In the case of the Russian losses it is somewhat easier to arrive at fairly accurate figures, at least as far as their losses through capture are concerned. For the official German figures in this respect go into great detail and undoubtedly may be accepted as generally correct. During the early part of the war when the Russians were fighting along the border and on East Prussian territory they lost 15,000 officers and men by capture, at Tannenberg 90,000, and immediately afterward in the Lake district 30,000 more. In October, 1914, fighting in the province of Suwalki, during Hindenburg's advance to the Niemen and his retreat, he captured 10,000, and by November 1, 1914, there were according to the official German count 3,121 officers and 186,797 men in German prison camps. By January 1, 1915, this number had increased to 3,575 and 306,294 respectively, and by the middle of February the total in round numbers must have been at least 400,000. That this is approximately correct is proven by the statement of the Geneva Red Cross published in the "Journal de Genève," which gives the total of Russian prisoners in the hands of the Central Powers by the end of February as 769,500. According to the same source the Russians had lost by that time in killed 743,000 and in totally disabled 421,500, while their slightly wounded—those who finally returned again to the active forces—reached the huge total of 1,490,000. These figures again are for the entire Russian forces, those fighting against German as well as Austro-Hungarian forces. Just what proportion should be assigned to the Russian forces fighting against the Germans is rather problematical. For while these were fighting on a much larger front than those who had been thrown against Galicia and the Bukowina, the latter were comparatively much more numerous and, therefore, probably suffered proportionately larger losses. Some of the losses also occurred in the fighting against Turkey. However, we will be fairly safe—most likely shooting below rather than above the mark—in estimating one-half of all these losses as having been incurred on the Russo-German front. This, then, would give us for the period of August 1, 1914, to February 15, 1915, the following total Russian losses in their fighting against the German forces: Killed, 371,500; totally disabled, 210,750; captured, 384,750, a grand total of 967,000, or about twice as much as the German losses.
Even these figures, without any further comment, are sufficient to indicate the terrible carnage and suffering that was inflicted on the manhood of the countries involved. But if we consider that every man killed, wounded or captured, after all, was only a small part of a very large circle made up of his family—in most cases dependent on him for support—and of his friends, even the most vivid imagination fails to give proper expression in words of the sum total of unfathomable misery, broken hearts, spoiled lives, and destroyed hopes that are represented in these cold figures.
At various points in this history we have had occasion to speak of the various generals, both Russian and German, who were directing these vast armies, the greatest numerically and the most advanced technically which mankind has ever seen assembled in its entire history. To go into details concerning the hundreds of military geniuses which found occasion to display the fruits of their training and talent would be impossible. But on each side there was among all these leaders one supreme leader on whose ability and decision depended not only the results of certain battles, but the lives of their millions of soldiers—yes, even the fate of millions upon millions of men, women and children. The Russians had intrusted their destiny to a member of their reigning family, an uncle of the czar, Grand Duke Nicholas, while the Germans had found their savior in the person of a retired general, practically unknown previous to the outbreak of the war, Paul von Hindenburg. Each had been put in supreme command, although the former's burden was even greater than that of the latter, including not only the Russian forces fighting against the Germans, but also those fighting against the Austro-Hungarians. On both, however, depended so much that it will be well worth while to devote a short space of time to gain a more intimate knowledge of their appearance, character and surroundings. We will spend, therefore, a day each at the headquarters of these two men by following the observations which some well-known war correspondents made during their visits at these places.
The war correspondent of the London "Times" had occasion during his travels with the Russian armies to make the following observations: "Modern war has lost all romance. The picturesque sights, formerly so dear to the heart of the journalist, have disappeared. War now has become an immense business enterprise, and the guiding genius is not to be found on the firing line, any more than the president of a great railroad would put on overalls and take his place in an engine cab. Here in Russia the greatest army which ever met on a battle field has been assembled under the command of one individual, and the entire complicated mechanism of this huge organization has its center in a hidden spot on the plains of West Russia. It is a lovely region which shows few signs of war. In a small forest of poplars and pines a number of tracks has been laid which connect with the main line, and here live quietly and peacefully some hundreds of men who form the Russian General Staff. A few throbbing autos rushing hither and thither and a troop of about 100 Cossacks are apparently the only features which do not belong to the everyday life of the small village which is the nearest regular railroad station. Many hundreds of miles away from this picture of tranquillity is stretched out the tremendous chain of the Russian front, each point of which is connected with this string of railroad cars by telegraph. Here, separated from the chaos of battle, uninfluenced by the confusion of armed masses, the brain of the army is able to gain a clear and free view of the entire theatre of war which would only be obscured by closer proximity."
