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      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stories and Letters from the Trenches by F. B. Ogilvie.
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48636 ***</div>

<hr class="chap" />

<div class="tn"><p class="center"><a href="#toc">See Table of Contents at the end of this book.</a>
</p></div>

<div class="figcenter bord" style="width: 379px;">
<img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="379" height="600" alt="BELGIAN" />
<div class="caption"><p><small>Photo by International News Service</small></p>

<p class="center">BELGIAN SOLDIERS BEHIND THE ENTRENCHMENT
ON THE ROAD TO MALINES</p></div>
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<hr class="chap" />

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<img src="images/i_title_page.jpg" width="386" height="600" alt="titlepage" />
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<hr class="chap" />


<h1>
Stories and Letters From<br />
the Trenches</h1>

<p class="center space-above">
<small><span class="smcap">Compiled by</span></small><br />
F. B. OGILVIE</p>

<p class="center space-above">Copyright 1915 by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company</p>

<p class="center space-above">New York<br />
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY<br />
57 Rose Street
</p>

<hr class="chap" />



<h2>ACKNOWLEDGMENT</h2>


<p>Our thanks are due and are hereby tendered to
Dr. Mary Merrit Crawford of Brooklyn, N. Y., for her
letters regarding the Paris hospital patients, to the
New York Times for the article, "Three Months in the
Trenches," by Bert Hall, and for other letters; and to
the New York Sun and various other publications for
the numerous items of intense human interest which
help to make this collection an accurate record of
conditions at the front in the colossal European War.</p>

<p class="sig">
THE PUBLISHERS
</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE.</a></h2>


<p>Letters received from soldiers in the field describe
many features of the various campaigns of
the war, the descriptions coming from representatives
of widely differing classes of society. Unlike
the rigid censorship imposed on the allied
troopers by their official censors; the letters of
Germans in the field show that wide liberty of expression
is allowed, with only the names of places,
troop divisions, and commanders, and occasionally
dates, deleted.</p>

<p>At the front are many men of prominence in
many walks of life. Some of the greatest present-day
poets and novelists are in the field, and
that, too, serving in humble capacities, taking
their risks side by side with the men in the ranks
or as non-commissioned officers and sharing the
daily routine of the common soldier's life. Undemocratic
as officialdom is in times of peace, and
harsh as its discipline has been pictured in time
of war, letters from notables at the front show a
surprising spirit of democracy in the relations of
high and low on the battlefield, in the trenches,
and on the march.</p>

<p>The letters from the front include missives
penned or scribbled by nobles and members of
the royal families, high military officials, authors,
Socialists, tradesmen, skilled workmen, and writers
who, in peace times, have been more expert
with the farmhand's scythe or manure fork, or
with the street cleaner's broom than with the pen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
that is supposedly mightier, and certainly to them
more unwieldy, than the sword.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, even among the privates, it is extremely
rare that a letter shows illiteracy to any
marked degree. In the letters written by high
and low alike, there is to be noted a certain theatrical
consciousness of the stage on which they
are now engaged in battle before the world.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>




<h2>WAR STORIES.</h2>




<h2><a name="THREE_MONTHS_IN_THE_TRENCHES" id="THREE_MONTHS_IN_THE_TRENCHES">THREE MONTHS IN THE TRENCHES.</a></h2>

<p class="hanging">AMERICAN WHO SERVED WITH THE FRENCH FOREIGN
LEGION, NOW AN AIRMAN, GIVES VIVID ACCOUNT
OF "DITCH" LIFE.</p>


<p><i>Bert Hall, who wrote the article printed herewith,
is an American, and has had experience both
as a racing automobile driver and an airman. At
the beginning of the war he joined the French
Foreign Legion, but was afterward transferred to
the French Aviation Corps.</i></p>

<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Bert Hall.</span></p>

<p>There was no hands-across-the-sea Lafayette
stuff about us Americans who joined the Foreign
Legion in Paris when the war broke out. We just
wanted to get right close and see some of the fun,
and we didn't mind taking a few risks, as most of
us had led a pretty rough sort of life as long as
we could remember.</p>

