STORIES FROM THE BATTLEFIELDS.
During the Russian retreat to the Vistula it was necessary to destroy a bridge over which the Germans must pass. It had to be done at the moment of their crossing, and no body of men could be spared to remain behind for the purpose. A simple soldier, well aware that only a miracle could save him, offered to do the work alone. Breast deep in icy cold water, he placed the charges of dynamite beneath the bridge, but had no time to fix wires to the fuses and lead them away to a safe distance. Still in the water, he waited for the Germans; and when they were tramping across the bridge above his head, he fired the fuses, and the whole structure crashed into fragments. Strange to say, he escaped unhurt, and swam ashore miles down the stream. When he told his tale he simply added, "It wasn't meant for me to be killed just yet."
On another occasion four sappers with their officer were told off to blow up a bridge immediately the Russians had crossed it, and before the Germans, who were close on their heels, could reach it. There was no time to make the usual preparations. The officer handed out charges to the men, who fixed them to the bridge. Then he gave each of them a cigarette and took one himself. They lighted their cigarettes and lay down, each man close to his charge. "Mind, boys," said he, "that the cigarettes don't go out. Smoke quietly till the enemy reaches the bridge; then when I say 'One, two, three!' put them to the fuses and run if you can."
The men smoked quietly as they watched the Germans rushing down the bank towards the bridge; then, as the officer counted, "One, two, three," they placed their cigarettes to the fuses and ran for their lives to the Russian bank. In a few moments there was a loud explosion, and the bridge simply disappeared. The baffled Germans opened a furious fire, but to no purpose. Their path was blocked by a deep, rapid river.
Here is another story of heroism at a bridge. When the Russians were following up the Germans during their retreat from the Vistula, they reached a bridge across a tributary of the Warta. The fact that it was standing was clear proof that it was mined, and that sappers had been left behind to blow it up as soon as the Russians began to cross it. The rearguard of the Germans had trained guns on the bridge. A Russian engineer officer thought that it might be cleared of mines and preserved. He therefore called for volunteers to undertake the delicate and difficult task. Everyone of his Caucasian sappers volunteered, but he only chose those who had no parents alive.
It was ten o'clock at night, and quite dark, when the attempt was made. In the thick gloom the seven chosen men silently wormed their way on to the bridge. They groped about, and discovered that it was covered with planks nailed on to it in various directions. At once they guessed that the charges were laid under these planks. Almost noiselessly they removed the boards and the charges, and then cleared away every inch of the fuses round the woodwork under the bridge. To do this they had to hang down over the water, holding on with one hand and unfastening the interlacing fuses with the other. In some places they hung by their feet, head downwards, in order to have both hands free.
Their comrades waited breathlessly on the bank for a full hour, and then the seven men who had been working on the bridge reappeared and quietly said, "The way is clear." Thanks to their extraordinary skill and devotion, the bridge was now safe, and the Russians crossed without mishap.
The Grand Duke Nicholas, the Commander-in-chief of the Russian armies, is a man of the most fearless courage and the idol of his soldiers. A correspondent says: "During the terrific fighting to the north of the Radom-Ivangorod railway, the Grand Duke's motor car, marked by a blue and white flag, drove slowly down a road on which German shells were falling. The Siberians, with whom the Commander-in-chief is particularly popular, raised such a cheer that their comrades in the trenches imagined that a great victory had been won. The omen was fulfilled, for next day the Germans were driven along the Pilitza, and were obliged to abandon four guns. 'Big Nicholas' let down the roof of his motor car and praised the soldiers as 'Molodsti' (fine fellows)—the usual salutation of a general. A chorus of 'Radi staratsa' ('We are delighted to do our best') was the reply."
You will remember that there were very fierce struggles in the woods which lie to the west of the Vistula and to the north and south of the Radom-Ivangorod railway. A correspondent[160] thus describes the fighting in the woods, and their condition when the Germans had been driven out of them:—
"Day after day the Russians poured troops in on their side of the wood. These entered, were seen for a few minutes, then disappeared in the maze of trees, and were lost. Companies, regiments, battalions, and even brigades were quite cut off from each other. None knew what was going on anywhere but a few feet in front. All knew that the only thing required of them was to keep advancing. This they did, foot by foot and day after day, fighting each other hand to hand, taking, losing, and retaking position after position. In all of this ten kilometres[161] of forest I dare venture to say there is hardly an acre without its trenches, rifle pits, and graves.
"Here one sees where a dozen men had a little fort of their own, and fought furiously with the enemy a few feet away in a similar position. Day after day it went on, and day after day troops were poured into the Russian side of the wood, and day and night the continuous crack of rifle fire and the roar of artillery hurling shells into the wood could be heard for miles. . . . The forest looks as though a hurricane had swept through. Trees staggering from their shattered trunks, and limbs hanging everywhere, show where the shrapnel shells have been bursting. Yard by yard the ranks and lines of the enemy were driven back, but the nearer their retreat brought them to the open country west of the wood the hotter the contest became; for each man in his own mind must have known how they would fare when, once driven from the protecting forest, they attempted to retreat through the open country without shelter.
