If von Hindenburg could force the river at Josefov, and cut the railway at Lublin, while his northern columns seized Warsaw, the Russians would be in a bad way. They would have to retreat from the line of the Vistula, and for months to come would be unable to take the offensive in Poland. The German plan was excellent if only it could have been carried out secretly. The Russian cavalry, however, soon let the Grand Duke Nicholas know that the German columns were advancing, and he was clever enough to guess exactly what von Hindenburg was trying to do. He knew that if his armies remained to the west of the Vistula they would be badly supplied with food and munitions, because the railways of the Polish plain are few and far between, and also because his forces might easily be divided by the German centre, one column of which was pushing along the north bank of the broad, muddy river Pilitza. He determined to risk nothing, and leaving a screen of light horse west of the river to keep in touch with the enemy, ordered the rest of his forces to fall back behind the San and the Vistula. The march on Cracow had, therefore, to be abandoned; the grip on Przemysl to be loosened; and the Russian army in Galicia brought back for fifty miles, as you have already heard.
All Russian Poland west of the Vistula was thus given up to the enemy. The Russians have always had the courage to retreat when the way of safety lies to the rear, but they only recoil for a stronger and fiercer leap forward. They were not greatly disturbed even when the German centre entered Lodz, the Manchester of Poland. The capture of this great industrial city was, of course, a great loss to Russia, but an attempt to hold it would have resulted in disaster. Nor were they dismayed when the German right centre, pushing through Radom, reached the Vistula below Ivangorod, and began to cross.
The German advance was slow, but it was very thorough. As the columns proceeded eastwards they felled whole forests to form corduroy roads by which their guns could cross the marshes. Even the gauge of the railway from Kalisz by way of Lodz to Warsaw was altered so that German rolling stock could be used. They advanced as though they intended to occupy the country for all time.
They were full of confidence. Captured Poles had told them that the Grand Duke did not intend to defend Warsaw, and that he meant to give up the valley of the Vistula. German aviators reported that they had seen troop trains moving from the capital and from Ivangorod eastwards. Van Hindenburg was completely misled, and began to dream of a new Tannenberg.[155]
By 15th October the Germans were attacking the line of the Vistula in force. An attempt was made to cross the river between Ivangorod and Warsaw. Raft after raft crossed the stream, and soon two battalions of infantry were drawn up on the eastern bank waiting for their fellows to arrive. Suddenly from the woods and coppices the Russians sprang forward in overwhelming numbers. The two battalions were wiped out, and the crowded rafts on the river disappeared as the Russian shells crashed down upon them. A strong assault on the bridgehead at Ivangorod met with the same terrible fate. A pontoon bridge was thrown across the stream, but when it was thick with marching men, shrapnel began to burst above it. The river ran red with blood, and the stream was choked with corpses.
These two attempts to cross the river were but feints. The real attempt, as we know, was being made at Josefov, where the river narrows. The eastern shore seemed to be held lightly; there was no sign of the enemy, and a large German force with guns crossed the river by means of pontoons, and pushed on towards the railway from Ivangorod to Lublin, fully believing that it had turned the Russian left. Then came a rude awakening. On 21st October General Ruzsky fell upon them at a village in the midst of swampy flats, eight miles from Novo Alexandra. The Russians plied the bayonet with deadly effect, and few Germans escaped to tell the tale. Next day Ruzsky was over the river, driving the Germans before him.
He counter-attacked both north and south of Ivangorod, and thus was able to cut off the German centre and left from the German right. The invaders were now in two groups, theone to the north and the other to the south of the Pilitza. Advancing with great spirit, the Russians thrust the enemy out of the open country near the river into the great spruce woods which extend westwards for ten miles. Countless hand-to-hand engagements took place in their marshes and forest glades. The slaughter was terrible. At a village north of the railway between Radom and Ivangorod, the Russians buried 16,000 dead, their own and the enemy's. When the tide of war had rolled by, the forest seemed as though it had been swept by a hurricane. The Germans were forced into the open country beyond the woods, and as they emerged the Russian guns caught them and mowed them down in thousands.
The Germans fought desperately, but every attempt to make a stand was crushed, and the remnants were forced back. By the 25th they were at Radom, and the Crown Prince, who had been waiting to enter Ivangorod in triumph, boarded the train which was waiting with steam up, and hurried westwards into safety. The Russians gave the retreating enemy no rest day or night. Near Kielce[156]they stood at bay. The strongest position in their line was a graveyard, with a little white church in the middle. The Caucasians[157]poured like a torrent over the wall and seized the gate, which was the only outlet. In the darkness, amidst the graves, men fought with clubbed muskets and cold steel until the ground was literally soaked with blood. Ringed round by foes, the Germans and Austrians strove with the fury of despair, but they were no match for the Caucasians. The enemy's loss was very heavy, and 12,000 prisoners and fifty guns were taken. At one o'clock on 4th November the Russians, horse, foot, and artillery, poured into Kielce. Meanwhile the extreme left of the Russians had won Sandomir[158]after storming a triple line of defences, and the routed enemy was flying south-west towards Cracow.
