The Children's Story of the War Volume 4 (of 10) / The Story of the Year 1915

Lieutenant Guy D'Oyly Hughes starting off with his Raft.

(Photo, Central News.)

Perhaps the most thrilling feat of daring ever associated with submarine warfare was performed by Lieutenant Guy D'Oyly Hughes on August 21, 1915. Lieutenant Hughes had already distinguished himself during the operations of E11 which I have described above. He volunteered to make a single-handed attempt to blow up a Turkish railway. A raft was prepared, and on it were placed the charge, his clothes, a revolver, a bayonet, and an electric torch. Round his neck he carried a whistle. Towards dusk the submarine ventured within sixty yards of the land, and then Lieutenant Hughes, stripped to the skin, went overboard, and pushing his raft before him, swam to the shore. When he touched bottom he found that the cliffs were too high to scale. He therefore started off again, and swam along the shore until he reached a less precipitous landing-place. Having dressed, he clambered up the rocks, carrying his charge with him. After a stiff climb he reached the top of the cliffs, and proceeding with great caution, made his way to the railway line, which he followed towards a viaduct.

He had only advanced about five or six hundred yards when he heard voices, and shortly afterwards caught a glimpse of three Turkish soldiers sitting by the side of the line and talking loudly. After watching them for some time he decided to leave the charge, which was heavy and cumbersome, and make a wide circuit inland, so as to get to the viaduct unseen. This he did, the only incident by the way being an unfortunate fall from a wall into a farmyard, where his sudden appearance startled the poultry and disturbed the household. He was not, however, detected. When he came in sight of the viaduct he found that it was guarded. A fire was burning at one end of it, and there were men close at hand. It was impossible to destroy the viaduct, so he returned to the place from which he had started, picked up his charge, revolver, bayonet, and electric torch, and looked for a spot where he might do as much damage as possible to the line.

Searching about, he found a low brickwork support over a small hollow, and there he placed his charge. He was only 150 yards from the three soldiers, who were still sitting by the line. He muffled the fuse pistol as tightly as possible with a piece of rag; but when he pulled it the noise was sufficiently loud to be heard by the soldiers, who stood up, looked around them, and catching sight of the lieutenant, ran towards him. He fired two shots at them, but missed, and hotly pursued, beat a hasty retreat along the line to the eastward. A few shots were fired at him, but he was not hit, and after running about a mile he found himself close to the shore.

At once, without discarding his clothes, he plunged into the water, and as he did so the charge exploded. Fragments of brick and earth fell around him, and even near the submarine, which was then in a small bay behind the cliffs about six hundred yards from the shore. After swimming for four or five hundred yards the lieutenant blew a long blast on his whistle, but the submarine did not hear it. Day was now rapidly breaking, so he turned back to the shore and rested for a short time. Then he threw away his revolver, bayonet, and electric torch, and entering the water once more, swam towards the bay in which the submarine was lying. Not until he had rounded the last point was his whistle heard.

As his comrades prepared to come to his assistance he heard shouts from the cliffs above, and saw Turkish soldiers firing on the submarine, which now came out of the bay stern first. In the morning mist he mistook the bow, the gun, and the conning tower for three small rowing boats. Thinking that these boats were manned by his enemies, he swam ashore again and began to climb up to a hollow of the cliffs some distance above him. He had not climbed more than a few feet before he saw the submarine, realized his mistake, and began shouting to his comrades. Once more he entered the water, and about forty yards from the rocks was picked up in an exhausted condition. He had swum the best part of a mile in his clothes.

Thus happily ended Lieutenant Hughes's daring adventure. I think you will agree with me that as a story of pluck, endurance, and resource it is hard to beat.

CHAPTER XIII.