"The state of the last two kilometres of the wooded belt is hard to describe. There seems scarcely an acre that is not sown like the scene of a paper-chase; only the trail here consists of blood-stained bandages and bits of uniform. Here also there was small use for the artillery, and the rifle and the bayonet played the leading part. Men, fighting hand to hand with clubbed muskets and bayonets, fought from tree to tree and ditch to ditch. . . .
"But at last the day came when the dirty, grimy, blood-stained soldiers of the Tsar pushed their antagonists out of the far side of the belt of woodland. . . . Once out in the open, the hungry guns of the Russians got their chance. Down every road through the wood came the six-horse teams, with the guns jumping and jingling behind, with their accompanying caissons[162] heavy with shrapnel. The moment the enemy were in the clear, these batteries, eight guns to a unit, were unlimbered on the fringe of the wood, and were pouring out their death and destruction on the wretched enemy, now retreating hastily across the open."
The Russians, as perhaps you know, are a deeply religious people. A soldier thus tells us how he went into battle during an assault:—
"Our hearts were beating wildly. I felt a choking sensation in my throat, and my spirit boiled up within me. I heard myself shouting, and in my brain something was urging me to 'run, run' against the enemy. Some one in the front ranks began to sing the majestic hymn,
'O Lord, save Thy people.'
Before he had finished the first line the rear ranks have taken it up and continued it,
'And bless Thine heritage.'
The waves of the melody seem to dash against the faces of the enemy. At first only a few voices joined in the hymn. More and more began to sing. The whole column seemed to give forth one vast wave of sound. It seemed as though even the dying lying around joined in with their last breath. A dark-faced Jew lad who ran beside me joined in too. I saw his open mouth and heard his rich baritone voice. Death seemed to have no terror. We felt that our death was necessary, as is the death of the autumn leaves which fall from the trees to fertilize the soil for the future harvest."
You have heard of General Ruzsky, who commanded the army which wiped out the German troops across the Vistula, and then flung his legions across the stream to drive the enemy before him in rout. He was then a man of sixty years of age, with wrinkled brow, gray hair and moustache, and a stoop in his shoulders. In battle he exposed himself without fear, believing that his example would inspire his men. Not only was he famous as a fighter, but also as a student. At home, he lived a simple life in a small flat at Kiev.[163] He did not drink or smoke, and his spectacles gave him the look of a professor. Ruzsky drove about in a motor car with orange-coloured tyres, which caught the eyes of his soldiers and told them that their general was amongst them.
Siberian Cavalry crossing a River. Photo, Record Press.
Russian boys were very eager to go to the war, and some of them followed regiments to the front. A group of three rosy-cheeked schoolboys from Petrograd—Pete, Jack, and Eustace—carrying home-made pistols roughly carved out of chunks of wood, with cartridge cases for barrels and wire hooks for hammers, hung on to a detachment of Guards, and actually reached the war zone, but were caught by a policeman as they were hiding behind a railway embankment, cooking porridge at a fire. The policeman took them to the nearest officer, who asked,—
"Where did you get those weapons?"
"I made them," Jack explained. "I can cut one out in three hours."
"And why," inquired the officer, "have you a pistol without a barrel?"
"It flew off when I fired," replied Eustace.
The officer laughed, and the policeman searched the would-be-soldiers' pockets. He found in them some home-made gunpowder, a pipe-lighter, and a bottle containing some liquid. He discovered that the pipe-lighter was for the purpose of making a fire, and that the bottle contained spirit to put in the pipe-lighter. The boys had come prepared with everything for the campaign. To their great distress they were taken to the railway station and sent back to their parents. The Russian writer who tells the story thus concludes: "God grant, little children, that you may preserve the fire of your loyal little hearts till the day when you are men, and then Russia will have need of you."
You know that the Germans and Austrians made great efforts to win over the Poles by all sorts of lavish promises. Professor Bernard Pares, an Englishman with the Russian army, tells us that most of the Poles remained faithful to the Tsar, and that they were confident that he would set up their old kingdom again when he was victorious. "I saw at Kielce," he says, "ample evidence of the enthusiasm of the Poles for the Russian cause. They show the greatest courtesy and kindness to Russians, especially in the villages. I am told on good evidence that when a German soldier defaced a portrait of the Tsar, a Polish official struck him in the face, and for this was bound to a telegraph pole for two days, and then taken down and shot. . . . Yesterday the commander of a Russian army corps at Radom,[164] where the Germans had remained over a month, issued the following letter of thanks to the people of the town:—
"'Poles,—Our wounded officers and soldiers, and also our prisoners who had fallen into the hands of the enemy, and had passed through the town or province of Radom, speak with deep gratitude of your cordial treatment of them. You have tended the wounded, fed the starving, and clothed and sheltered from the enemy those escaping from captivity. You have given them money and guided them to our lines. Accept from me, and from all ranks of the Army entrusted to me, warm and hearty thanks for all your kindness, for your Slavonic sympathy and goodness.'"
