The great wooden shed was divided into a series of rooms where clean,
sweet-smelling hay and new-cut clover was piled deeply on the floor,
and here lay those too heavily wounded to be moved immediately to the
rear. All told, there remained but a few hundred, the great bulk, as
the General told me, having been cleared within eight hours after their
arrival, to be sent to the greater bases where more comforts awaited
them. Between the double rows of haggard creatures slowly strode the
General, stopping every few paces to speak to the wounded. The relation
of the Russian peasant to his superiors is extraordinary. Never is
there the slightest degree of self-consciousness or embarrassment on
the part of the soldiers, no matter how high or exalted be the rank of
the officer who addresses him.
Again and again soldiers whose haggard features and glazing eyes
denoted the serious nature of their wounds called to him in faltering
voices: "How goes the fight, Excellency?" or "Did we take the trench,
my General?" And always he would stop and reply, "All goes well, my
children. You have done superbly. I am proud of you. Go back now to the
rear and get well. You have behaved like heroes."
Another groaned audibly as he raised himself to ask: "Have more of my
brothers fallen than of the Austrians?" The General replied quickly,
raising his voice that all might hear: "For each one of you here, my
children, there are five Austrians to pay for it, so rest contented
that you have done your duty well."
One mere stripling, shot through the stomach, called to his Chief: "I
did my best, Excellency. I killed all I could," and then sank back,
groaning, on his bed of straw. And thus it went as we entered building
after building where lay the price of victory. One heavily wounded lad
called to the General, who immediately went to his side and listened to
the high, feverish voice tell of the assault, of capture, escape, and
a bullet through the abdomen. With the quick compassion characteristic
of the Russians, the General reached for his cigarette case and turned
its contents out into the hands of the soldier.
Among the wounded were numbers of Austrians, with pallid features,
lying side by side with the Russians, receiving the same kind words and
gentle treatment that are accorded to the Russians themselves.
During these assaults many of the wounds are from machine-gun bullets,
and a large portion of such are through the stomach or abdomen. Many,
I think, of such must die on the battlefield, for of those that die in
the hospitals later the bulk are of such a nature. Certainly they are
hideously painful, and the little murmuring sobs of the soldiers trying
to stifle their anguish are sad indeed to hear.
Outside under the trees was a row of stretchers, each reverently
covered with a white sheet. The General halted for a moment, as he
uncovered his head. "Our dead," he murmured reverently, and then
briskly, "Shall we move on?"
And thus, in the wonderful afterglow of a hot summer day, we strolled
with him and beheld the man in his changing moods--General, father of
his soldiers, mourner for his dead--each phase merging and emerging
from the other as the different sights we saw brought them out. As we
wandered casually homeward toward his quarters we passed a house before
which stood a sentry. It appeared that he was guarding an Austrian
captive officer. Instantly the General turned in and, entering the tiny
peasant room, greeted the officer, who proved to be a mere boy, in the
uniform of the lowest grade of commissioned officer. The General shook
him by the hand, chatted with him for a minute or two, and then again
shaking hands and saluting, said in German: "_Wohl, auf wiedersehen,
mein Freund. Glücklicher Reise_," and left the Austrian standing in the
dim twilight, with a look of wonder on his face. I daresay the Germans
never told him that the Russian officers were like this.