Meanwhile, what was happening at Warsaw? The coming of the enemy was heralded by airships and aeroplanes, which hovered over the city, dropping bombs on the railway stations, and showers of leaflets urging the Poles to take sides with the Germans. The city was full of spies, and many of the Jew inhabitants were friendly to the enemy. Spies were shot and hanged daily. The coming of the aircraft created a panic, but the terror soon passed away. Then Uhlans appeared eight miles from the centre of the city, and numbers of well-to-do residents fled into Russia. Despite these "excursions and alarms," most of the people in Warsaw went about their business or pleasure quite unmoved.
On Friday, the 16th, the fight for Warsaw began. Von Hindenburg himself directed the operations of the five army corps which were to make the grand assault. On Sunday, the 18th, the Germans were on the edge of the city, and the shells from their field howitzers were bursting in the suburbs. The windows of Warsaw shook with the roar of guns, and at night the western sky was bright with the flashes of artillery and the flames of burning homesteads. Fierce warfare was raging only a few miles away, but the citizens seemed as gay and light-hearted as ever. They thronged the pavements, the cafés, and the cinema shows in the old accustomed way, and save for the cannonading, the streams of wounded, the occasional appearance of a Taube, and the soldiers in the streets, there was nothing to indicate that a desperate battle was being fought five miles away.
Outside the forts to the west of the Vistula the Grand Duke had dug lines of trenches; but when the fight began they were but thinly held. It is said that there was a period of seven hours during which the Germans might have entered the city unopposed. Along one of the main roads leading directly to Warsaw there were no Russians capable of holding back the enemy for a single hour. For some unknown reason the Germans failed to take advantage of this gap in the line of defence.
Just at the critical moment reinforcements arrived, and the people poured into the streets to welcome them. The first corps to reach the city consisted of Siberians, who were so eager to meet the enemy that they leaped down from the cars and formed up without a moment's delay. In a very brief time they were swinging over the Vistula bridge, through the main street, and on their way to the trenches. These men had been brought by rail from Moscow. The people cheered them to the echo, flung flowers amongst them, and pressed cigarettes and other gifts on them.
The big stubborn Siberians bore the brunt of the German attack, and made a most determined defence. They were assisted by their old enemies and present friends, the Japanese. Several batteries of heavy guns, served by Japanese gunners who had travelled from the Far East by the Siberian railway, now came into action. Nevertheless, the situation was still full of peril.
More reinforcements followed, and soon the Russians were so strongly entrenched as to defy all von Hindenburg's efforts. Many of the newcomers had marched from Galicia amidst terrible weather along the right bank of the Vistula, over roads deep in mud or flooded by swollen streams. We do not know exactly the strength of the relieving army, but a Russian writer tells us that in one day "four columns, each 250,000 strong, crossed the Vistula over sixteen pontoon bridges," and deployed on the left bank ready for an advance.
By the evening of Monday, the 19th, the German attack slackened and died away, and "on Tuesday there returned to the city thousands of tired-out, woe-begone Siberian Cossacks and Caucasian cavalrymen—the soldiers who had turned the scale. All Warsaw turned out in the rain to give them cakes and cigarettes, handshakes and cheers."
Why had the Germans given up their attempt on Warsaw? The Grand Duke was not content with merely holding Warsaw. While the German guns were hurling their shells at the Russian trenches, General Rennenkampf[159]was making a flank attack on the Germans from the fortress of Novo Georgievsk, lower down on the Vistula. We do not know exactly what happened in this part of the battlefield, but one thing is certain—the German left was attacked with crushing force. It was rolled back from the Vistula, but was still fighting hard; but when Ruzsky, on the 22nd, began to carry all before him south of the Pilitza, it was bound to retreat. Rennenkampf followed it up and retook Lodz, while von Hindenburg sullenly retreated towards his frontier, fighting innumerable rearguard actions by the way. Thousands of his men were sacrificed to prevent stores and guns from falling into the hands of the Russians, and the whole country over which he passed was turned into a desert. In one case the lives of 2,000 men of the rearguard were thrown away in order to save a convoy. The roads which von Hindenburg had made during his advance were blown up; railway lines, stations, bridges, and towers were destroyed, and even the rails were twisted into the shape of corkscrews.