<p>For my part, auto racing&mdash;including one peach
of a smash-up in a famous race&mdash;followed by three
years of flying, had taken the edge off my capacity
for thrills, but I thought I'd get a new line of excitement
with the legion in a big war, and I reckon
most of the other boys had much the same idea.</p>

<p>We got a little excitement, though not much, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
as for fun&mdash;well, if I had to go through it again
I'd sooner attend my own funeral. As a sporting
proposition, this war game is overrated. Altogether,
I spent nearly three months in the trenches
near Craonne, and, believe me, I was mighty glad
when they transferred me (with Thaw and Bach,
two other Americans who've done some flying) to
the Aviation Corps, for all they wouldn't take us
when we volunteered at the start because we
weren't Frenchmen, and have only done so now
because they've lost such a lot of their own men,
which isn't a very encouraging reason.</p>

<p>But anyway if the Germans do wing us, it's a
decent, quick finish, and I for one prefer it to slow
starvation or being frozen stiff in a stinking, muddy
trench. Why, I tell you, when I got wounded
and had to leave, most of the boys were so sick of
life in the trenches that they used to walk about
outside in the daytime almost hoping the Germans
would hit them&mdash;anything to break the monotony
of the ceaseless rain and cold and hunger
and dirt!</p>

<p>It wasn't so bad when we first got there, about
the beginning of October, as the weather was
warmer (though it had already begun to rain and
has never stopped since), but we were almost suffocated
by the stench from the thousands of
corpses lying between the lines&mdash;the German
trenches were about four hundred yards away&mdash;where
it wasn't safe for either side to go out and
bury them. They were French mostly, result of
the first big offensive after the Marne victory,
and, believe me, that word just expresses it&mdash;they
were the offensivest proposition in all my experience.</p>

<p>Well, as I was saying, we reached the firing line
on October 4, after marching up from Toulouse,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
where they'd moved us from Rouen to finish our
training. We went down there in a cattle truck at
the end of August in a hurry, as they expected the
Germans any minute; the journey took sixty hours
instead of ten, and was frightfully hot. That was
our first experience of what service in the Foreign
Legion really meant&mdash;just the sordidest, uncomfortablest
road to glory ever trodden by
American adventurers.</p>

<p>After we'd been at Toulouse about a month,
they incorporated about two hundred of us recruits&mdash;thirty
Americans and the rest mostly
Britishers, all of whom had seen some sort of
service before&mdash;in the Second Regiment Etranger
which had just come over from Africa on its way
to the front. They put us all together in one company,
which was something to be thankful for, as
I'd hate to leave a cur dog among some of the
old-timers&mdash;you never saw such a lot of scoundrels.
I'll bet a hundred dollars they have specimens
of every sort of criminal in Europe, and,
what's more, lots of them spoke German, though
they claimed to have left seventeen hundred of
the real Dutchies behind in Africa. Can you beat
it? Going out to fight for France against the
Kaiser among a lot of guys that looked and talked
like a turn verein at St. Louis!</p>

<p>Why, one day Thaw and I captured a Dutchie
in a wood where we were hunting squirrel&mdash;as a
necessary addition to our diet&mdash;and, believe me,
when we brought him into camp he must have
thought he was at home, for they all began jabbering
German to him as friendly as possible, and
every one was quite sad when he went off in a
train with a lot of other prisoners bound for some
fortress in the West of France.</p>

<p>But that was only a detail, and now I'm telling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
you about our arrival in the trenches. The last
hundred miles we did in five days, which is some
of a hurry; but none of the Americans fell out,
though we were all mighty tired at the end of the
last day's march. Worse still, that country had
all been fought over, and there were no inhabitants
left to give us food and drinks as we had
had before at every resting place, which helped
us greatly. Along the roadside lots of trees had
been smashed by shell fire, and there were hundreds
of graves with rough crosses or little flags
to mark them, and every now and then we passed
a broken auto or a dead horse lying in the gutter.</p>