You must not suppose that our submarines carried out their raids in the Dardanelles and in the Sea of Marmora without loss. Several of our under-water boats came to grief. E15, for example, while trying to torpedo a Turkish ship at the Narrows,[19] ran ashore on the Asiatic side. She was undamaged, and a Turkish destroyer speedily appeared on the scene. The admiral on the station was anxious that she should not fall into the enemy's hands, so he gave orders that she was to be destroyed. The story of how she was finally blown up is worth telling. Five different methods of destroying her were tried, but all in vain. Aeroplanes endeavoured to drop bombs on her, but without success; submarines tried to torpedo her, but failed; destroyers attempted to sink her, but could not manage to do so; and two battleships fired at her, but did not hit her. The battleships aimed their turret guns from a distance of 5¼ miles, and found that the conning tower of the submarine was too small a target. As a last resort the admiral gave the following order: "Two picket boats from Triumph and Majestic are to attack E15 to-night (April 18) with torpedoes fitted to dropping gear. . . . Only volunteer crews to be sent."

An officer in charge of the Triumph's boat tells us[20] that he was joined by the boat from the Majestic at 10 p.m.

"We steamed about eight knots, as the current was strong, and until we reached the beginning of the dangerous area we chatted—to keep up our courage, perhaps! As a matter of fact, I wasn't in much of a funk, and felt fairly cool, for I have been under fire a good many times, and I recognized that I had got a chance that does not often come in a man's life. It was a bit eerie, though, steaming along in the pitch dark, with all lights out in the boat, towards the distant searchlights, not knowing whether death or life awaited us. . . .

"We kept nearly in the centre of the channel, to avoid being spotted by the No. 7 searchlight, which was not a very high one. We had come along quite unobserved until we were abeam of it, passing the smaller searchlights without much trouble. Unfortunately the men stationed near the No. 7 searchlight saw us, and started firing 6 or 12 pounder shrapnel at us.

"Thus the ball opened. We still had three to four miles to go. We continued our way and approached the other searchlights. The alarm having been given, all the other searchlights came on and sent their beams searching round to pick us up, and as each beam struck us, bang would go another gun. A few seconds later we would hear a ping as the projectile whizzed past us, or a sharp metallic crack as a shrapnel burst just over our heads."

By the time they arrived near the stranded submarine eight searchlights were trained on them, and guns were firing at them from six different points. Presently they saw a dark mass which they thought to be the submarine, and fired a torpedo at it, but missed.

The End of a Submarine.

The cruiser has fired at the submarine and hit her, but to make assurance doubly sure, is now crashing down upon her at full speed.

"Suddenly we saw the Majestic's boat in trouble and the crew calling for help. It appeared that coming up behind us, and whilst the searchlights were focussed on us, one of the beams passed us and shone right on E15; and the Majestic's boat was luckily only two hundred yards away, and saw it. Lieutenant Godwin immediately fired one torpedo, which did not strike the object. At that moment his boat was struck by a shell under the water-line aft, and commenced to take in water rapidly. He gallantly turned his boat towards E15 again, steamed in a bit, and fired his second torpedo, which caught E15 just in front of the conning tower and on the forward whale-back of the hull, making a fine explosion. I consider this was a very brave deed, as Godwin knew he was in imminent danger of sinking, but ran in again to have a second shot.

"When we saw them their stern-sheets were awash, and it looked as if they might have to swim for it. We manoeuvred the boat to go alongside; but the current was terrible, and it made the handling a very difficult matter. The enemy saw the disaster, and redoubled their efforts. The sea all round us was a mass of splashes from projectiles, some of them fifteen to twenty feet high, whilst the water where the shrapnel burst was pitted as if by heavy rain. How it was we were not hit I cannot say; one would imagine it was impossible to come out of such a hail alive. All I can say is that God preserved us, and not a shot actually hit us, though we were one and all wet with the splashes.

"As we steamed round again before heading out, we saw a man crawling out of the other boat's stern-sheets. He had been forgotten in the hurry of the moment. It looked like suicide to go back, but of course we could not leave him there, so manoeuvred close again and shouted to him to get into the water and swim towards us, which he did, and we hauled him into the boat unconscious. . . .

"By this time we thought we had better clear out, so turned our nose towards home and steamed away at half speed, still under heavy fire. We did not like to go full speed, as we thought it would shake up the wounded man too much."

The officer who relates the story tells us that when he reached the Majestic the commander, "with the true old Navy touch, instead of congratulating us on the success of the expedition, and our people on their lives being saved, only asked them if they had saved any of the boat's gear!" Congratulations, however, came later, when the Vice-Admiral signalled that he had read with much pride the report of the torpedo attack on the wreck of E15, and that he considered the service which had been rendered of the greatest value.

