I, too, soon got accustomed to the deadly missiles,--in fact

FOUR WEEKS IN THE TRENCHES

by Fritz Kreisler

To My Dear Wife Harriet

The Best Friend And Stanchest Comrade In All Circumstances Of

Life I Dedicate This Little Book

In Humble Token Of Everlasting Gratitude And Devotion

Preface

This brief record of the fighting on the Eastern front in the great war

is the outcome of a fortunate meeting.

The writer chanced to be dining with Mr. Kreisler soon after his

arrival in this country, after his dismissal from the hospital where he

recovered from his wound. For nearly two hours he listened, thrilled

and moved, to the great violinist's modest, vivid narrative of his

experiences and adventures. It seemed in the highest degree

desirable that the American public should have an opportunity of

reading this narrative from the pen of one in whose art so many of

us take a profound interest. It also was apparent that since so little

of an authentic nature had been heard from the Russo-Austrian field

of warfare, this story would prove an important contribution to the

contemporary history of the war.

After much persuasion, Mr. Kreisler reluctantly acceded to the

suggestion that he write out his personal memories of the war for

publication. He has completed his narrative in the midst of grave

difficulties, writing it piecemeal in hotels and railway trains in the

course of a concert tour through the country. It is offered by the

publishers to the public with confidence that it will be found one of

the most absorbing and informing narratives of the war that has yet

appeared.

F. G.

Four Weeks In The Trenches

I

In trying to recall my impressions during my short war duty as an

officer in the Austrian Army, I find that my recollections of this period

are very uneven and confused. Some of the experiences stand out

with absolute clearness; others, however, are blurred. Two or three

events which took place in different localities seem merged into one,

while in other instances recollection of the chronological order of

things is missing. This curious indifference of the memory to values

of time and space may be due to the extraordinary physical and

mental stress under which the impressions I am trying to chronicle

were received. The same state of mind I find is rather characteristic

of most people I have met who were in the war. It should not be

forgotten, too, that the gigantic upheaval which changed the

fundamental condition of life overnight and threatened the very

existence of nations naturally dwarfed the individual into

nothingness, and the existing interest in the common welfare left

practically no room for personal considerations. Then again, at the

front, the extreme uncertainty of the morrow tended to lessen the

interest in the details of to-day; consequently I may have missed a

great many interesting happenings alongside of me which I would

have wanted to note under other circumstances. One gets into a

strange psychological, almost hypnotic, state of mind while on the

firing line which probably prevents the mind's eye from observing

and noticing things in a normal way. This accounts, perhaps, for

some blank spaces in my memory. Besides, I went out completely

resigned to my fate, without much thought for the future. It never

occurred to me that I might ever want to write my experiences, and

consequently I failed to take notes or to establish certain

mnemo-technical landmarks by the aid of which I might now be able to

reconstruct all details. I am, therefore, reduced to present an

incoherent and rather piecemeal narrative of such episodes as

forcibly impressed themselves upon my mind and left an

ineradicable mark upon my memory.

The outbreak of the war found my wife and me in Switzerland,

where we were taking a cure. On the 31st of July, on opening the

paper, I read that the Third Army Corps, to which my regiment

(which is stationed in Graz) belonged, had received an order for

mobilization.

Although I had resigned my commission as an officer two years

before, I immediately left Switzerland, accompanied by my wife, in

order to report for duty. As it happened, a wire reached me a day

later calling me to the colors.

We went by way of Munich. It was the first day of the declaration of

the state of war in Germany. Intense excitement prevailed. In

Munich all traffic was stopped; no trains were running except for

military purposes. It was only due to the fact that I revealed my

intention of rejoining my regiment in Austria that I was able to pass

through at all, but by both the civil and military authorities in Bavaria

I was shown the greatest possible consideration and passed

through as soon as possible.

We reached Vienna on August first. A startling change had come

over the city since I had left it only a few weeks before. Feverish

activity everywhere prevailed. Reservists streamed in by thousands

from all parts of the country to report at headquarters. Autos filled

with officers whizzed past. Dense crowds surged up and down the

streets. Bulletins and extra editions of newspapers passed from

hand to hand. Immediately it was evident what a great leveler war

is. Differences in rank and social distinctions had practically

ceased. All barriers seemed to have fallen; everybody addressed

everybody else.

I saw the crowds stop officers of high rank and well-known members

of the aristocracy and clergy, also state officials and court

functionaries of high rank, in quest of information, which was

imparted cheerfully and patiently. The imperial princes could

frequently be seen on the Ring Strasse surrounded by cheering

crowds or mingling with the public unceremoniously at the cafes,

talking to everybody. Of course, the army was idolized. Wherever

the troops marched the public broke into cheers and every uniform

was the center of an ovation.