When the Germans ran short of explosives they found other means of destruction. A water-tower, for example, was destroyed by sending a railway engine full tilt against it. Telegraph wires were cut into sections, the posts were broken or sawn through, and the insulators were smashed in pieces. It looked as though the Germans did not intend to travel that road again. But there was method in von Hindenburg's madness. He was devastating all Polandexcept the northern quarter. This he left intact, because he meant to make another advance through it when the time was ripe. For this reason he retreated, not through the northern quarter of Poland, but towards the south-west.
What were the Austrians in Galicia doing while disaster was thus overtaking the German armies? In the first two months of the war they had been badly led, and had suffered much. But under new leadership they proved themselves far more successful. They swept through Galicia, seized Jaroslav, relieved Przemysl, and nearly recaptured Lemberg.The starving garrison at Przemysl received food and supplies, and was thus given a new lease of life. When, however, the Germans farther north were forced to retreat, the Austrians were bound to do so too. They were, however, in no hurry to retire. They only withdrew to the south of the Upper Vistula when the Russians were beginning to envelop them.
Thus ended the first attempt to capture Warsaw. The nut was too hard for von Hindenburg to crack, though he had by no means given up his attempts to crush it. He had been foiled; but, as we shall learn later, he was to come on again and again with wonderful perseverance. For the moment, however, he had failed, and failed badly. While the Allies in the West were only just holding back the desperate assaults of the enemy from Arras to the sea, the Russians were rejoicing in victory, and British newspapers were painting rosy pictures of the Grand Duke leading his triumphant armies within a few short weeks into the German capital. Alas! the hope was vain; rivers of blood were to flow before that happy day was even in sight.
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 theidol 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, andlimbs 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.'
'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.
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.'"
"'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 troopswas 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."
At the close of Chapter XXV. we left the Germans, who had been beaten north of the Pilitza, retreating rapidly towards the Warta, and those who had suffered defeat south of that river hurrying towards Cracow. As you know, they wrecked the roads, railways, and bridges on their line of retreat, and the work was done with such thoroughness that a whole army must have been detailed for the purpose. So rapidly, however, did the main bodies of the Germans move that they did not even pause to bury their dead properly. Consequently, they left behind them but few prisoners and guns. In some places they had prepared strong positions, but these they abandoned almost without striking a blow.
You know that the Germans had set their hearts on Warsaw, because it would enable them to control the sheaf of railways by means of which the Russians were able to maintain their armies in Poland. The Russians, on the other hand, had set their hearts on Cracow, because it would give them a road along the river Oder to Berlin, and another across the Carpathians to Vienna. Now that the Germans and Austrians were in retreat, the Grand Duke was able to advance again towards Cracow. When the Germans attacked him along the line of the Vistula he had four armies, which we will call A, B, C, D, holding that river. The army A extended from the fortress of Novo Georgievsk to the south of Warsaw; the army B continued the line to the south of Ivangorod; and the armies C and D lay still farther south up to the junction of the San with the Vistula. Along the San was Brussilov's army, which had retreated from Galicia.
The Grand Duke knew that while Brussilov advanced again through Galicia he must protect Brussilov's flank, so that the Germans could not interfere with his movements. In order to do this he must hold the Germans who had retreated towards the Warta by means of armies A, B, and C. If fortune favoured him he might, by means of the army A, roll up the left flank of the Germans, and hem them in between C and his fourth army, D, which was now marching south-east towards Cracow. He therefore hastened the advance of his troops all along the line. Army A advanced along the Vistula towards Thorn, and the cavalry screen of Cossacks, riding hard, was not twenty miles from that fortress on 9th November. Army B struck at the Warta in the neighbourhood of Kolo, and on 10th November its vanguard was actually across the German frontier, and had cut the railway from Posen to Cracow. Meanwhile Army C was striking at the Upper Warta, while Army D was pushing south-east. By 12th November the cavalry of this fourth army had got within twenty miles north of Cracow. While these movements were going on Brussilov was pushing westward once more, and had already reached and reoccupied the main passes of the Western Carpathians.
Everything was going well, and many people in this country fully believed that the Russians would be in Cracow before long. But wiser folks wondered what new move von Hindenburg was about to make. It was not likely that the Germans would sit still under the terribly rough handling which they had recently received. They had lost very heavily, and they had been beaten back to their frontier, but they were still full of fight. On 13th November it was evident that they were going to make a very powerful counter-attack.