During the early months of the war the Baltic Sea was Germany's own domain. Her merchant vessels went to and fro across its waters without molestation from the British. By July 1915, however, our submarines had got through the dangerous channels, and were busily engaged in destroying German shipping. It was no easy matter for our submarines to enter the Baltic. The Germans had laid mines in the narrow waters by which alone entrance could be gained, and had established a patrol service. They felt sure that they could keep out the British submarines, but they had underestimated British skill, courage, and caution. From that time onward German vessels were sunk at the rate of about two a day. A battleship and at least two cruisers were sunk before the end of November, and a state of panic reigned. It was all-important that the Germans should maintain sea communication with Sweden, from which they drew vast quantities of iron ore and other raw materials, and also with Denmark. You can imagine their consternation when they found that none of their merchant ships dare leave port without the risk of being sent to the bottom. I need not tell you that in every case the British were most careful to save the lives of the crews.

One of the most successful of our submarine officers was Commander Max K. Horton. He was present during the Battle of Heligoland Bight, and you have already read (page 168, Vol. II.) how on September 13, 1915, he sank the light cruiser Hela, and was playfully dubbed by his comrades "The Double-toothed Pirate." The next day, at great risk, he examined the outer anchorage of Heligoland, and on 6th October sank a German destroyer off the mouth of the Ems. When or how he got into the Baltic Sea we do not know, but we do know that on July 2, 1915, he torpedoed the German battleship Pommern, and that shortly afterwards the Tsar recognized this important service by conferring on him the Order of St. George. At the same time the cross of the same order was awarded to the members of his crew. During the Battle of the Gulf of Riga, which I shall describe in a later chapter, Commander Noel Laurence torpedoed the German cruiser Moltke, which, you will remember, took part in the East Coast raids and in the Battle of the Dogger Bank. She was badly disabled, and was towed away, probably towards Kiel. The Tsar awarded Commander Laurence and his crew similar distinctions to those conferred upon Commander Max Horton and his comrades.

One of our submarines, E13, ran aground early in the morning of 19th August on the Danish island of Saltholm, which lies in the Sound between Copenhagen and the Swedish town of Malmö. At 5 a.m. a Danish torpedo boat saw her, and signalled to her that she would be allowed twenty-four hours in which to try to get off. At the same time a German destroyer arrived, and remained close to the submarine until two other Danish torpedo boats came up, when she withdrew. The submarine, you must remember, was in Danish waters, and if the Germans should attack her they would commit an act of war against Denmark, which, as you know, is neutral. Nevertheless, at 9 a.m., two German destroyers appeared, launched a torpedo at the submarine, and fired at her with all their guns. The British commander ordered his men to abandon the vessel; but while they were doing so machine guns were turned on them, and shrapnel was burst above them. Fourteen of the poor fellows were killed, and not a soul of the crew would have remained alive had not a Danish torpedo boat gallantly steamed in between the submarine and the German destroyer, and thus covered the stranded vessel. This cowardly and murderous act caused great indignation not only in Britain but in Denmark. Once more German sailors had covered themselves with infamy.

Russian submarines were also active in the Baltic. The following story tells us how a Russian submarine collided with a German warship which she had just torpedoed.

Having picked up the smoke of enemy vessels on the horizon, the submarine approached them, and by means of her periscope discovered that they consisted of ten ships of the line and several torpedo boats. To prevent the enemy from seeing his periscope, the commander of the submarine steered to the port side of the squadron, where he was between the ships and the light. With his periscope six inches above the water, he approached the squadron, and then dived. When he rose again he sighted on his starboard the ram of the leading warship, which was cutting across his course at a distance of not more than sixty yards.

Again he dived, and gave the order to fire a torpedo. The order was obeyed, and was immediately followed by a collision. A terrible crash was heard. The whole submarine trembled; the electric bulbs burst; crockery and all kinds of articles flew about; something above cracked, broke, and gave way. The submarine took a list to starboard, and the crew were unable to keep their feet. What had happened? The hull of the warship had struck the centre of the submarine. The men hung on to anything within reach, and fortunately kept their heads. "Full speed ahead" was the order, and soon the submarine regained her balance.