While coming from the station I saw two young reservists, to all

appearances brothers, as they hurried to the barracks, carrying their

small belongings in a valise. Along with them walked a little old lady

crying, presumably their mother. They passed a general in full

uniform. Up went their hands to their caps in military salute,

whereupon the old general threw his arms wide open and embraced

them both, saying: "Go on, my boys, do your duty bravely and stand

firm for your emperor and your country. God willing, you will come

back to your old mother." The old lady smiled through her tears. A

shout went up, and the crowds surrounding the general cheered

him. Long after I had left I could hear them shouting.

A few streets farther on I saw in an open cafe a young couple, a

reservist in field uniform and a young girl, his bride or sweetheart.

They sat there, hands linked, utterly oblivious of their surroundings

and of the world at large. When somebody in the crowd espied

them, a great shout went up, the public rushing to the table and

surrounding them, then breaking into applause and waving hats and

handkerchiefs. At first the young couple seemed to be utterly taken

aback and only slowly did they realize that the ovation was meant

for them. They seemed confused, the young girl blushing and

hiding her face in her hands, the young man rising to his feet,

saluting and bowing. More cheers and applause. He opened his

mouth as if wanting to speak. There was a sudden silence. He was

vainly struggling for expression, but then his face lit up as if by

inspiration. Standing erect, hand at his cap, in a pose of military

salute, he intoned the Austrian national hymn. In a second every

head in that throng was bared. All traffic suddenly stopped,

everybody, passengers as well as conductors of the cars, joining in

the anthem. The neighboring windows soon filled with people, and

soon it was a chorus of thousands of voices. The volume of tone

and the intensity of feeling seemed to raise the inspiring anthem to

the uttermost heights of sublime majesty. We were then on our way

to the station, and long afterwards we could hear the singing,

swelling like a human organ.

What impressed me particularly in Vienna was the strict order

everywhere. No mob disturbances of any kind, in spite of the

greatly increased liberty and relaxation of police regulations.

Nor was there any runaway chauvinism noticeable, aside from the

occasional singing of patriotic songs and demonstrations like the

one I just described. The keynote of popular feeling was quiet

dignity, joined to determination, with an undercurrent of solemn

gravity and responsibility.

I had stopped in Vienna only long enough to bid good-bye to my

father, and left for the headquarters of my regiment in Graz. I

reported there for duty and then went to join the Fourth Battalion,

which was stationed at Leoben, one hour away from Graz, my

orders being to take command of the first platoon in the sixteenth

company. My platoon consisted of fifty-five men, two buglers, and

an ambulance patrol of four.

In Leoben my wife and I remained a week, which was spent in

organizing, equipping, requisitioning, recruiting, and preliminary

drilling. These were happy days, as we officers met for the first

time, friendships and bonds being sealed which subsequently were

tested in common danger and amidst privation and stress. Many of

the officers had brought their wives and soon delightful intercourse,

utterly free from formality, developed, without any regard or

reference to rank, wealth, or station in private life. Among the

reserve officers of my battalion were a famous sculptor, a

well-known philologist, two university professors (one of mathematics,

the other of natural science), a prince, and a civil engineer at the

head of one of the largest Austrian steel corporations. The surgeon

of our battalion was the head of a great medical institution and a

man of international fame. Among my men in the platoon were a

painter, two college professors, a singer of repute, a banker, and a

post official of high rank. But nobody cared and in fact I myself did

not know until much later what distinguished men were in my

platoon. A great cloak of brotherhood seemed to have enveloped

everybody and everything, even differences in military rank not

being so obvious at this time, for the officers made friends of their

men, and in turn were worshipped by them.

My wife volunteered her services as Red Cross nurse, insisting

upon being sent to the front, in order to be as near me as could be,

but it developed later that no nurse was allowed to go farther than

the large troop hospitals far in the rear of the actual operations.

Upon my urgent appeal she desisted and remained in Vienna after I

had left, nursing in the barracks, which are now used for hospital

work. In fact, almost every third or fourth house, both private and

public, as well as schools, were given to the use of the government

and converted into Red Cross stations.

The happy days in Leoben came to an abrupt end, my regiment

receiving orders to start immediately for the front.

