great
smoking crater in a field near by indicates where a heavy shell has
burst. Again there is absolute silence for perhaps twenty minutes,
when a sharp report not far away causes you to look quickly toward
a grove of trees in a neighbouring field where you discover one of
the Russian batteries. Leaving our motor we walk across a field and
approach the site of a destroyed village, if a cluster of six or eight
little cottages could ever have been dignified by that name. Now only
a chimney here, or a few walls there, indicates where once stood this
little group of homes. In one of the ruins, like a dog in an ash-heap,
lives the Colonel of the --th Siberian with his staff. Behind a wall
left standing is a table and a few chairs, and dug out of the corner is
a bomb proof where converge telephones from the trenches in which are
his troops. Here he has been living since the middle of last January.
The village was destroyed months and months ago, and clearly as it is
in the line of German observation it seems to provide a comparatively
safe retreat for the officers, though as one of them remarked quite
casually, “They dropped thirty-five shells round us yesterday, but you
see nothing much came of it.” Absolute indifference to these situations
is the keynote at the Front, and good form makes one refrain from
asking the numerous questions as to the exact location of the enemy,
whether or not they can see us, and other subjects which, at the
moment, seem to us of first-class importance. However, we realize that
good taste requires that we assume the same casual attitude, and so we
sit for half an hour, smoke cigarettes and quietly hope that the enemy
will choose some other target than this for their afternoon practice
which, as one of the officers remarked, “Usually begins about this hour
in the afternoon.”
Personally I hate poking around in the broad daylight in this flat
country, but as I wanted to see the position where the gas was used
and did not want to wait until night, and as the Colonel was perfectly
agreeable, I suggested that we should proceed forthwith to the
positions. Before starting we were told that up to a few weeks ago no
one ever used the road in the daytime, because of its exposure to rifle
and artillery fire. “But now,” as the Colonel said, “for some reason or
other they are not shooting at individuals. Probably they are saving
their ammunition for Galicia. So if we walk apart we shall not be in
much danger. Anyway a man or two would be hard to hit with rifle fire,
and their artillery is rather poor here, and even if they fire at us I
think we shall not be killed.” We thanked him for his optimism and all
started off down the road that led to the positions. In view of his
suggestion about individuals being safe, I was not particularly happy
when five officers who had nothing else to do joined us. The first half
mile of the road led down an avenue of trees which effectively screened
us. After that the trees stopped and the great white road, elevated
about 5 feet above the surrounding country, impressed me as being the
most conspicuous topographical feature that I had seen in Poland. There
was not a bit of brush as big as a tooth-pick to conceal our party
walking serenely down the highway.
After we had got about 200 yards on this causeway the Colonel stopped
and pointed with his stick at a group of red brick buildings. “The
Germans were there,” translated the interpreter. “My,” I ejaculated
in enthusiasm at the idea that they had gone, “when did we retake the
position?” “Oh,” replied the interpreter officer, “not yet. They are
still there.” “Ah!” I said, lighting a cigarette, that my interest
might not seem too acute, “I should think they could see us.” The
linguist spoke a few words to the Colonel and then replied, “Oh, yes,
every move we make, but the Colonel thinks they will not shoot.” I
looked over at the brick buildings, behind which were the German
artillery positions, and I could swear they were not 2,000 yards away,
while a line of dirt nearer still showed the infantry trenches. For
myself I felt as large as an elephant, and to my eyes our party seemed
as conspicuous as Barnum’s circus on parade. However we continued our
afternoon stroll to the reserve trenches, where a soldier or two joined
our group. Five or six hundred yards up the road was the barricade
thrown across, held by the first line. An occasional crack of a rifle
reminded us that the look-outs in our trenches were studying the
movements in the German trenches a few hundred yards beyond. Finally
we left the road and came over a field and into the rear of our own
position, and to the scene of the German gas attacks four or five days
before.
Life in the trenches has become such an everyday affair to these
sunburned, brawny soldiers from Siberia that they seem to have no more
feeling of anxiety than if they were living in their own villages far,
far to the East. In spite of the fact that they have steadily borne the
brunt of terrible attacks, and even now are under the shadow of the
opposing lines, which are thoroughly equipped with the mechanism for
dispensing poisoned air, they are as gay and cheerful as schoolboys on
a vacation. I have never seen such healthy, high-spirited soldiers in
my life. The trenches have been so cleaned up that a house wife could
find no fault with them.
These homes of the soldiers have every appearance of being swept daily.
The apprehension felt in the winter of hygienic conditions when the
spring came have no ground whatever, and I am told on the very highest
authority that in this army the sickness, other than that coming from
wounds, is less than for the months that preceded the war itself. The
Colonel explained to us the use of the respirators with which every
soldier is provided, and for our benefit had one of the soldiers fitted
with one that he might be photographed to illustrate for the West what
sort of protection is being supplied to the men on this side. After
spending half to three-quarters of an hour wandering about in the
trenches and meeting the officers who live there we returned to the
regimental head-quarters. The sun was just setting, and as we strolled
back over the open causeway in its last red glow a great German battery
suddenly came into action somewhere off to the west and north of us,
and we could hear the heavy detonations of its huge shells falling in a
nearby wood.
When we got back to the regimental head-quarters I could see their
target, which seemed to be nothing more than a big field. Every few
minutes an enormous shell would drop in the meadow. For an instant
there would be but a little dust where it hit the ground, then suddenly
a great spout of earth and dust and volumes of dirty brown smoke would
leap into the air like the eruption of a volcano, and then the heavy
sound of the explosion would reach our ears, while for two or three
minutes the crater would smoke as though the earth itself were being
consumed by hidden fires. As it was coming late we did not linger long
at the head-quarters but took to our car and sped up the avenue of
trees which lay directly parallel to the point where the shells were
bursting. The sun had set now, and in the after glow we passed once
more the camps of the reserves squatting about their little twinkling
fires built in the earth to mask them from the sight of the enemy. In
half an hour we were back once more in the villa of the General of
the division, an enormous man of six feet three, whose cross of St.
George of the first class was given for a heroic record in Manchuria
where the General, then a Colonel, was three times wounded by Japanese
bullets. Sitting on his terrace he gave us more details in regard to
the usages of the gas against his troops. Though they were 6 versts
from the Front, everyone in his head-quarters had been affected with
nausea and headaches, so potent were the fumes of the chloral that
for hours lay like a miasmic mist in the grounds and garden of the
estate. The General, who is a very kindly giant, shook his head sadly
as he spoke of the Germans. I think the Russians are a very charitable
people and nearly all the men with whom I have talked lay the blame of
this outrage on civilization against the authorities and not against
the men, who, they understand, are bitterly opposed to its use. When I
asked the General what he thought of the German point of view of war,
he sat for a few moments looking out over the lovely garden with the
little lake that lay before us.
“They have an extraordinary point of view,” he said at last. Then he
rose quickly from his chair and brought from a corner of the balcony
a belt captured in some skirmish of the morning. He held it up for me
to see the big buckle and with his finger pointed to the words: “GOTT
MIT UNS.” Then with a smile more significant than words he tossed
it back into the corner. Yes, truly, the German point of view is an
extraordinary one.
THE GALICIAN FRONT