A correspondent thus describes the touching spectacle which was to be seen every day at the Sacred Gate of Vilna,[165] when the fate of Warsaw was hanging in the balance: "Above the gateway is a chapel with wide open doors showing a richly-gilded and flower-decked image of the Virgin. At one side stands a row of leaden organ pipes, at the other stands a priest. Music is wafted through the air with incense and the sound of prayers. Down below in the narrow, muddy roadway kneel many poor men and women with prayer-books in their hands. They are Poles. But through the gateway come incessantly, all day and all night, Russian troops going to the front. And every soldier or officer as he comes lifts his hat and passes through the praying throng uncovered. This is beautiful. Let Russia always be so in the presence of the Mother of Poland."
The following story illustrates the doggedness of the Russian soldier. "A detachment of twenty Russian cavalry met a hundred of the enemy's horsemen, and, being so greatly outnumbered, decided to beat a retreat. One of the Russians, however, was slightly wounded, and thrown from his horse. As he lay on the ground he took up his rifle and began to pick off the Germans who were pursuing his comrades. His shooting was so good that he killed three of them. Peasants came up and offered to carry him to a place of safety; but he said, 'No, I will not hide from Germans,' and went on firing. Meanwhile the enemy, suspecting an ambush, gave up the chase. When they returned and found that they had been foiled by a single man they at once finished him off. He died happy, knowing that he had by his self-sacrifice secured the safety of his comrades."
Here is a grim story which illustrates the splendid patience and uncomplaining endurance of the Russian wounded:—
"A tall, thin soldier stopped near. 'You are wounded, old chap?' inquired the general.
"'Yes, sir,' the man replied, not recognizing the general in the gloom. 'How do I get to the hospital?'
"'You ought first to find your regiment, and give up your rifle and cartridges. But can you get there? where are you wounded?'
"The soldier threw open his cloak, and the general examined him with a pocket electric torch. The entire shirt and the inner part of the cloak on the breast were soaked with black blood. One knew that underneath was an enormous gaping wound. The soldier stood erect, slightly supporting himself on his rifle.
"'Go to the hospital,' said the general. Then he turned to me. 'You saw? That is what they are like, and all are the same.'"
Professor Pares gives us the following picture of the Russian soldiers on the march:—"We travelled in the midst of troops all hurrying forward to participate in the taking of Kielce. They moved slowly along the road in straggling groups like an enormous family on its way to a huge picnic; but the unit of each regiment is never lost, and all meet at 'the appointed place.' When they come to a barrier in the road they show great readiness and resource in removing it, and all work together like brothers. Any number of men run up from their loose ranks to push a motor or cart or transport wagon over a marshy stream, and those who are so assisted call back, 'Thank you, brothers.' It is like a current that slows up and takes thought against some barrier, but whose general movement seems not even to be checked. Some of the side-tracks looked very bad indeed, but every one somehow got through, no matter what the size of their carriage. Often at such points there were companies that rested along the grassy banks of the road; in other places one saw by the side large numbers of gray transport wagons. Those carrying straw for the bivouacs were in front; sometimes one came upon a resting battery. The brotherhood between officers and men is another notable feature of the march of a Russian army."
"The next day we returned to Radom, occupying seats in the motor of a Russian general. The great stream of troops was still flowing on. There were troops of all kinds. We called to ask the names of each regiment, which they always gave in a kind of jovial chorus. There were food transports, field kitchens, pontoons, and, not least important, the post. At one point we saw a large body of Austrian prisoners sitting by a wood drinking water with their very small escort. These men helped some of our motors over difficult places. The great current of men and wagons still flowed on. Teams of white horses which, because they can be so clearly seen, are only allowed to serve in the transport, were dashing through mud and water with an ardour as great as though they were on the field of battle. At one place a bread wagon dropped all its cargo and turned over on its side; but horse and driver, evidently not noticing, carried it on into the stream without checking the pace, one wheel flying in the air and the other broken beneath the wagon.
"Our general spoke frequently with the men, who helped us in getting our motor over difficult places. When the trouble was over he said heartily, 'Once more, thank you, brothers.' Nothing will remain with me longer than these endless, irregular lines of big, sleepy, almost stupid-looking men, moving at a walk which might last for ever, and all in one direction, and all with set eyes—the people that lies down to sleep at the roadside, that breakfasts off stale biscuit soaked in water, that carries nothing but what it can put to a hundred uses, that will crouch for days without food in flooded trenches, that can die like flies for an idea, and is sure sooner or later to attain it—the people that never complains, the people of brothers."