Another, a French correspondent, says: "Whatever happens anywhere, from the Baltic Sea to the Carpathian Mountains, is known immediately in the big blue railroad cars whose walls are covered with maps. Telegraph and telephone report the most minute occurrence. Should the commander in chief desire to inspect a position or to consult personally with one of the commanding generals there is always an engine ready with steam up. Headquarters suddenly rolls off; and, after two or three days, it returns noiselessly, with its archives, its general staff, its restaurant, and its electric plant. The Grand Duke rules with an iron fist. Champagne and liquor is taboo throughout the war zone, and even the officers of the general staff get nothing except a little red wine. Woe to anyone who sins against this order, here or anywhere else at the front. The iron fist of the Grand Duke hits, if necessary, even the greatest, the most famous. At a near-by table I recognize an officer in plain khaki, Grand Duke Cyril. The proud face and the powerful figure of the commander in chief, Grand Duke Nicholas, is sometimes to be seen in this severe room. Shyly one approaches the chief commander upon whose shoulders rests all the responsibility; and the attitude of the man who has been chosen to lead the Russian armies to victory does not encourage familiarity. Next to him I notice Janushkewitch, the Chief of the Great General Staff, with the gentle, almost youthful face of a thinker. But everything is ruled by the personality of the Grand Duke, which, with its mixture of will power and of gracious majesty, is most captivating."
Let us now rush across space and follow still another war correspondent, this time a representative of the German press, to the headquarters of the German armies: "Field Marshal von Hindenburg has an impressive appearance. With his erect, truly military carriage he makes a picture of strength and health. With him appears a very young-looking general who cannot be older than fifty years. A high forehead, clear blue eyes, a powerful aquiline nose, an energetic mouth, a face—in one word—which would be striking even if the man, to whom it belongs, would not be wearing a general's uniform and the insignia of the order 'Pour le mérite'—one knows that one is face to face with the chief of the General Staff, Ludendorff. The Field Marshal greets his guest with charming friendliness, leads the way to the table and offers him the seat to his right. During the simple evening meal he rises and offers the toast: 'The German Fatherland!' Around the table are about ten officers, among them Captain Fleischmann von Theissruck of the Austrian army, who represents the Austrian General Staff. The Field Marshal mentions a letter which he received from some one entirely unknown to him in which the writer reproaches him most severely because some Cossacks had entered some small town on the border. 'That will happen again and again,' he says, 'and cannot be avoided. I cannot draw up my troops along the entire border, man by man, like a quarantine guard. To gather forces quickly again and again and to beat the Russians again and again, that is the best way to make them disgusted with their stay at the German border.' Then he relates some details about the battle of Tannenberg. He does not tire of entertaining his guest with interesting details about the fighting. He mentions the vast number of presents which have been sent to him by his numerous admirers. 'It is touching how good people are to me. A great many of their gifts are very welcome—but what shall I do with framed pictures while I am in the field? What shall I do after the war is over? Nothing. I'll go back to Hanover. There are lots of younger men [pointing to Ludendorff and the others] who want their chance, too. With my years, there is nothing more beautiful than to retire after one's work has been done and to make room for the younger generation.'"
Apparently the men at the "helm of the ship" lead a life of comparative ease and security. But if we consider the fearful responsibilities that they have to carry and the tremendous mental strain under which they are continuously, we can readily see that their lot is not to be envied. Of course, their rewards are equally great if they are successful. But what if they fail? At any rate they, as well as the troops who fight under them, have the glamour of fighting, the promise of glory, the sense of duty well done, to sustain them. But what of those others, equally or even more numerous, on whose fields and forests, in whose streets and market places, around whose houses and churches the battles rage and the guns roar? What of the women and children, the sick and the old, whose fathers, husbands and sons are doing the fighting or, perhaps, have already laid down their lives upon the altar of patriotism? What is there left for them to do when they see their houses go up in flames, their few belongings reduced to ashes, their crops destroyed and even their very lives threatened with death and sometimes—worse yet—with dishonor?
All this and more, millions upon millions of Russians and Germans, rich and poor alike, had to suffer most cruelly. And on the eastern front this suffering in a way, perhaps, was even more severe than in the west. For there the actual fighting, while extending over an equally long front, was much more concentrated, and after the first few months did not move forward and backward; and existence, except in the immediate vicinity of the firing line, was at least possible, even if dangerous and precarious. But in the east thousands upon thousands of square miles in East Prussia, in West Russia, and especially in Poland, the fighting passed in ever advancing and retreating waves as the surf rolls along the beach, and soon gunfire and marching millions of armed men had leveled the country almost as smoothly as the waves of the ocean grind the sand.
In East Prussia the devastation wrought by the Russians, some through wanton lust for destruction and in unreasoning hate for the enemy, but mostly through the pressure of military necessity, was terrible, especially east of the Mazurian Lakes and south of the Niemen. But there, at least, the poor inhabitants had the consolation of being able to return to their destroyed homes after the Russians had been finally driven out and to begin to build up again what war had destroyed, and in this they had the help and support of their highly organized government and their more fortunate compatriots from the interior.
In Poland, however, especially in the rural districts, even that consolation was lacking. For after German and Russian armies alike had passed over the country again and again, not only destroying values that it had taken centuries to build up, but on account of the huge masses concerned frequently denuding the entire countryside of absolutely every means of sustenance, the final result was occupation by the enemy. And even if that enemy, true to his inherent love of order and to his talent for organization, immediately proceeded to establish a well-regulated temporary government, at the best his efforts would have to be restricted; for he had not much to spare, neither in men to do the work needed, nor in means to finance it, nor even in food to give sustenance to those who had lost everything.