An American doctor who offered his services to Russia because "Russia stuck to us during the Civil War," tells us that though the Germans are better rifle shots than the Russians, they cannot compare with the Tsar's soldiers when it comes to the bayonet. "When these moujiks,"[25] said the doctor, "climb out of their trenches and begin to sing their national songs they just go crazy, and they aren't scared of anything; and believe me, when the Germans see them coming across the fields bellowing these songs of theirs, they just don't wait one minute, but dig right out across the landscape as fast as they can tear. I don't think there's a soldier in the world that has anything on the Russian private for bravery. They are a stubborn lot, too, and will sit in trenches in all weathers, and be just as cheerful under one condition as another. One big advantage over here, as I regard it, is the good relations between the soldiers and their officers."
Mr. Washburn tells us[26] how the colonel of a Russian battery "had a great laugh on the enemy. What happened was this. A German Taube flew over the line several times, and it kept coming back so frequently, and hovering over the battery, that the officers who were watching it became suspicious that they had been 'spotted.' When darkness fell the men of the battery became extremely busy, and by working like bees moved their guns perhaps 600 yards to the south, and by daylight had them in the new positions and fairly well masked. Shortly after sunrise back came the aeroplane, and when over the old position it gave a signal to its own lines and then flew back. Almost instantly shells fell fast and thick on the abandoned spot. Six hundred yards away the men of the battery watched the shells falling, and laughed their sides out at the way they had fooled the Germans. . . . From glancing at the field torn up with shell fire one begins to realize what observation means to the enemy. With modern methods a single signal from an aeroplane may mean the wiping out in a few minutes of an unsuspecting battery that has been safely hidden for months."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BATTLE OF NEUVE CHAPELLE.
We now return to the sodden plains of Flanders, where the torn and slashed fields, the riven woods, and the tattered hedgerows are beginning to don the livery of spring. Men looking out of their trenches are gladdened by the pale sunshine, the tender green of the young leaves, the songs of the birds, the patches of blue in the showery sky, and the early flowers that coyly peep out amidst the grass. These signs, which in the happy days of peace foretell the manifold delights of summer, have no such meaning for the men in the trenches; yet they are welcome, for they indicate that the long inactivity of the winter is drawing to a close. The day will soon arrive when the soiled and battered men who have watched each other so long from muddy holes in the ground will come to close grips again. Fierce, relentless warfare will begin once more; with what result only the future can tell. One thing is certain—many of those who now watch the miracle of spring will never see the glory of summer.
The month of March has come. The trenches are in much the same position as they were in the preceding November. The gains and losses of the last five months have been trifling. But amongst the Allies there is a feeling that their day has at last arrived. Especially strong is this belief in the British lines. New troops are crossing the narrow seas every day; the Canadians and many Territorial divisions are in the field, and before the month is over there are half a million Britons on French and Flemish soil. Never before have we arrayed such a mighty army. It is fifty-five times as great as that with which King Harry charged the French at Agincourt, twelve times as great as that with which Wellington won victories in the Peninsula, twenty-five times as great as the British part of the mixed army with which he made an end of Napoleon at Waterloo, and twice as great as that which brought the South African War to a close. Four months ago the little British army had barely been able to beat off the fierce attacks of an overwhelming enemy. By miracles of valour alone had our much-tried soldiers been able to stem the torrent in the first onset of its fury. Now, for every man who kept the gate at La Bassée and Ypres there are four. Britons and Germans have now changed parts. It is ours to attack, theirs to defend.
By the middle of February our General Staff felt itself strong enough to take the offensive. In Chapter IX. I told you how the French in Champagne had punctured the German line by means of an intense bombardment of the opposing trenches. We were now ready to make a similar attempt. If you look at the map on page [132], you will see a thick black line showing the position of our trenches about midway between La Bassée and Estaires. In front of the village of Neuve Chapelle this line makes a distinct sag to the westward. It was upon this section of the line that we meant to operate, and we hoped that we might not only capture the village and straighten out our line, but push the Germans off the Aubers ridge, from which coign of vantage the La Bassée-Lille railway line could be commanded. If fortune were kind, we might even reach Lille itself.