<p>At the end of the fifth day we got our first sample
of war&mdash;quite suddenly, without any warning,
as we didn't know we were near the firing line.
We had just entered a devastated village when
there came a shrill whistling noise like when white
hot iron is plunged into cold water, then a terrific
bang as a shell burst about thirty yards in
front of our columns, making a hole in the road
about five feet deep and ten in diameter, and sending
a hail of shrapnel in all directions. One big
splinter hit a man in the second rank and took his
head off&mdash;I think he was a Norwegian; anyway,
that was our first casualty. No one else was injured.</p>

<p>Our boys took their baptism of fire pretty
coolly, though most of us jumped at the bang and
ducked involuntarily to dodge the shrapnel, which,
by the way, isn't very dangerous at more than
thirty yards, though it does a lot of harm at
shorter range. Personally, I wasn't as scared as
I expected, and most of the others said the same.
At first, one is too interested to be frightened, and
by the time the novelty has worn off one has gotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
fairly used to it all&mdash;at least that seemed to
be our general opinion.</p>

<p>There were no more shells after that one, and
we continued our march till nightfall, when we
camped in an abandoned village. Next morning
there were 100 big auto trucks ready to take us
to a point about forty miles along the lines, and we
clambered aboard them and set off at a good
speed&mdash;all but twenty unlucky lads, who were left
to pad the hoof as a guard for our mules and baggage.
My pal, William Thaw, was among the
number; he marched for thirteen hours practically
without a stop, and when he reached our
camp he lay right down in the mud by the roadside
and went straight off to sleep, though it was raining
like sixty and he was drenched to the skin.
But he was all right again in the morning, though
it was a man's job to wake him up.</p>

<p>Next day we set off before dawn, having received
orders to take our place in the trenches
about eight miles away. It soon got light, and
after marching about half an hour we were unlucky
enough to be seen by a German aeroplane
which signaled us to their batteries. The first
shell burst near, the second nearer, the third right
among us, killing nearly a dozen old-timers; and
we were forced to break ranks and take cover
until nightfall, as they'd got the range and it
would have been suicide to try and go on. Pretty
good shooting that at five or six miles' distance!</p>

<p>The French talk a lot about their artillery, but,
believe me, the Dutchies are mighty fine gunners,
especially with their cannon&mdash;even the very biggest.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>


<h3><i>No Chance to Rest.</i></h3>

<p>Why, one day when my company was having its
usual weekly rest from the trenches, there were a
couple of hundred of us bunking in a big barn fully
eight miles behind our lines. About three in the
afternoon along came a German aeroplane, and
half an hour later they dropped a couple of shells
between the barn and a church some thirty yards
farther back, just by way of showing what they
could do. We thought that was all, and settled
down comfortably for the night; but not a bit of
it! At ten o'clock sharp a shell dropped plump
onto the barn itself and killed five or six and
wounded a dozen more, none of them Americans.
We got out on the jump, though of course it was
raining; and we were wise, for in the next half
hour they hit the barn eleven times without a
single miss, and at ten-thirty there weren't any
big enough bits of it left to make matches of. The
barn was perhaps thirty yards long by fifteen
wide, but remember they were firing at a range of
ten miles or so and in pitch darkness. Of course,
they had got their guns trained right in the afternoon
and just waited till night to give us a pleasant
surprise. I did hear those were Austrian
mortars, not German; anyway, they were good
enough for us, I can tell you.</p>