She was 75 feet below the surface when a loud explosion was heard. The torpedo had got home. The noise was so great that the commander thought the shell of his boat had been damaged by the collision, and that it was collapsing under the pressure of the water. He therefore rose to 60 feet, but the sound of the approaching screw of a large ship forced him to dive to 80 feet. Again and again he tried to rise, but every time he heard the screws of battleships and torpedo boats above him. He now discovered that his periscope was damaged, and that his boat was leaking and losing its buoyancy. Water had to be blown out of the tanks from time to time, and this revealed the presence of the submarine to the ships above. It was not until near midnight that she dared come to the surface. She rose carefully, and, thanks to the darkness, was not seen. Soon she was making her way to the shore, having been under water for four hours without a break.

About the second week of May German submarines were reported in the Mediterranean. During the month of February the Germans completed the first of their big submarines which were capable of making the journey from Zeebrugge to the Dardanelles within three weeks. Secret bases had been established in Eastern waters, and the British Government offered a large reward for their discovery. Several of them were found on Greek islands. Before long the German submarines made their presence felt. We shall learn in a later chapter how, on 26th May, one of them managed to torpedo the Triumph, and the next day sent the Majestic to the bottom. The submarines practically put an end to the bombardment of the Dardanelles forts by our ships of war. While firing at the forts the ships were obliged to move slowly, and thus were at the mercy of an enemy under water.

Germany's new submarines in the Mediterranean mounted bigger and more effective guns than had formerly been employed on under-water craft, and they were able to destroy several vessels by shell fire. Not only British, French, and Italian vessels were sent to the bottom, but one if not two American ships. I have already told you of the sinking of the Ancona. Dastardly as it was, it was outdone on 30th December, when the Peninsular and Oriental liner Persia was sent to her doom. She was on her outward voyage, and at lunch time was off the island of Crete, when, without warning of any kind, a torpedo was launched against her. Five minutes after she received her death-blow she had vanished utterly. More than 330 out of the 501 passengers and crew were lost, and amongst the victims were a large number of women and children. Lord Montagu, who was saved, cabled home as follows:—

Within a day or two of this outrage the British steamer Glengyle was also sunk in the Mediterranean, but happily all the passengers were saved. In the North Sea we had got the submarine danger well in hand, but in the far more extensive Mediterranean the enemy remained powerful for mischief down to the close of the year.

CHAPTER XIV.

We will now learn something of the fighting which took place in the first three months of the year 1915 on the north or right wing. For the first few weeks there was ordinary trench warfare such as was going on in the West. Attacks and counter-attacks were frequent, but there was no action of any great importance. Most of the attacks were made by night, beneath the light of rockets and star-shells and the glare of searchlights. On the Bzura River the trenches of friend and foe were only sixty yards apart, and in this section of the line the Germans tried a very ingenious method of breaking down the Russian wire entanglements. They filled barrels with clay, and rolled them down the slopes towards the Russians, who believed that men with wire-cutters were hiding behind the barrels and pushing them forward. They therefore flung their hand grenades at the barrels, only to discover that they were moving by their own weight, and that there were no men behind them. When the Russians had thus exhausted their supply of hand grenades, the Germans pushed forward and tried to rush the trenches. They were only beaten off after a furious struggle. Shells and bombs containing poison gases were also used by the Germans on this part of the line.

In Poland there was the same kind of warfare as on the Bzura. Across the plains the Germans had made a maze of very strong trenches and earthworks with deep underground chambers, floored and roofed with wood.

In Galicia, towards the end of January the bright sun melted the snows of the Carpathians, and the streams became roaring torrents which made a very effective barrier against surprise attacks. Nevertheless the enemy kept up a very heavy bombardment across the flooded waters. On the Donajetz River the Austrians broke the rules of war, and fired from their machine guns explosive bullets, which when they entered a man's body blew away half his back.