We proceeded to Graz, where we joined the other three battalions

and were entrained for an unknown destination. We traveled via

Budapest to Galicia, and left the train at Strij, a very important

railroad center south of Lemberg. It must be understood that the

only reports reaching us from the fighting line at that time were to

the effect that the Russians had been driven back from our border,

and that the Austrian armies actually stood on the enemy's soil. Strij

being hundreds of miles away from the Russian frontier, we could

not but surmise that we were going to be stationed there some time

for the purpose of training and maneuvering. This belief was

strengthened by the fact that our regiment belonged to the

Landsturm, or second line of reserves, originally intended for home

service. We were, however, alarmed that very same night and

marched out of Strij for a distance of about twenty miles, in

conjunction with the entire Third Army Corps. After a short pause

for the purpose of eating and feeding the horses, we marched

another twenty-two miles. This first day's march constituted a very

strong test of endurance in consequence of our comparative

softness and lack of training, especially as, in addition to his heavy

rifle, bayonet, ammunition, and spade, each soldier was burdened

with a knapsack containing emergency provisions in the form of

tinned meats, coffee extract, sugar, salt, rice, and biscuits, together

with various tin cooking and eating utensils; furthermore a second

pair of shoes, extra blouse, changes of underwear, etc. On top of

this heavy pack a winter overcoat and part of a tent were strapped,

the entire weight of the equipment being in the neighborhood of fifty

pounds. The day wore on. Signs of fatigue soon manifested

themselves more and more strongly, and slowly the men dropped

out one by one, from sheer exhaustion. No murmur of complaint,

however, would be heard. Most of those who fell out of line, after

taking a breathing space for a few minutes, staggered on again.

The few that remained behind joined the regiment later on when

camp was established. We wondered then at the necessity of such

a forced march, being unable to see a reason for it, unless it was to

put us in training.

Night had fallen when we reached a small monastery in the midst of

a forest, where the peaceful surroundings and the monastic life,

entirely untouched by the war fever, seemed strange indeed. Camp

was established, tents erected, fires were lighted, and coffee made.

Soon a life of bustling activity sprang up in the wilderness, in the

midst of the forest which only a few hours before had been

deserted.

It made a weird and impressive picture in the wonderful starlight

night, these soldiers sitting around the camp fires softly singing in

chorus; the fantastic outlines of the monastery half hidden in the

woods; the dark figures of the monks moving silently back and forth

amongst the shadows of the trees as they brought refreshments to

the troops; the red glow of the camp fires illuminating the eager and

enthusiastic faces of the young officers grouped around the colonel;

the snorting and stamping of the horses nearby; an occasional

melodic outcry of a sentinel out in the night; all these things merging

into an unforgettable scene of great romanticism and beauty. That

night I lay for a long while stretched near the smoldering ashes of

the camp fire, with my cape as a blanket, in a state of lassitude and

somnolence, my soul filled with exaltation and happiness over the

beauty around me.

The rest, however, was of very short duration, for at six o'clock in

the morning we were aroused, camp was broken up and soon

afterwards we started on a forced march of twenty-two miles without

a halt, during which we twice had to wade knee-deep through rivers.

By midday most of the men were so exhausted that they could

hardly crawl along. It was remarkable that the comparatively

weaker and more refined city-bred people who had done little

physical work in their lives, most of them being professional men,

withstood hardships better than the sturdy and, to all appearances,

stronger peasants; the only explanation for it being perhaps that the.

city-bred people, in consequence of their better surroundings and by

reason of their education, had more will power and nervous strength

than the peasants.

At half-past two we reached a clearing in the midst of a wood

through which a river flowed. Here camp was again established and

a half hour later all the hardships of the march were once more

forgotten in the bustle of camp life. This time we had a full rest until

the next morning at four o'clock, when suddenly orders for marching

were given. After we had been under way for about three hours we

heard far-away, repeated rumbling which sounded like distant

thunder. Not for a moment did we associate it with cannonading,

being, as we supposed, hundreds of miles away from the nearest

place where Russians could possibly be. Suddenly a mounted

ordnance officer came rushing with a message to our colonel. We

came to a halt and all officers were summoned to the colonel who,

addressing us in his usual quiet, almost businesslike way, said:

"Gentlemen, accept my congratulations, I have good news for you,

we may meet the enemy to-day and I sincerely hope to lead you to

the fight before evening." We were thunderstruck at the sudden

realization that the Russians had penetrated so deeply into Galicia.

The despondency which followed this startling revelation, however,

was quickly replaced by the intense excitement of meeting the

enemy so soon. We hurried back to our companies, imparting the

news to the men, who broke forth into shouts of enthusiasm. All the

fatigue so plainly noticeable only a few minutes before, suddenly

vanished as if by magic, and every one seemed alert, springy, and

full of spirit. We energetically resumed the march in the direction of

the distant rumbling, which indicated that the artillery of our advance

guard had engaged the enemy. My regiment then was part of the

main body of a division. A second division advanced on the road

parallel to ours, about a mile and a quarter to our left. Both columns

belonged to the Third Army Corps and kept up constant communication

with each other through mounted dispatch bearers and motor cycles.

The cannonading had meanwhile come perceptibly nearer, and in

the midst of the dense forest we again came to a short halt. Orders

were given to load rifles, and upon emerging from the woods we fell

into open formation, the men marching abreast, the companies at a

distance of three hundred yards, with the battalions at a distance of

about a thousand yards. We were slowly entering the range of the

Russian artillery. About a mile ahead we could see numbers of

harmless looking round clouds, looking like ringlets of smoke from a

huge cigar, indicating the places where shrapnel had exploded in

mid-air. Our men, not being familiar with the spectacle, took no

notice of it, but we officers knew its significance, and I daresay many

a heart beat as wildly as mine did.

