THE TERRIBLE HARVEST.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LVII, Issue 133, 29 October 1914, Page 2

THE TERRIBLE HARVEST.

PLAIN LITTERED WITH DEAD. LIKE GRASS MOWN WITH THE SCYTHE. (By Luigi Barzini, Special Correspondent of the London Daily Telegraph.) Behind the Allies' lines, (France), September 21. I climbed from the hollow in which Barcy nestles and reached the eijgc of the plain, which was barred by German trenches. A terrible yet subUnio spectacle is presented. Tho vast plain is littered 'with corpses. Hundreds and hundreds of bodies lie on the ground as far as the eye can see. They are all lying in one direction, like grass cut by a scythe. Deatli lias overtaken them in the furious rush of the assault. All lie with hands extended and faces forward. There is a potent, moving significance in this attitude of the dead. It relates, reveals, describes. It is here that an impetuous, yelling, overwhelming assault has taken place. In the immobility of death there is irresistible eloquence. The bodies are all pointing towards the enemy, heads foremost. A single thought, a single desire, a single impulse, united the men in the last moment of life. EXPRESSION OP VIOLENCE. There is still an expression of violence and impetuous dash in this fallen throng. Taken singly, they are horrible. Taken altogether, the bodies seem to have indescribable and fabulous life, and if at the sight of this slaughter one feels a wave of emotion it is not caused by pity, but by enthusiasm. I think of the Japanese- legend of heroes who never die; when their bodies fall tho multitude of their souls continues the assault. Something of such deaths, something invisible and prodigious, must have happened here. Possibly they were fresh troops. The uniforms seem to be new. Blue coats with skirt 3 turned back disejoso the red of the traditional trousers whicfl is seen aiar by the enemy —a vivacious color, an imprudent and gay hue. LINE OP FLAMING RED. The national symbol of red must have formed a flaming, trembling line across tho plain at the moment of assault. Nearly all the dead .lie with their faces towards the ground, having been hit

The national symbol of rod must have formed a llaniing, trembling line across tho plain at the moment of assault. Nearly all the dead .lie with their faces towards the ground, having been hit in the head-or breast, and they all have those strange, inhuman, grotesque, sinister attitudes to which they were condemned by death on the battlefield. Some of the wounded have had time to 'settle themselves and quietly await the end. They appear to be sleeping. In front of each corpse is a rifle which escaped from the grasp of the- falling man. Long bayonets have furrowed the earth. The assault began at a distanco of 700 or 800 yards from the first line of tho German trenches. It is possible to follow its course and reconstruct it. Insensible to losses, yelling massvs of Frenchmen advanced at double formation under an infernal fire. German shrapnel had kindled piles of straw, the remains of which were still smoking, but the German artillery fire must have been reduced to silence almost immediately. At 500 yards from the trenches, there was no more corpses. The enemy had fled. One crosses this empty space and meets the dead again, but lierp they are all Germans. Along the edges of the Chambray road the whole episode of the hand-to-hand struggle is narrated by corpses, BAYONETS WROTE FINIS. An isolated group of Germans had [ made a rampart of the roadside and j remained there firing. They could not retire and held out as long as they could. I The last of the dead Frenchmen are three yards from this spot— and then the assault passed on. Pierced 'by bayonets, the Germans fell with their backs against the improvised parapets. Twisted bayonets and broken ritloa that remained here speak of violence, of a, swift, fierce, and desperate combat. The Germans fell in small squads. A group of corpses-- lies around the body of an officer. The retreat was protected by the successive sacrifice of little companies. How tho dead resemble each other!' They can only be distinguished by their uniforms. On tho ground, French and Germans are the same. Racial charuetesistws vanish beneath the cruel mask of death. I

i DEATH CALLS TRUCE. ' In the eternal truce of death there is a species of fraternity between fallen ' enemies. Each German corpse has a knapsack '. on 3iis back. It is irreproachable, as though prepared for review. Xothing is [ disarranged. Cartridge belt, scabbard, equipment of all kinds, rolled overcoats, . tent canvas—everything is neatly folded, . laced and buckled. All seem to form an i integral part of the/body. Even the s spiked helmet rpmaiiied fixed on the ) head. Nothing creates the impression of a 1 routed army. If the French corpses reveal the irresistible fury of the assault, 1 the German dead display order and discipline. The German army is beaten but not routed. It retired quickly, but methodically, resisting attacks. It withdrew with fury, but not in confusion. It disengaged itself.