[Special Cable to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
IN BELGIUM, Dec. 12, (Dispatch to The London Daily News.)--Fighting of
an exceedingly desperate character has been taking place during the
latter portion of the week along the line which extends between the Yser
and the Lys. Success has attended the efforts of both Germans and French
in turn; but the losses of the enemy have been by far the greater, and
the French have in places gained a slight advantage. This is
particularly noteworthy when it is considered that the Germans on
Thursday especially attacked in overwhelming force time after time.
Their movement was concentrated on a zigzag line of trenches not far
from the village of Dichebusch, which, as it happened, was not
particularly strongly held by the French.
A terrific prelude to the attack was made by the German artillery, which
concentrated a furious shrapnel fire upon the French position. At this
point the trenches of the Germans were only seventy yards from the
French, and for fear of hitting their own men the German guns were aimed
fairly high, so that the Frenchmen in the rear trenches suffered most
heavily. Those in the front trench huddled against its sides while the
storm of shot and shell raged over them. There was nothing else for them
to do at the moment, and, as it proved, it was extremely fortunate for
the Allies that the German guns spared these men.
The French seventy-fives raked the German batteries in answer, and
things were going hot and strong when the German infantrymen suddenly
became active. From their trenches seventy yards away a shower of hand
grenades came bowling over toward the first French trench. Many of them
fell short, and few did any damage; but hardly had this second plague
come to an end when out from the trenches climbed a swarm of Germans
rushing furiously toward the Frenchmen. At last the men in that first
trench had something to do. They jumped to their loopholes and blazed
magazine fire into this raging, tearing attack. Every bullet seemed to
find its mark; it could hardly have done otherwise at such a range.
The advance line wavered, stumbled over prostrate parts of itself, and
then swept onward again. There was no time for the Frenchmen to reload
their rifles; besides they did not want to do so. They simply climbed
out of the trenches and met the Germans with the bayonet. The German
guns were still roaring to prevent the arrival of French reinforcements;
but the reinforcements came quickly, suffering heavily in coming.
The few Frenchmen still struggled sturdily with their enemies, who
outnumbered them three to one, and eventually the Germans who survived
the attack turned and bolted back to their trenches, with the Frenchmen,
seeing red, at their heels.
It was as furious a fifteen minutes as could be conceived. The No Man's
Land between the trenches was heaped with men tangled and twisted in
death or writhing with wounds which unmercifully let them live. Neither
side dared venture across to aid these sufferers, so they were left in
their agony.
But this one desperate charge did not end the day's work. The French
mortars thumped away incessantly, and showers of hand grenades were
exchanged. One more attack was made by the Germans in daylight, with a
like result. The ground was piled high in places with bodies. Then,
when night had fallen, yet another attack was made. One mighty mass of
Germans came charging over the narrow space. By sheer weight of numbers
they overwhelmed the French and took the trench for which they had paid
such a ghastly price. They held it only for a few hours. By converging
on it from three points at once the French retook it soon after
midnight.
On Friday morning a wonderful French bayonet charge at length drove out
the Germans, who had fought most gallantly and stubbornly throughout the
day and during the night, and the terrible morning which followed. The
Red Cross workers were busy without ceasing; but many men had bled to
death, lacking surgical aid, in that strip of ground between the
trenches.
This is the kind of warfare which is going to be waged in this seemingly
inevitable battle between the two rivers. It may last as long as the
battle of the Yser or the Aisne, and we may wait day after day again for
the verdict. If the Allies can press forward just three or four miles
before the year is out they will have done extraordinarily well.
Hereabout the German artillery is in greater strength than anywhere else
along the whole line of battle.
Progress will undoubtedly be slow because the Germans have taken such
tremendous pains to pave (in a literal sense) with concrete trenches the
way of retreat. British airmen report line upon line of intrenchments
where the Germans have defensively furrowed the land behind them for
miles. As the Allies advance--and they indubitably will advance--these
trenches will in turn be stubbornly defended. It is going to be, I am
afraid, a long, weary, and bloody business. Those in England who
sometimes complain at the absence of decisive victories may have to wait
a long time yet before it can be said that the Germans are in full
retreat; for full retreat is the very thing they have guarded against
most carefully.
In the semi-circle of slaughter around Ypres the trenches of the Allies
and the Germans are at nearly all points extraordinarily close together.
This means an immense strain on the men. They remain for hours together
in cramped, unnatural positions, knowing from experience that an unwise
move will bring a bullet from crack marksmen told off to snipe them.
This close proximity of the rival forces confounds all the theories of
the military writers of the past. According to the army textbooks this
war is being conducted in a grossly unprofessional manner. For bringing
his men so close to the enemy many a young company commander has
received a severe dressing down on manoeuvres.
Of course under such circumstances abuse and badinage is continually
being bandied across the intervening spaces between the trenches, and
the quick-witted Frenchmen generally get the better of it in the war of
words.
One of them, who came back from the Ypres neighborhood a few days ago,
told me a delightful story of a practical joke played upon the Germans,
who were entrenched only about thirty or forty yards away from his
platoon. One bright spirit was lecturing the enemy and making
dialectical rings round them.
"Hola, bosches," he cried, "your Kaiser is very brave, isn't he? He
wears the Iron Cross, but he doesn't come into your trenches. Tomorrow
M. Poincaré, our President, will visit us. He does not wear an Iron
Cross, but he isn't afraid."
On the morrow the Germans saw a top hat come bobbing and bowing along
the French trench and heard loud cries of "Vive le President!" Time
after time they riddled that top hat with bullets, and still it went
bobbing along until the French took it off the spade handle, threw it
into the air and howled in derision.