We marched on until the command was given for us to deploy, and

soon afterwards the first shrapnel whizzed over our heads. It did no

harm, nor did the second and third, but the fourth hit three men in

the battalion in the rear of us. Our forward movement, however,

was not interrupted, and we did not see or hear anything beyond

two or three startled cries. The next shell burst right ahead of us,

sending a shower of bullets and steel fragments around. A man

about twenty yards to the right of my company, but not of my

platoon, leaped into the air with an agonizing cry and fell in a heap,

mortally wounded. As we were advancing very swiftly, I only saw it

as in a dream, while running by. Then came in rapid succession

four or five terrific explosions right over our heads, and I felt a

sudden gust of cold wind strike my cheek as a big shell fragment

came howling through the air, ploughing the ground viciously as it

struck and sending a spray of sand around.

We ran on perhaps a quarter of a mile, when from the rear came

the sharp command, "Down," and the next second we lay on the

ground, panting and exhausted, my heart almost bursting with the

exertion. Simultaneously the whizzing of a motor above our heads

could be heard and we knew why the enemy's shrapnel had so

suddenly found us. It was a Russian aeroplane which presumably

had signaled our approach, together with the range, to the Russian

gunners, and now was probably directing their fire and closely

watching its effect, for a chain of hills was hiding us from the view of

the enemy, who consequently had to fire indirectly. The air craft

hovered above our heads, but we were forbidden to fire at it, the

extremely difficult, almost vertical aim promising little success, aside

from the danger of our bullets falling back among us. Our reserves

in the rear had apparently sighted the air craft too, for soon we

heard a volley of rifle fire from that direction and simultaneously the

aeroplane arose and disappeared in the clouds.

Just then our own artillery came thundering up, occupied a little hill

in the rear and opened fire on the enemy. The moral effect of the

thundering of one's own artillery is most extraordinary, and many of

us thought that we had never heard any more welcome sound than

the deep roaring and crashing that started in at our rear. It quickly

helped to disperse the nervousness caused by the first entering into

battle and to restore self control and confidence. Besides, by

getting into action, our artillery was now focusing the attention and

drawing the fire of the Russian guns, for most of the latter's shells

whined harmlessly above us, being aimed at the batteries in our

rear. Considerably relieved by this diversion, we resumed our

forward movement after about fifteen minutes of further rest, our

goal being the little chain of hills which our advance guard had

previously occupied pending our arrival. Here we were ordered to

take up positions and dig trenches, any further advance being out of

the question, as the Russian artillery overlooked and commanded

the entire plain stretching in front of us.

We started at once to dig our trenches, half of my platoon stepping

forward abreast, the men being placed an arm's length apart. After

laying their rifles down, barrels pointing to the enemy, a line was

drawn behind the row of rifles and parallel to it. Then each man

would dig up the ground, starting from his part of the line backwards,

throwing forward the earth removed, until it formed a sort of

breastwork. The second half of the platoon was meanwhile resting

in the rear, rifle in hand and ready for action. After a half hour they

took the place of the first division at work, and vice versa. Within an

hour work on the trenches was so far advanced that they could be

deepened while standing in them. Such an open trench affords

sufficient shelter against rifle bullets striking from the front and can

be made in a measure shell proof by being covered with boards, if

at hand, and with sod.

In the western area of the theater of war, in France and Flanders,

where whole armies were deadlocked, facing each other for weeks

without shifting their position an inch, such trenches become an

elaborate affair, with extensive underground working and wing

connections of lines which almost constitute little fortresses and

afford a certain measure of comfort. But where we were in Galicia

at the beginning of the war, with conditions utterly unsteady and

positions shifting daily and hourly, only the most superficial trenches

were used. In fact, we thought ourselves fortunate if we could

requisition enough straw to cover the bottom. That afternoon we

had about half finished our work when our friend the aeroplane

appeared on the horizon again. This time we immediately opened

fire. It disappeared, but apparently had seen enough, for very soon

our position was shelled. By this time, however, shrapnel had

almost ceased to be a source of concern to us and we scarcely paid

any attention to it. Human nerves quickly get accustomed to the

most unusual conditions and circumstances and I noticed that quite

a number of men actually fell asleep from sheer exhaustion in the

trenches, in spite of the roaring of the cannon about us and the

whizzing of shrapnel over our heads.

