I arrived here last night after a slow and tiresome journey, which was somewhat alleviated by an excellent bottle of French wine which I purchased whilst in the Champagne district.
Long before we reached the vicinity of Verdun it was obvious to the most casual observer that we were heading for a centre of unusual activity.
Hospital trains travelling north–east and east were numerous, and twice our train, which was one of the ordinary military trains, was shunted on to a siding to allow troop trains to rumble past.
As we approached Verdun the noise of artillery, which I had heard distantly once or twice during the day, as the casual railway train approached the front, became more intense and grew from a low murmur into a steady noise of a kind of growling description, punctuated at irregular intervals by very deep booms as some especially heavy piece was discharged, or an ammunition dump went up.
The country here is very different from the mud flats of Flanders, as it is hilly and well wooded. The Meuse, in the course of centuries, has cut its way through the rampart of hills which surround Verdun, and we are attacking the place from three directions. On the north we are slowly forcing the French back on either river bank—a very costly proceeding, as each wing must advance an equal amount, or the one that advances is enfiladed from across the river.
We are also slowly creeping forward from the east and north–east in the direction of Douaumont.
I am attached to a 105-cm. battery, a young Major von Markel in command, a most charming fellow. I spent all to–day in the advanced observing position with a young subaltern called Grabel, also a nice young fellow. I was in position at 6 a.m., and, as apparently is common here, mist hides everything from view until the sun attains a certain strength. Our battery was supporting the attack on the north side of the river, though the battery itself was on the south side, and firing over a hill called L'Homme Mort.
Von Markel told me that the fighting here has not been previously equalled in the war, such is the intensity of the combat and the price each side is paying.
I could see for myself that this was so, and the whole atmosphere of the place is pregnant with the supreme importance of this struggle, which may well be the dying convulsions of decadent France.
His Imperial Majesty himself has arrived on the scene to witness the final triumph of our arms, and all agree that the end is imminent.
Once we get Verdun, it is the general opinion that this portion of the French front will break completely, carrying with it the adjacent sectors, and the French Armies in the Vosges and Argonne will be committed to a general retreat on converging lines.
But, favourable as this would be to us, it is generally considered here that the fall of Verdun will break the moral resistance of the French nation.
The feeling is, that infinitely more is involved than the capture of a French town, or even the destruction of a French Army; it is a question of stamina; it is the climax of the world war, the focal point of the colossal struggle between the Latin and the Teuton, and on the battlefields of Verdun the gods will decide the destinies of nations.
When I got to the forward observing position, which was situated among the ruins of a house, a most amazing noise made conversation difficult.
The orchestra was in full blast and something approaching 12,000 pieces of all sizes were in action on our side alone, this being the greatest artillery concentration yet effected during the war.
We were situated on one side of a valley which ran up at right angles to the river, whose actual course was hidden by mist, which also obscured the bottom of our valley. The front line was down in this little valley, and as I arrived we lifted our barrage on to the far hill–side to cover an attack which we were delivering at dawn.
