Paris, June 2.—This is a story about what, in the minds of the French military authorities, ranks as the greatest battle of the war in the western theatre of operations, excepting the battle of the Marne, which has already taken its place among the decisive battles of the world's history. This battle is still raging, although its first stages have been definitely settled in favor of the French, who are continuing their progress with less and less opposition.
So far the battle has received no name. The French official communiqués laconically refer to it as "operations in the section north of Arras."
I cannot minutely describe the conflict; no one can do that at this stage. I can, however, write about it and tell what I have seen these past few days when the Ministry of War authorized me to accompany a special mission there, to which I was the only foreigner accredited. I purpose to call this struggle the battle of the Labyrinth, for "labyrinth" is the name applied to the vast system of intrenchments all through that region, and from which the Germans are being literally blasted almost foot by foot by an extravagant use of French melinite.
There have been successive chapters by different writers describing and disposing of as finished—though it is not finished—still another battle which, from the English point of view, takes top rank, namely, the battle of Ypres. While a British defeat at Ypres might mean the loss of Dunkirk and possibly of Calais, a French defeat at the Labyrinth would allow the Germans to sweep clear across Northern France, cutting all communication with England.
The battle of the Labyrinth really began last October, when General de Maud-Huy stopped the Prussian Guard before Arras with his motley array of tired Territorials, whom he gathered together in a mighty rush northward after the battle of the Marne. The crack Guards regiments afterward took on the job at Ypres, while the Crown Prince of Bavaria assumed the vain task of attempting to break the more southward passage to the sea.
All the Winter de Maud-Huy worried him, not seeking to make a big advance, but contenting himself with the record of never having lost a single trench. With the return of warm weather, just after the big French advance in Champagne, this sector was chosen by Joffre as the place in which to take the heart out of his enemy by the delivery of a mighty blow.
The Germans probably thought that the French intended to concentrate in the Vosges, as next door to Champagne; so they carted all their poison gases there and to Ypres, where their ambition still maintains ascendency over their good sense. But where the Germans think Joffre is likely to strike is usually the place furthest from his thoughts. Activities in the Arras sector were begun under the personal command of the Commander in Chief, who was still personally directing operations during my visit only two days ago.
I doubt whether, until the war is over, it will be possible adequately to describe the battle, or rather, the series of battles extending along this particular front of about fifty miles. "Labyrinth" certainly is the fittest word to call it. I always had a fairly accurate sense of direction; but, standing in many places in this giant battlefield, it was impossible for me to say where were the Germans and where the French, so completely was I turned around on account of the constant zigzag of the trench lines. Sometimes, when I was positive that a furious cannonade coming from a certain position was German, it turned out to be French. At other times, when I thought I was safely going in the direction of the French, I was hauled back by officers, who told me I was heading directly into the German line of fire. I sometimes felt that the German lines were on three sides, and often I was quite correct. On the other hand, the French lines often almost completely surrounded the German positions.
One could not tell from the nearness of the artillery fire whether it was from friend or foe. Artillery makes three different noises; first, the sharp report followed by detonations like thunder, when the shell first leaves the gun; second, the rushing sound of the shell passing high overhead; third, the shrill whistle, followed by the crash when it finally explodes. In the Labyrinth the detonations which usually indicated the French fire might be from the German batteries stationed quite near us, but where they could not get the range on us, and firing at a section of the French lines some miles away. I finally determined that when a battery fired fast it was French; for the German fire is becoming more intermittent every day.
I shall attempt to give some idea of what this fighting looks like. Late one afternoon, coming out of a trench into a green meadow, I suddenly found myself planted against a mudbank made of the dirt taken from the trenches. We were just at the crest of a hill. In khaki clothes I was of the same color as the mudbank; so an officer told me I was in a fairly safe position.