I, too, soon got accustomed to the deadly missiles,--in fact, I had

already started to make observations of their peculiarities. My ear,

accustomed to differentiate sounds of all kinds, had some time ago,

while we still advanced, noted a remarkable discrepancy in the

peculiar whine produced by the different shells in their rapid flight

through the air as they passed over our heads, some sounding

shrill, with a rising tendency, and the others rather dull, with a falling

cadence. A short observation revealed the fact that the passing of

a dull-sounding shell was invariably preceded by a flash from one of

our own cannon in the rear on the hill, which conclusively proved it

to be an Austrian shell. It must be understood that as we were

advancing between the positions of the Austrian and Russian

artillery, both kinds of shells were passing over our heads. As we

advanced the difference between shrill and dull shell grew less and

less perceptible, until I could hardly tell them apart. Upon nearing

the hill the difference increased again more and more until on the hill

itself it was very marked. After our trench was finished I crawled to

the top of the hill until I could make out the flash of the Russian guns

on the opposite heights and by timing flash and actual passing of

the shell, found to my astonishment that now the Russian missiles

had become dull, while on the other hand, the shrill shell was

invariably heralded by a flash from one of our guns, now far in the

rear. What had happened was this: Every shell describes in its

course a parabolic line, with the first half of the curve ascending and

the second one descending. Apparently in the first half of its curve,

that is, its course while ascending, the shell produced a dull whine

accompanied by a falling cadence, which changes to a rising shrill

as soon as the acme has been reached and the curve points

downward again. The acme for both kinds of shells naturally was

exactly the half distance between the Russian and Austrian artillery

and this was the point where I had noticed that the difference was

the least marked. A few days later, in talking over my observation

with an artillery officer, I was told the fact was known that the shells

sounded different going up than when coming down, but this

knowledge was not used for practical purposes. When I told him

that I could actually determine by the sound the exact place where a

shell coming from the opposing batteries was reaching its acme, he

thought that this would be of great value in a case where the

position of the opposing battery was hidden and thus could be

located. He apparently spoke to his commander about me, for a

few days later I was sent on a reconnoitering tour, with the object of

marking on the map the exact spot where I thought the hostile shells

were reaching their acme, and it was later on reported to me that I

had succeeded in giving to our batteries the almost exact range of

the Russian guns. I have gone into this matter at some length,

because it is the only instance where my musical ear was of value

during my service.

To return to my narrative, the losses which my battalion suffered

that day seemed extraordinarily small when compared with the

accuracy of the Russian artillery's aim and the number of missiles

they fired. I counted seventy-four shrapnel that burst in a circle of

half a mile around us in about two hours, and yet we had no more

than about eighteen casualties. The most difficult part was to lie still

and motionless while death was being dealt all about us and it was

then and there that I had my first experience of seeing death next to

me. A soldier of my platoon, while digging in the trench, suddenly

leaned back, began to cough like an old man, a little blood broke

from his lips, and he crumpled together in a heap and lay quite still.

I could not realize that this was the end, for his eyes were wide open

and his face wore the stamp of complete serenity. Apparently he

had not suffered at all. The man had been a favorite with all his

fellows by reason of his good humor, and that he was now stretched

out dead seemed unbelievable. I saw a great many men die

afterwards, some suffering horribly, but I do not recall any death that

affected me quite so much as that of this first victim in my platoon.

II

The artillery duel died out with the coming of darkness and we

settled down to rest, half of the men taking watch while the others

slept. At five o'clock in the morning our regiment suddenly received

the order to fall in, and, together with two other regiments, was

drawn out of the fighting line. Our commanding general had

received news that an isolated detachment on the extreme right

wing of our army, about fifteen miles east of us, had been entirely

surrounded by a strong Russian body, and we were ordered to

relieve them. It must not be forgotten that our men had been under

a most incredible strain for the last three days with barely any rest

during the nights and not more than one meal a day. They had

actually welcomed entering the firing line, as a relief from the

fatigues of marching with their heavy burdens. It is curious how

indifferent one becomes to danger if one's organism is worn down

and brain and faculty of perception numbed by physical exertion. It

was, therefore, with badly broken-down strength that we started on

this relief expedition, and it was good to see how unflinchingly the

soldiers undertook their unexpected new task. All we had to say to

our men was: "Boys, your brothers are needing you. They are cut

off from all possible relief unless you bring it. Their lives are at

stake, and as they are defending one of the most strategically

important points--the right wing of our army--you can turn the tide of

the whole battle in our favor; so go on." And on they went,

staggering and stumbling, and at the end of a few hours almost

crawling, but ever forward.

Suddenly we came up with another regiment which had been called

to the same task, and the colonel of the new regiment, being older

in rank than our colonel, took command of the newly formed brigade

of two regiments. My company happened to march at the head of

the regiment and the new brigadier rode for some time alongside of

me. I was deeply impressed by his firm military and yet unassuming

bearing and his deep glowing enthusiasm for his army and his men.

He told me with pride that two of his sons were serving in the army,

too, one as an artillery officer and the other one as an officer with

the sappers. We were then approaching the point where we could

hear distinctly the fire of our own batteries and the answer from the

Russians, and here and there a volley of rifle fire. Our colonel urged

us on to renewed energy, and knowledge that we were nearing our

goal, seemed to give new strength to our men. Already we were

witnessing evidences of the first fight that had passed here, for

wounded men constantly passed us on stretchers. Suddenly I saw

the face of the colonel riding next to me, light up with excitement as

a wounded man was borne past. He addressed a few words to the

stretcher-bearers and then turned to me, saying: "The regiment of

my son is fighting on the hill. It is one of their men they have

brought by." He urged us on again, and it seemed to me as if I

noticed--or was it my imagination--a new note of appeal in his face.