Towards the end of January the Russians began to take the offensive on the wings. At this time, you must remember, the new forces which the Allies in the West had raised were not yet ready to take the field. The "thin line of steel and valour" in Artois and Flanders was only just holding its own, and it was feared that if the Germans brought troops from the East they would be able to break through the Allied line and reach the Channel ports. The Grand Duke Nicholas was, therefore, requested to attack von Hindenburg, and prevent him from releasing troops for service in the West. Earlier in the war he had sacrificed large numbers of his men in East Prussia to give his Western Allies a breathing space. Now, although his forces were very weak in guns, rifles, and ammunition, he showed the same high courage and chivalry. He knew that, if he pushed forward into the sacred land of East Prussia, von Hindenburg would hasten to engage him, and that if he threatened Hungary, the great granary of the Central Powers, the enemy would be bound to oppose him. The Grand Duke Nicholas was well aware that he could not hope for conquest. All that he could do would be to worry the enemy and prevent him from sending troops to the West.

The Russians retaking a Trench before Bolimov.

(By permission of The Illustrated London News.)
The following account of the incident pictured above was given by a Russian soldier:—"They did not stay long when we came down on them with our bayonets. Our artillery had dropped many shells right in the trench before we got there. The machine guns played on us until the last minute, and we paused to fire at the gunners. The few Germans who were left tried to drag the guns away with them, but our men took them away from them."

In order to provide a sufficient force for these attacks, the Russians had to draw off men and guns from their centre. Von Hindenburg knew this, and he therefore determined to make another effort to capture Warsaw by a frontal attack. The fifty-sixth birthday of the Kaiser was drawing near, and what better present could be made to him than the great Polish capital? You will remember that at this time the Russians were lying along the right bank of the Bzura and its tributary the Rawka. Look at the map on the next page and find the town of Bolimov, on the western bank of the Rawka. It is about forty miles from Warsaw, and is connected with it by a fairly good road. In front of Bolimov there are rolling downs and belts of wood. You will notice that the Russian lines cross the Rawka south of Bolimov.

On the last day of January von Mackensen, who had brought up large numbers of heavy guns all along the left bank of the Rawka, began a terrific bombardment of the Russian lines. This was done to puzzle the Russians and make them uncertain as to where the infantry attack was to be made. The Germans proposed to advance on a line of seven miles between Bolimov and the Bzura.

On the night of 1st February, when the snow was falling heavily, the German guns fiercely shelled the Russian trenches between the Warsaw road and the Bzura River. When it was supposed that the wire entanglements had been blown into a million fragments and the trenches utterly wrecked, 140,000 Germans, including Prussian Guards, advanced in masses, sometimes ten and sometimes twenty-two deep. They were mown down by Russian shot and shell; nevertheless they carried the first line of trenches, and by the evening of the 2nd February had pushed the Russians back to the crest of a ridge behind the town of Borzymov. On Wednesday the Germans looked like succeeding; but by means of the railways which you see to the north and to the south of Borzymov, and also by means of the roads, the Grand Duke hurried up reinforcements from Warsaw. They marched through the driving snow, and arrived on the scene of battle late on Thursday. By this time the Germans had been checked. They had pushed across the crest of the ridge behind Borzymov, had advanced five miles along the railway, and had very nearly broken through the Russian front.

The Battle on the Rawka.

The fighting was terribly fierce, and the Germans lost heavily. Around Borzymov the slaughter was so great that the ground was cumbered with German dead, and the survivors used the bodies of their fallen comrades to build up defences. The woods to the south of the Bolimov-Warsaw road were also strewn with dead. By 8th February the Germans had been flung back to the banks of the Rawka, and the Russians had crossed the river at Dachova. The German loss cannot have been less than 20,000 men. The great attempt had failed, and it was now clear that Warsaw could not be captured by a frontal attack.