<p>But to go back to my story: We broke ranks
and fled to cover, and remained in hiding all that
day near a ruined farm with shells falling all
about, though they didn't do much damage. But
our old-timers didn't like it one little bit. They
had not been used to that kind of thing in Africa,
and then the Germans and Austrians didn't at all
fancy the idea of being fired upon by their own
people. In our company all of the Sergeants and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
most of the other non-coms were Austrian&mdash;not
that they turned out later to be any the worse
fighters for that. There was one Sergeant named
Wiedmann who fought like a lion; he was the
bravest man in the regiment. Poor chap, I've just
heard he was killed the other day by a hand
grenade, and I'm sorry. He was a real white man
if ever I knew one. Our Lieutenant was a German
named Bloch, and only the Captain was a Frenchman.
But all this mixture of races led to some
rather curious results, as the following story will
show:</p>


<h3><i>"The Corsican Brothers."</i></h3>

<p>Among the recruits who joined us at Paris there
were two young fellows from Corsica&mdash;the Corsican
brothers, we called them, as they always stuck
together&mdash;who said they belonged to the Corsican
militia, but preferred to volunteer, as they wanted
to see some fighting right away. Besides French,
they spoke English fluently, and used to jabber
away together in some local patois, but they were
both very smart soldiers and were soon promoted
Corporals and got along fine. Every one liked
them, and they stood very well with the officers as
well. After we had been in the trenches about ten
days these two chaps disappeared one wet night
and left behind a note for the Colonel, which I
was lucky enough to see. It ran something like
this:</p>

<blockquote>

<p>
Most Honored Sir:
</p>

<p>Though we have spent a most agreeable time in
your regiment&mdash;of which we have a good opinion,
although the discipline is sometimes rather more
lax than we are accustomed to&mdash;we feel that the
moment has come for us to join our friends, which
we were unable to do at the mobilization, when we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
naturally preferred the Foreign Legion to a concentration
camp.</p>

<p>We will give a good account of you to our
friends and hope to have the pleasure of meeting
you again before long.</p>

<p class="sig1 noind">&nbsp;&nbsp;
<span class="smcap">Otto X&mdash;&mdash;</span><br />
Ober-Lieutenant, Potsdam Guards.<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Hermann Y&mdash;&mdash;</span><br />
Lieutenant, Potsdam Guards.
</p></blockquote>

<p>Wouldn't that fease you? The Colonel nearly
blew up.</p>

<p>Well, at nightfall we resumed our march by
separate companies. Our Captain didn't know
the country, so of course we got lost. It was
raining heavily, and the mud was frequently knee
deep. Add to that incessant tumbles into numberless
shell holes full of water, and you will realize
that we were a pretty sad procession that finally
at three A. M. scrambled into the stinking ditch
where we were to spend the greater part of the
next three months.</p>

<p>For three or four days we had nothing to do but
dodge the shrapnel and try and keep warm, as the
enemy maintained a constant artillery fire&mdash;with
a regular interval for luncheon&mdash;starting about
six A. M. and stopping toward five P. M.; and they
got the range. I tell you, one lies pretty flat when
there's any shrapnel about. Some of the English
boys were killed the second day, but we Americans
have been fine and lucky&mdash;only one killed the
whole time, though we have had some very narrow
shaves. For instance, Thaw had his bayonet
knocked off his rifle by a "sniper" while on sentry-go,
and another boy named Merlac had his
pipe taken clean out of his mouth by a shrapnel
ball in the trenches. It didn't hurt him at all, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
I never saw any one look so surprised in my life.
Shortly afterward Jimmy Bach (who is now in
the Aviation Corps with Thaw and me) had his
head cut by a rifle bullet which just grazed it
without doing more than make a deepish scratch.
I myself had a close squeak the very day of our
arrival in the trenches. A piece of shell weighing
three or four pounds smashed to bits the pack on
my back&mdash;including my best pipe, which I couldn't
replace until I got back to Paris&mdash;without so much
as bruising me, though it scared me something
dreadful.</p>


<h3><i>Farewell, Whiskers!</i></h3>

<p>Our company had an eight days' "shift" in the
trenches, followed by three days' rest at a camp
four miles in the rear.</p>