Suddenly another stretcher was brought past. The colonel at my

side jumped from his horse, crying out, "My boy," and a feeble voice

answered, "Father." We all stopped as if a command had been

given, to look at the young officer who lay on the stretcher, his eyes

all aglow with enthusiasm and joy, unmindful of his own wound as

he cried out, "Father, how splendid that the relief should just come

from you! Go on. We held out splendidly. All we need is ammunition

and a little moral support. Go on, don't stop for me, I am all right."

The old colonel stood like a statue of bronze. His face had become

suddenly ashen gray. He looked at the doctor and tried to catch his

expression. The doctor seemed grave. But the young man urged

us on, saying, "Go on, go on, I'll be all right to-morrow." The whole

incident had not lasted more than five minutes, barely longer than it

takes to write it. The colonel mounted his horse, sternly

commanding us to march forward, but the light had died out of his

eyes.

Within the next ten minutes a hail of shrapnel was greeting us, but

hardly any one of us was conscious of it, so terribly and deeply were

we affected by the scene of tragedy that had just been enacted

before us. I remember foolishly mumbling something to the silent

man riding next to me, something about the power of recuperation

of youth, about the comparative harmlessness of the pointed,

steelmantled rifle bullets which on account of their terrific percussion

make small clean wounds and rarely cause splintering of the bone

or blood poisoning. I remember saying that I had quite a medical

knowledge and that it seemed to me that his son was not mortally

wounded. But he knew better. He never said a word, only, a few

minutes later, "He was my only hope"; and I can't express how

ominous that word "was" sounded to me. But just then the

command to deploy was given and the excitement that followed

drowned for the time being all melancholy thoughts. We quickly

ascended the hill where the isolated detachment of Austrians had

kept the Russians at bay for fully twenty-four hours and opened fire

on the enemy, while the second regiment tried to turn his left flank.

The Russians slowly fell back but we followed them, and a sort of

running fight ensued, during which my regiment lost about fifty--

dead and wounded. The Russians temporarily resisted again, but

soon the pressure from our other regiment on their flank began to

be felt and they fled rather disorderly, leaving two machine guns,

some ammunition, and four carriages full of provisions in our hands,

while the regiment which had executed the flanking movement took

two hundred and forty prisoners.

Around eight o'clock at night the fight was stopped for want of light,

and we took up our newly acquired positions, entrenched them well,

and began to make ready for the night. Orders for outpost duty

were given and the officers were again called to the brigadier-

colonel, who in a few words outlined the situation to us, thanking us

for the pertinacity and bravery shown by the troops, and adding that

the success of the expedition lay in the fact that we had arrived in

time to save the situation.

Then the question of transporting prisoners to the rear came up,

and while the brigadier's eyes were searching us I felt that he was

going to entrust me with that mission. He looked at me, gave me

the order in a short, measured way, but his eyes gazed searchingly

and deeply into mine, and I thought I understood the unspoken

message. So, tired as I was, I immediately set out with a guard of

twenty men to transport the two hundred and forty Russian

prisoners, among whom were two officers, back behind the fighting

line. They seemed not unhappy over their lot--in fact, were smoking

and chatting freely while we marched back. One of the Russian

officers had a wound in his leg and was carried on a stretcher, but

he, too, seemed quite at ease, conversing with me in French and

congratulating me upon the bravery our isolated detachment had

shown against the terrific onslaught. As soon as I had delivered

them safely into the hands of the commander of our reserves, I

inquired the way to the nearest field hospital in search of the young

officer, the son of our brigadier-colonel. It was then about nine

o'clock at night, and on entering the peasant's hut where the field

hospital was established, I saw at a glance that I had come too late.

He lay there still, hands folded over his breast with as serene and

happy an expression as if asleep. His faithful orderly sat weeping

next to him, and some kind hand had laid a small bunch of field

flowers on his breast.

From the doctor I got the full information. He had received a shot in

the abdomen and a rifle bullet had grazed his cheek. His last words

had been a fervent expression of joy over the relief brought by his

father and the knowledge that the position would not be taken by the

Russians. He had died as simply as a child, without regret, and

utterly happy. I took the orderly with me, asking him to carry all the

belongings of the young officer with him in order to transmit them to

his father.

When I returned with the orderly, the brigadier was issuing orders to

his officers and conferring with them about the military situation. He

saw me come, yet not a muscle moved in his face, nor did he

interrupt his conversation. I was overwhelmed by the power this

man showed at that minute, and admit I had not the courage to

break the news to him, but it was unnecessary, for he understood.

