By Perceval Gibbon.
[Special Cable to THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
Zyrddow, Poland, Received in London Jan. 19.--There is a spot above
the river which must not be indicated too explicitly, but whose name
signifies in Russian the place of tombs. It is thus christened by the
troops who camp in a great forest which shadows the whole position. It
is a point at which the new German plan of thrusting toward the
railway instead of as hitherto toward the road has produced fighting
of more than Homeric quality.
The Russians, who never misjudge the value of ground, were established
here in well-made trenches, with the shelter of the forest at their
backs for reserves and supports. Upon this iron front the Germans
spent themselves in fruitless attacks, incurring crippling losses. It
was only after repeated and disastrous failure of these tactics that
they began a different method of approach.
Here, as everywhere else, they have a large amount of artillery, and
under incessant shell fire they proceeded to sap their way toward the
Russian trenches. Incidentally they expended shells enough to last an
army through the whole of a small war, and where formerly six acres of
trees projected from the main forest there are now no trees at all.
The parapet of their trench is only thirty-five paces from the Russian
parapet, and the men crouching behind their shelter can hear the
voices of their enemies. None dare lift head or hand to even the
loopholes on the breastworks, since the worst shot in the world can
send bullet after bullet through any loophole at that distance. The
Russians are able to throw hand grenades, with which their trenches
are supplied, clear into the German trenches, while the German
shelling has had to cease since their own men are in equal danger from
any shell aimed at the Russian trenches.
I rode down through the forest in an effort to reach one of the
trenches two nights ago, passing from the pale shine of the snow upon
the bare fields to sheer darkness. I found the staff established in a
spacious dugout some 400 yards behind the actual first line. Here, as
always, was a straw-padded, candle-lit interior, with an orderly
waiting, with telephone to ear, and all those rough-and-ready
contrivances by which men live who have death forever at their elbow.
Here, too, their faces disguised by weeks of beard and grimed with the
smirch of war, were burly Russian officers, those adequate and quietly
confident men who are the strength and inspiration of the Russian
Army.
In all the gloom, where all life was balanced on a hair, one thing was
steadfast and cordial, and that was the unshaken assurance of these
cheerful, expert fighting men in their power to hold the Germans and
presently to resume the offensive, to which each one of them looks
forward, and advance at last toward the frontier of Germany. None
underestimates the enemy. They criticise him in a spirit of absolute
professional impartiality, admiring quite frankly the organization and
courage of the German infantry, but condemning the artillery and
pooh-poohing the cavalry.
Yesterday morning the Germans renewed their bombardment of the
positions at Radziwillow, where the fine Russian trench is practically
impregnable, and has already cost them huge losses in their attempts
to assault it.
I had an illustration of their lack of system in artillery fire while
returning along the rear of this position. Their shells sailed up
across the woods to the south of the railway, bursting on an empty
stretch of fields about a thousand yards away, and turned seven or
eight hundred acres of virgin snow into an inferno of smoke and torn
earth, but no single shell fell nearer than a thousand yards to any
living soul.
During the last day or two I have seen a change in the nature of the
fighting on this front. The German procedure has no longer its old
character of desperate decision but has become more desultory and
their pressure flickers up and down the line as though in a panic of
effort to find some point at which the defense is weak.
I learned here from prisoners that the Germans lately have been
celebrating victories. Berlin and other cities are said to be gay with
flags, and Gen. von Hindenburg has been acclaimed as a national hero.
I can only keep my eyes on the small portion of the long front limited
by Socahczew on the north and Msczonow on the south, but in regard to
this region I can offer my personal testimony that at no point have
the Germans gained anything in the nature of a success nor made any
attack which has not been immensely more costly in lives to them than
to the Russians.