<p>During the week's duty it was impossible to
wash or take off one's clothes, and we quickly got
into a horrible condition of filth. To begin with,
there was a cake of mud from head to foot about
half an inch thick; but what was worse was the
vermin which infested our clothes almost immediately
and were practically impossible to get rid
of. They nearly broke the heart of Lieutenant
Bloch. He had a wonderful crop of bright red
whiskers, of which he was as proud as a kitten
with its first mouse, because he thought they gave
him a really warlike appearance, and he was always
combing them and squinting at them in a
little pocket mirror. Well, one day the lice got
into these whiskers and fairly gave him hades. He
bore it for a week, scratching away at his chin
until he was tearing out chunks of hair by the
roots; but at last he could stand no more, and had
to have the whole lot shaved off. He was the saddest
thing you ever saw after that, with a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
chinless face like a pink rabbit, and was so
ashamed he hardly dared show himself in daylight.</p>

<p>But mud and vermin were only minor worries,
really; our proper serious troubles were cold and
hunger. It's pretty cool in the middle of France
toward the end of November, and for some reason&mdash;I
guess because they were such a lot of infernal
thieves at our depot&mdash;we never got any of the
clothes and warm wraps sent up from Paris for
us. It was just throwing money away to try it.
My wife mailed me three or four lots of woolen
sweaters and underclothes, but I never received
a single thing, and the rest of the boys had much
the same experience.</p>


<h3><i>Running the Gauntlet.</i></h3>

<p>That was bad, but the hunger was something
fierce. The Foreign Legion is not particularly
well fed at any time&mdash;coffee and dry bread for
breakfast, soup with lumps of meat in it for luncheon,
with rice to follow, and the same plus coffee
for dinner, and not too much of anything, either.
But in our case all the grub had to be brought in
buckets from the relief post, four miles away, by
squads leaving the trenches at three A. M., ten
A. M., and five P. M., and a tough job it was, what
with the darkness and the mud and the shell holes
and the German cannonade, to say nothing of occasional
snipers taking pot shots at you with
rifles. I got one bullet once right between my
legs, which drilled a hole in the next bucket in
line and wasted all our coffee.</p>

<p>As you can imagine, quite a lot of the stuff
used to get spilt on the way, and then the boys
carrying it used to scrape it up off the ground and
put it back again, so that nearly everything one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
ate was full of gravel and, of course, absolutely
cold. More than once when the cannonade was
especially violent we got nothing to eat all day
but a couple of little old sardines; and, believe
me, it takes a mighty strong stomach to stand that
sort of treatment for any length of time. As far
as we Americans were concerned, who were mostly
accustomed to man-sized meals, the net result
was literally slow starvation.</p>


<h3><i>Repulsed With Loss.</i></h3>

<p>The second night in the trenches we had an
alarm of a night attack. I crept out to a "funk-hole"
some thirty yards ahead of our trench with
a couple of friends. It was nearly ten o'clock
and there was a thin drizzle. We stared out into
the darkness, breathing hard in our excitement.
The usual fireworks display of searchlights and
rockets over the German trenches was missing&mdash;an
invariable sign of a contemplated attack, we
had been told. Suddenly I glimpsed a line of dim
figures advancing slowly through the darkness.
"Hold your fire, boys," I gasped. "Let them get
good and close before you loose off." They came
nearer, stealthily, silently. We raised our rifles.
Suddenly my friend on the right rolled over, shaking
with noiseless laughter. For a moment we
thought he was mad. Then we, too, realized the
truth. The approaching column, instead of eager,
bloodthirsty Germans, was a dozen harmless domestic
cows, strays, doubtless, from a deserted
farm. There were considerable casualties among
the attacking force, and for a week at least the
American section of the Foreign Legion had an
ample diet.</p>

<p>The next night the three of us were out there
again, but there was still no attack, though we had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
rather a nasty experience all the same. We were
crawling back to our trench about midnight when
suddenly we found ourselves under a heavy fire.
One bullet went through Thaw's kepi, but we soon
saw that instead of coming from the Germans, the
fire was directed from a section of our own
trenches who thought there was an attack. We
yelled, but they went on shooting. I was so mad
that I shot back at them, but luckily there was no
damage done anywhere.</p>