The faithful orderly stepped forward, as I had bidden him, presenting

to the old man the pocketbook and small articles that belonged to

his son. While he did so he broke forth into sobs, lamenting aloud

the loss of his beloved lieutenant, yet not a muscle moved in the

face of the father. He took my report, nodded curtly, dismissed me

without a word, and turned back to his ordnance officers, resuming

the conversation.

I assumed the command of my platoon which in the mean time had

been assigned to do some outpost duty under the command of the

sergeant. I inquired about their position and went out to join them.

About midnight we were relieved, and when marching back, passed

the place where the tent of the brigadier had been erected. I saw a

dark figure lying on the floor, seemingly in deep sleep, and ordering

my men to march on I crept silently forward. Then I saw that his

shoulders were convulsively shaking and I knew that the mask of

iron had fallen at last. The night was chilly so I entered his tent in

search of his overcoat and laid it around his shoulders. He never

noticed it. The next morning when I saw him his face was as

immovable as it had been the night before, but he seemed to have

aged by many years.

The next day was a comparatively restful one. We fortified the

entrenchments which we had taken, and as our battle lines were

extended to the right, from being the extreme right we became

almost the center of the new position which extended for perhaps

ten miles from northwest to southeast about eighteen miles south of

Lemberg.

The next few days were given to repairs, provisioning, and resting,

with occasional small skirmishes and shifting of positions. Then one

night a scouting aeroplane brought news of a forward movement of

about five Russian army corps, which seemed to push in the

direction of our center. Against this force we could muster only

about two army corps, but our strategical position seemed a very

good one, both the extreme flanks of our army being protected by

large and impassable swamps. Evidently the Russians had realized

the impossibility of turning our flanks and were endeavoring to

pierce our center by means of a vigorous frontal attack, relying upon

their great superiority in numbers. Every preparation had been

made to meet the onslaught during the night. Our trenches had

been strengthened, the artillery had been brought into position,

cleverly masked by means of transplanted bushes, the field in front

of us had been cleared of objects obstructing the view, and the

sappers had been feverishly busy constructing formidable

barbed-wire entanglements and carefully measuring the shooting

distances, marking the different ranges by bundles of hay or other

innocent-looking objects, which were placed here and there in the

field.

At nine o'clock in the morning everything was ready to receive the

enemy, the men taking a short and well-deserved rest in their

trenches, while we officers were called to the colonel, who

acquainted us with the general situation, and, giving his orders,

addressed us in a short, business-like way, appealing to our sense

of duty and expressing his firm belief in our victory. We all knew that

his martial attitude and abrupt manner were a mask to hide his inner

self, full of throbbing emotion and tender solicitude for his

subordinates, and we returned to our trenches deeply moved.

The camp was absolutely quiet, the only movements noticeable

being around the field kitchens in the rear, which were being

removed from the battle line. A half hour later any casual observer,

glancing over the deserted fields might have laughed at the

intimation that the earth around him was harboring thousands of

men armed to their teeth, and that pandemonium of hell would

break loose within an hour. Barely a sound was audible, and a hush

of expectancy descended upon us. I looked around at my men in

the trench; some were quietly asleep, some writing letters, others

conversed in subdued and hushed tones. Every face I saw bore

the unmistakable stamp of the feeling so characteristic of the last

hour before a battle,--that curious mixture of solemn dignity, grave

responsibility, and suppressed emotion, with an undercurrent of sad

resignation. They were pondering over their possible fate, or

perhaps dreaming of their dear ones at home.

By and by even the little conversation ceased, and they sat quite

silent, waiting and waiting, perhaps awed by their own silence.

Sometimes one would bravely try to crack a joke, and they laughed,

but it sounded strained. They were plainly nervous, these brave

men that fought like lions in the open when led to an attack,

heedless of danger and destruction. They felt under a cloud in the

security of the trenches, and they were conscious of it and

ashamed. Sometimes my faithful orderly would turn his eye on me,

mute, as if in quest of an explanation of his own feeling. Poor dear

unsophisticated boy! I was as nervous as they all were, although

trying my best to look unconcerned; but I knew that the hush that

hovered around us like a dark cloud would give way like magic to

wild enthusiasm as soon as the first shot broke the spell and the

exultation of the battle took hold of us all.

Suddenly, at about ten o'clock, a dull thud sounded somewhere far

away from us, and simultaneously we saw a small white round cloud

about half a mile ahead of us where the shrapnel had exploded.

The battle had begun. Other shots followed shortly, exploding here

and there, but doing no harm. The Russian gunners evidently were

trying to locate and draw an answer from our batteries. These,

however, remained mute, not caring to reveal their position. For a

long time the Russians fired at random, mostly at too short a range

to do any harm, but slowly the harmless-looking white clouds came

nearer, until a shell, whining as it whizzed past us, burst about a

hundred yards behind our trench. A second shell followed,

exploding almost at the same place. At the same time, we noticed a

faint spinning noise above us. Soaring high above our position,

looking like a speck in the firmament, flew a Russian aeroplane,

watching the effect of the shells and presumably directing the fire of

the Russian artillery. This explained its sudden accuracy. One of

our aeroplanes rose, giving chase to the enemy, and simultaneously our

batteries got into action. The Russians kept up a sharply

concentrated, well-directed fire against our center, our gunners

responding gallantly, and the spirited artillery duel which ensued

grew in intensity until the entrails of the earth seemed fairly to

shake with the thunder.