As soon as von Hindenburg saw that the Bzura-Rawka lines were too strong for him, he was ready with a new plan. He was now about to try a flank attack. Look carefully at the map on the next page and notice the railways which meet in the Polish capital. By these railways alone can a Russian army maintain itself westward of the Vistula. In front of the main railway (A A) from Warsaw to Petrograd you see a river line—that of the Niemen and the Narev. Von Hindenburg's plan was to push out from East Prussia, carry the river line, cut the railway, and thus force the Russians to retire from Warsaw, which would then fall into his hands. Meanwhile the Austrians, on the Russian left wing, were to drive back Brussilov, relieve Przemysl, and try to recapture Lemberg. If these operations should succeed, the Russians would be forced back from the line of the Vistula to the river Bug, and it would take them a year's fighting to recover the lost ground.

First of all we will follow the fortunes of the East Prussian campaign. While the fighting was proceeding on the Rawka, the Russians, who numbered about 120,000, were making headway in East Prussia. Despite the keen frost, the icy winds, and the deep snowdrifts, they pushed back the weak German forces opposed to them, until, on 6th February, their right was not far from Tilsit, and their left rested on the town of Johannisburg. Nowhere were they less than twenty-five miles within the East Prussian frontier.

On 7th February von Hindenburg sprang his surprise upon the invaders. He suddenly hurled 300,000 men against the whole line which the Russians were holding. According to custom, the German left wing made an outflanking movement. It was successful, and the Russians holding this part of the line were forced to retreat along the railway towards Kovno. The 20th Corps just to the south of it now had its right "in the air," and was obliged to retire. In the forests and marshes north of Suwalki it was broken up into parties of stragglers. The remainder of the Russian line was also driven back, but only after a stern struggle. By 15th February the Germans were on Russian soil, and were moving towards the river line which screens the railway from Warsaw to Petrograd. They were about to attack on the Niemen, the Bobr, and the Narev at one and the same time. If the river line should be forced, the railway would soon be reached and cut.

I have told you what happened in East Prussia in a few sentences; but you must not suppose that the Germans won easy victories. The Russians resisted desperately, and many of them fought to the last cartridge. Though their losses were very heavy, they performed a great feat in retreating seventy miles with a force three times as great hard on their heels. The Germans had a good railway system to help them in their East Prussian advance, but more than half of the Russian army had to retire through thick forests and drag heavy guns across a rough, broken country deep in snow and without railways.

Map to illustrate the German attack on the river line.

The Kaiser sent the following message to his people: "Russians crushingly defeated. Our beloved East Prussia liberated from the enemy. Our beautiful Mazurian land is waste. (Signed) Wilhelm." The Germans claimed that they had captured 75,000 prisoners and 300 guns, but this was false. The total Russian losses were, perhaps, 80 guns and 30,000 men.

Austrian Trenches.  Photo, Topical Press.

This photograph gives a good idea of the way in which trenches are constructed and manned. It will be noticed that the front and rear trench communicate by means of a narrow cutting, and that the trenches are dug zigzag so that they cannot be enfiladed along the full length.

CHAPTER XV.

Thus the attacks on the Niemen and the Bobr had come to nothing. By the beginning of March the Russians were advancing everywhere along the line from Kovno to the Narev, and the Germans were slowly retiring towards East Prussia. There was desperate fighting with the bayonet amidst the marshy woods near Augustovo, where large captures were made of German guns, supplies, and prisoners. By the middle of March the Germans were covering the East Prussian frontier, and were only ten miles within Russian territory. Meanwhile a great battle had been fought and lost on the Narev.

Look carefully at the map on p. 115; it shows you the country between the East Prussian frontier and the Narev. This river flows in a winding course through a district of marshes and heavy woods, with here and there a few ridges. To the north of the river, and to the east of the town of Przasnysz,[21] which stands midway between the frontier and the Narev, there are some fairly high hills with patches of forest on their sandy slopes. The crossing-places of the Narev are protected by fortified towns, some of which you see marked by a star on the map.

Find the town of Mlawa, of which you have already heard. On a front stretching for some twenty-five miles to the north-east of that town, and about a day's march in front of the Prussian frontier railway, the Germans massed two corps, and on 22nd February began to advance in three columns. The right travelled from Mlawa by the railway which you see marked on the map, the centre marched along the main highway towards Przasnysz, and the left followed the valley of a little river towards a road which enters the same town from the north-east. There was only a single Russian brigade in front of Przasnysz, and it was easily driven back. On the 24th the Germans entered the town, in which they seized a number of guns and captured about half the brigade which had been defending it.