<h3><i>Praise for Germans.</i></h3>

<p>Two nights later there really did come an attack
in considerable force. A lot of us crawled
out into a hollow in front of our trench and, starting
at about forty yards' distance, we let them
have it hot and heavy. We had our bayonets
fixed, but they didn't get near enough to charge.
I think we kept up America's reputation for
marksmanship; anyway, they melted away after
about half an hour, and in the morning there were
several hundred dead bodies in front of the trench&mdash;they
had taken the wounded back with them.
The bodies were still there when I left, nearly
three months later. I crawled out a night or two
afterward and had a look at them, and was lucky
enough to get an iron cross as a souvenir off a
young officer. He was lying flat on his back with a
hole between the eyes, and he had the horriblest
grin human face ever wore; his lips were drawn
right back off the teeth so that he seemed to be
snarling like a wild beast ready to bite.</p>

<p>We took no prisoners at all; in fact, none of
them got near enough, and our Colonel didn't
think it worth while risking a counter-charge. To
tell the truth, we hardly took any prisoners any
time, except here and there an occasional straggler.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
I've heard stories about the Dutchies surrendering
easily, but you can take it from me
that's all bunk. I used to think that one Irishman
could lick seventeen Dutchmen; but, believe me,
when they get that old uniform on they are a very
different proposition. On one occasion a company
of the Legion surrounded a Lieutenant and
eleven men. They called on them to surrender,
but not a bit of it. They held out all day and
fought to the last gasp. At last only the Lieutenant
and one soldier were left alive, both
wounded. Again they refused to give in, and
they had to kill the Lieutenant before the last survivor
finally threw down his rifle and let them
carry him off. I heard he died on the way to the
station, and I'm mighty sorry; he was a white
man, if he was a German.</p>

<p>One remarkable thing about the prisoners we
did get was their exceedingly thorough knowledge
of everything going on, not only of the war in
general, but of all that was taking place back of
our trenches. Their spy system is something marvelous.
Why, they knew the exact date our reinforcements
were coming on one occasion nearly a
week beforehand, when the majority of our fellows
hadn't even an idea there were any expected!</p>

<p>In some cases they got information from French
villagers whom they had bought before they retreated.
I saw one such case myself. We were
bivouacked in a ruined village, and a lot of us
were sleeping in and around a cottage that hadn't
been damaged. We were downstairs, while the
owner of the cottage and his wife and kid had the
upstairs room. One of our boys happened to go
outside in the night and, by jingo! he saw the fellow
coolly signaling with a lamp behind his curtain.
He went along and told the Captain, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
was at the schoolhouse, and they came back with
a couple of under officers and arrested them red-handed.
He tried to hide under the bed, and
howled for mercy when they pulled him out. His
wife never turned a hair&mdash;the Sergeant told me
she looked as if she was glad he'd been caught.
They shot him there and then in his own yard, and
his wife was around in the morning just as if
nothing had happened.</p>


<h3><i>"Pluckiest Thing in the War."</i></h3>

<p>After that we always used to be very suspicious
of any house or village that wasn't devastated
when everything round had been chewed up; there
was nearly always a spy concealed somewhere not
far off. To give you a case in point: There was a
fine big château near Craonelle, where our
trenches were, that hadn't been bombarded,
though they had stripped most of the furniture
and stuff out of it. Well, one fine day the General
commanding our section thought it would be a
convenient place to hold a big pow-wow. He and
his staff had only been seated at the table about
ten minutes when a whacking great 310-millimeter
shell burst right on top of the darned place, followed
by a perfect hail of others. The General
and his staff ran for their lives; luckily none of
them were badly hurt, though they got the deuce
of a scare.</p>