By one o'clock the incessant roaring, crashing, and splintering of

bursting shells had become almost unendurable to our nerves,

which were already strained to the snapping-point by the lack of

action and the expectancy. Suddenly there appeared a thin dark

line on the horizon which moved rapidly towards us, looking not

unlike a huge running bird with immense outstretched wings. We

looked through our field glasses; there could be no doubt,--it was

Russian cavalry, swooping down upon us with incredible impetus

and swiftness. I quickly glanced at our colonel. He stared

open-mouthed. This was, indeed, good fortune for us,--too good to

believe. No cavalry attack could stand before well-disciplined

infantry, providing the latter keep cool and well composed, calmly

waiting until the riders come sufficiently close to take sure aim.

There was action for us at last. At a sharp word of command, our

men scrambled out of the trenches for better view and aim, shouting

with joy as they did so. What a change had come over us all! My

heart beat with wild exultation. I glanced at my men. They were all

eagerness and determination, hand at the trigger, eyes on the

approaching enemy, every muscle strained, yet calm, their bronzed

faces hardened into immobility, waiting for the command to fire.

Every subaltern officer's eye hung on our colonel, who stood about

thirty yards ahead of us on a little hill, his figure well defined in the

sunlight, motionless, the very picture of calm assurance and proud

bearing. He scanned the horizon with his glasses. Shrapnel was

hailing around him, but he seemed utterly unaware of it; for that

matter we had all forgotten it, though it kept up its terrible uproar,

spitting here and there destruction into our midst.

By this time the avalanche of tramping horses had come perceptibly

nearer. Soon they would sweep by the bundle of hay which marked

the carefully measured range within which our fire was terribly

effective. Suddenly the mad stampede came to an abrupt standstill,

and then the Cossacks scattered precipitately to the right and left,

only to disclose in their rear the advancing Russian infantry, the

movements of which it had been their endeavor to veil.

The infantry moved forward in loose lines, endlessly rolling on like

shallow waves overtaking each other, one line running forward, then

suddenly disappearing by throwing itself down and opening fire on

us to cover the advance of the other line, and so on, while their

artillery kept up a hellish uproar spreading destruction through our

lines. Simultaneously a Russian aeroplane swept down upon us

with a noise like an angered bird of prey and pelted us with bombs,

the effects of which, however, were more moral than actual, for we

had regained the security of the trenches and opened fire on the

approaching enemy, who in spite of heavy losses advanced steadily

until he reached our wire entanglements. There he was greeted by

a deadly fire from our machine guns. The first Russian lines were

mowed down as if by a gigantic scythe, and so were the reserves as

they tried to advance. The first attack had collapsed. After a short

time, however, they came on again, this time more cautiously,

armed with nippers to cut the barbed wire and using the bodies of

their own fallen comrades as a rampart. Again they were repulsed.

Once more their cavalry executed a feigned attack under cover of

which the Russian infantry rallied, strongly reinforced by reserves,

and more determined than ever.

Supported by heavy artillery fire their lines rolled endlessly on and

hurled themselves against the barbed-wire fences. For a short time

it almost seemed, as if they would break through by sheer weight of

numbers. At that critical moment, however, our reserves

succeeded in executing a flanking movement. Surprised and

caught in a deadly cross-fire, the Russian line wavered and finally

they fled in disorder.

All these combined artillery, infantry, cavalry, and aeroplane attacks

had utterly failed in their object of dislodging our center or shaking

its position, each one being frustrated by the resourceful, cool

alertness of our commanding general and the splendid heroism and

stoicism of our troops. But the strain of the continuous fighting for

nearly the whole day without respite of any kind, or chance for food

or rest, in the end told on the power of endurance of our men, and

when the last attack had been successfully repulsed they lay mostly

prostrated on the ground, panting and exhausted. Our losses had

been very considerable too, stretcher-bearers being busy

administering first aid and carrying the wounded back to the nearest

field hospital, while many a brave man lay stark and still.

By eight o'clock it had grown perceptibly cooler. We now had time

to collect our impressions and look about us. The Russians had left

many dead on the field, and at the barbed-wire entanglements

which our sappers had constructed as an obstacle to their advance,

their bodies lay heaped upon each other, looking not unlike the

more innocent bundles of hay lying in the field. We could see the

small Red Cross parties in the field climbing over the horribly

grotesque tumuli of bodies, trying to disentangle the wounded from

the dead and administer first aid to them.