On the previous day another Russian advanced body which lay on a ridge near the village of Vola, to the south of Przasnysz, had been attacked. Elsewhere the Germans were advancing without much difficulty, but on this ridge a violent battle raged, and the Russians made a most heroic stand. For thirty-six hours they held out, and on the evening of the 24th their reinforcements arrived. Four columns of Russians had advanced on Przasnysz from the Narev line, and the invaders were pressed northward on three sides. They were driven through the town in confusion, and on the 26th it was once more in Russian hands. All the next day the battle raged amongst the snowy ridges to the north-east and north-west of the town, and by Sunday morning the enemy was in full retreat for the frontier, leaving 10,000 prisoners behind him. Thus the whole attempt to capture Warsaw by a flank movement had failed.

Scene of the Fighting round Przasnysz.

The Battle of Przasnysz was more like a struggle of the Middle Ages than a modern battle. The Russians short of arms and ammunition, and they could not supply all their trained men with rifles. In this and in other fights the Russians kept unarmed troops in the rear. When the men with rifles fell, the unarmed were sent forward to take up the weapons of the dead and wounded and then fling themselves on the foe. Men rushed into the firing line at Przasnysz with a sword bayonet in one hand and two bombs in the other. They charged through rifle and machine-gun fire until they were near enough to fling their bombs, and then fell furiously upon the enemy with cold steel, utterly reckless of wounds and death. The Germans could not stand against such an onset, and fled. Thus by sheer bodily might the Russians had flung back in rout a foe superior to them in numbers, and once more von Hindenburg found Warsaw beyond his grasp.

The Retreat of the Austrians across the Uzsok Pass.    By permission of The Sphere.

This spirited drawing shows Russian cavalry driving the Austrians across the snow-bound Uzsok Pass. (See page 120.) In this attack the Russians fell upon the flank and rear of the Austrians during a violent snowstorm, and pursued them for many miles. Hundreds of Austrians surrendered.

CHAPTER XVI.

During the month of January the Russians strove hard to push across the Galician passes, and their cavalry actually descended to the Hungarian plain thirty miles south of the mountains. Not only was fighting going on in Galicia, but in Bukovina[22]—that is, the country of the beech woods—which stretches southward from the Dneister, across the Pruth and the Sereth, to the eastern face of the Carpathians. Ever since September 1914 the Russians had held Northern Bukovina, and they now wished to conquer the whole of it, for several reasons. In the first place, it was Germany's main source of supply for petrol; in the second place, it lay on the frontier of Rumania, and it was thought that the presence of a Russian army in Bukovina would induce Rumania to join the Allies. Further, if Rumania should elect to do so, she would be able to join hands at once with the Russians. In the third place, there are several fairly easy passes from Bukovina into Hungary, and one of them is the main route from the north to the plains of Hungary.

The Russians had only a division in Bukovina, and the Austrians opposed them with a force which was not much stronger. By the middle of January almost all the country was in the hands of the Russians. They had, however, not yet secured the pass which would enable them to advance into Hungary.

The time had now come for the Austrians to make a great effort to save Hungary, and to prevent Rumania, with her large and well-equipped army, from entering into the struggle on the side of the Allies. How was this to be done? Two campaigns were necessary—the one to drive back Brussilov from the passes and to relieve Przemysl, and the other to clear Bukovina of the invaders.

Let us see how the campaign in Bukovina fared. Three Austrian corps and one German corps crossed the mountains and advanced in two columns. The Russians, you will remember, had only one division with which to meet these four army corps. They were obliged to fall back, and thus Bukovina was cleared. The Austrians captured town after town, and early in March they entered Stanislau,[23] a railway junction only seventy miles from Lemberg. They were delighted with their success, and they reported that they had made huge captures of prisoners. They had now reached a position from which they could threaten the Russian communications. Soon, however, it was discovered that the Russians had only fallen back to a point where they could be reinforced. As soon as their numbers were sufficiently increased they advanced again, and pushed the Austrians out of Stanislau, and almost back to the line of the Pruth. By doing so they removed the danger to their communications.