ere not so bad as that, though terrible.
Semi-official figures state that the operations which lasted from April
16th to April 25th cost France 28,000 killed on the field of battle,
5,000 who died of wounds in hospital, 4,000 prisoners, and 80,000
wounded. General Nivelle's offensive was called off, and French officers
who had said, "We shall break through... It is certain," now said: "We
came up against a bec de gaz. As you English would say, we 'got it in
the neck.' It is a great misfortune."

The battle of Arras, in which the British army was engaged, began on
April 9th, an Easter Sunday, when there was a gale of sleet and snow.
From ground near the old city of Arras I saw the preliminary bombardment
when the Vimy Ridge was blasted by a hurricane of fire and the German
lines beyond Arras were tossed up in earth and flame. From one of old
Vauban's earthworks outside the walls I saw lines of our men going up
in assault beyond the suburbs of Blangy and St.-Laurent to Roclincourt,
through a veil of sleet and smoke. Our gun-fire was immense and
devastating, and the first blow that fell upon the enemy was
overpowering. The Vimy Ridge was captured from end to end by the
Canadians on the left and the 51st Division of Highlanders on the right.
By the afternoon the entire living German population, more than seven
thousand in the tunnels of Vimy, were down below in the valley on our
side of the lines, and on the ridge were many of their dead as I saw
them afterward horribly mangled by shell-fire in the upheaved earth. The
Highland Division, commanded by General Harper--"Uncle Harper," he was
called--had done as well as the Canadians, though they had less honor,
and took as many prisoners. H.D. was their divisional sign as I saw it
stenciled on many ruined walls throughout the war. "Well, General," said
a Scottish sergeant, "they don't call us Harper's Duds any more!"... On
the right English county troops of the 12th Division, 3d Division, and
others, the 15th (Scottish) and the 36th (London) had broken through,
deeply and widely, capturing many men and guns after hard fighting round
machine-gun redoubts. That night masses of German prisoners suffered
terribly from a blizzard in the barbed-wire cages at Etrun, by Arras,
where Julius Caesar had his camp for a year in other days of history.
They herded together with their bodies bent to the storm, each man
sheltering his fellow and giving a little human warmth. All night
through a