Let me remind you of two facts which it is important that you should remember. The first is, that along the Polish frontier the Germans possess a network of railways which enable them to move troops from north to south very rapidly; the second is, that though the Germans had devastated much of Poland they had kept the roads and railways intact in the northern quarter of the country. As soon as von Hindenburg had withdrawn his left and centre behind his own frontier, he put his troops into trains, and hurried them northward to theneighbourhood of Thorn, where he had large reserves. Some of these reserves came from Germany, and some were brought from the Western front. Altogether he gathered in an astonishingly brief time a striking force of about 800,000 men, and behind them he had many thousands more. He now began to push eastward on a forty-mile front between the Warta and the Lower Vistula towards Warsaw once more.
As the roads and railways in this region were good, he hoped to make a rapid advance, and fall on Warsaw before the Russians could bring up reinforcements along the broken railways and ruined roads farther south. Even if his centre were heavily attacked he had the means of retiring rapidly. It was a very ingenious plan which he was now about to carry out. General von Mackensen was to command the armies in the field.
The Russians, you will observe, were very badly placed to meet the sudden thrust that was now about to begin. They were strung out upon a huge curve of a thousand miles in length, and their communications were bad. As the railways had been destroyed, reinforcements from the south would take a long time to come up, and before they could appear von Mackensen hoped to be in Warsaw. The Army A which he had to meet was only about 200,000 strong. Of course it might be strengthened by new forces brought up from behind Warsaw, but in this case, too, there would be much delay. Everything promised a speedy victory for the Germans.
In the next chapter we will see how they fared. In this chapter we will follow the fortunes of the two armies that were advancing on Cracow. I have already told you that the cavalry of Army D under General Dmitrieff, a Bulgarian, who fought bravely in the Balkan War and afterwards offered his sword to Russia, was twenty miles north of Cracow on 12th November. At that time the main body was about sixty miles behind. For three weeks it pushed on slowly but steadily, and meanwhile Brussilov had recaptured Jaroslav, had again besieged Przemysl, and, leaving a force to mask that fortress, was pushing into the passes of the Carpathians, which, as you know, form a great natural barrier between Galicia and the Hungarian plain. As the Carpathians figure largely in this and in future fighting, I will give you a brief description of them now.
The Carpathians curve for 1,000 miles like a huge sickle round the Hungarian plain from the deep trench of the Danube, known as the Iron Gates, to what is called the Moravian Gate, beyond which lie the Bohemian mountains. The southern portion of this range, which barricades Hungary against Rumania, consists of high and bold ridges and lofty rocky tablelands; it forms a stronghold so well fortified by nature that ithas been called the "Eastern citadel of Central Europe." That portion of the range which overlooks Galicia may be called the "waist" of the Carpathians, for here it is at its lowest, and is crossed by a number of passes, over which roads and railways have been made. Still farther west, fronting Silesia on the north is the loftiest and boldest part of the range—the High Tatra. Here we find a great mountain wall of granite, with steep, rocky ramparts and jagged crests, varied by beautiful lakes, which lie in the cup-shaped hollows. The High Tatra is as grand in its way as the Alps of Switzerland. Nowhere, however, do the Carpathians reach the snow-line, so the range contains no glaciers such as you find in the Alps. The lower slopes are generally covered with forests of beech, oak, and fir; but higher up, amidst the rocks, even the hardy pine can find no foothold. In the forests of the High Tatra the bear, wolf, and lynx are still to be found.
The part of the Carpathians which chiefly concerns us now is neither the high, bold ridges which look towards Rumania, nor the great rocky wilderness of the High Tatra, but the "waist" which lies between Galicia and the Hungarian plain. No great range of mountains is so easily crossed as this section of the Carpathians. It consists mainly of sandstone, which, for the most part, affords easy slopes, rounded tops, and wide valleys. Here we find the five principal passes by which traffic across the range is maintained. All of these passes are low and easy. They rise from flats in the foothills, which are themselves one thousand to twelve hundred feet above the sea-level, and the highest of them does not rise two thousand feet higher. The summits of one of them, the Dukla Pass, are less than six hundred feet above the last flats of the foothills.
As these passes will occur again and again in the course of our story, it is necessary that we should know their position and something about each of them. The first of them to the east is the Delatyn Pass, the highest of all; then, going west, we reach the Beskid Pass, across which the railway from Lemberg runs down to the Hungarian plain. Still farther west is the Uzsok Pass, which is less than three thousand feet above the sea-level, and carries a good road and a railway. It is probably the most difficult of all the passes to force. The next gateway in order is the Lupkow Pass, which is not two thousand feet above the sea, and is also crossed by road and railway. About twenty miles to the west is the Dukla Pass, which is the lowest and easiest of all. Though it does not carry a railway, it is nevertheless the key to the Western Carpathians. Its saddle is only 1,500 feet above the sea; it is ten miles wide, and can be crossed even in winter by a large army. Whoever holds the Dukla Pass can turn all the passes to the east against an invader coming from either north or south.