sitions of the
Austro-Hungarian troops. After two days' preparation, by means of
artillery fire, another attack was thrust against the Toporoutz
section on January 22, 1916, but when this, too, did not bring the
desired result the Russians apparently lost heart. For, from then on
for the balance of January, 1916, as well as through the entire month
of February, 1916, they made further attacks only at very rare
intervals, but otherwise restricted themselves to artillery duels and
trench fighting.

CHAPTER XXVII

ON THE TRACKS OF THE RUSSIAN RETREAT

In the preceding chapters we have followed, day by day, the military
events of the Russian retreat and of the German advance after the fall
of Warsaw and Ivangorod. With admiration we have heard of the deeds of
valor accomplished by the various armies of the three belligerents.
The endurance that they displayed, the hardships that they had to
bear, the losses that they suffered--both victor and conquered--have
given us a clearer idea what war means to the men that actually wage
it. Occasionally we have had glimpses of the devastation that it
brings to the country over the hills and valleys and over the plains
and forests of which it rages. Again and again we have been told of
the horrible suffering and utter ruin which was the share of the civic
population, rich and poor, young and old, man, woman, or child. But
these latter features are apt to be overshadowed by the more
sensational events of battle and siege, and in the excitement of these
we easily lose sight of the tremendous drama in which not trained
soldiers act the parts, but ordinary everyday beings, farmers and
merchants, working men and women, students and scholars, people of
every age, race, and condition, people just like we ourselves and like
those with whom we come in daily contact throughout our entire life.
And yet their numbers run into the tens of millions as compared with
the hundreds of thousands or perhaps four or five millions of
soldiers, and it is _their_ suffering--bared as it is of the glory and
excitement that usually lightens the life of the fighting man--that is
the quintessence of war's tragedy.

No one who has not been himself a participant or an actual observer of
these horrors can really and truly gauge their full extent or describe
them adequately. But a clear record of them is as much an essential
requirement of a war's history as a chronological narration of its
various event