<p>After the bombardment some of us went along
to look at what was left of the château, and&mdash;will
you believe me?&mdash;we found a little old Dutch
sous-off half choked in the cellar, but still hanging
on to the business end of a telephone. I call that
the pluckiest thing I've seen at the war, and I can
tell you we were mighty sorry to have to shoot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
him. He never turned a hair, either, and we
didn't even suggest bandaging his eyes. He knew
what was coming to him from the start; that he
was as good as a dead man from the moment he
got into the cellar. He told us he had been there
a week, just waiting for some confiding bunch of
French officers to come along and hold a meeting.</p>

<p>It's funny how some men meet death, anyway.
We had one nigger prize fighter along with us
named Bob Scanlon. He was the blackest coon
you ever saw, until one day there came a great big
"marmite" that burst almost on top of him and
buried him in the mud. We dug him out, and he
wasn't even scratched, but ever afterward he has
been a kind of mulatto color, he was so darned
scared by the narrowness of his escape.</p>


<h3><i>Good Way to Die.</i></h3>

<p>Another boy, an Englishman, got out of the
trench one day to stretch his legs, as he said he
was tired of sitting still. Some one called to him
to come down and not be a fool, as the Germans
were keeping up a constant rifle fire, and after a
minute or two he jumped back into the trench.
"They didn't get you, did they?" called out some
one. "Oh, no!" he answered, sitting down. Then
all of a sudden he just keeled over slowly sideways
without a sound, and, believe me, when they went
to pick him up he was as dead as David&mdash;plugged
clean through the heart. He never even felt the
shock of it. If they do ever get me, that's the way
I hope to die.</p>

<p class="sig">
<span class="smcap">Bert Hall.</span>
</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="FRENCHMAN_MEETS_THAT_STRANGE_BEING" id="FRENCHMAN_MEETS_THAT_STRANGE_BEING">FRENCHMAN MEETS THAT STRANGE BEING,
TOMMY ATKINS.</a></h2>

<p class="center">LATTER'S UN-FRENCH WAYS AMUSINGLY DEPICTED BY
PARISIAN JOURNALIST FOR HIS READERS.</p>


<p>The thousands of English soldiers now on
French soil are, to Frenchmen, strange, exotic
creatures, the study of which is full of delightful
surprises. Recently a French journalist traveled
to the trenches, interviewed several specimens of
the genus Tommy Atkins, and published the results
in a Paris newspaper.</p>

<p>One Tommy was "of the species crane," with
thin legs and arms like telegraph wires, by no
means as taciturn as the Frenchman had believed
Englishmen to be. He told the Frenchman some
tall yarns.</p>

<p>"In one fight our battalion lost five hundred
men," he vouchsafed. "One bullet, which just
scratched my nose, killed my pal beside me."</p>

<p>Another Tommy dwelt on the awful fact that he
had been "twenty-two days on water without any
tea in it." He, too, had been in the thick of the
fray and had killed several of the enemy with his
own hand, which, recounts the Frenchman, filled
him with "a gentle joy."</p>

<p>"Are the inhabitants of this part of France
hospitable?" the journalist inquired of another
Englishman.</p>

<p>"Awfully nice!" replied the soldier. These
words the correspondent, after giving them in
English, to show how strange they look, translates:
"Terriblement aimable"&mdash;a combination
which must appear perfectly incomprehensible to
Frenchmen, who do not see how a thing can be
"awful" and "nice" at the same time.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>

<p>At a village in Northern France the newspaper
man found some English soldiers instructing a lot
of village boys in the rudiments of football.</p>

<p>"When the French team scored a point," he
writes, "I said to one of the Englishmen: 'But
aren't you ashamed to let them beat you at your
own game?' To which the Briton replied: 'Ah,
but we want to encourage the people of France to
take up sports!'"</p>

<p>Football was being played wherever there were
Englishmen. Often the games were between teams
of English and French soldiers. Where a ball
was not to be had, the players were quite content
to kick about a bundle of clothes.</p>

<p>When not thus engaged, the English soldier
finds time to enter the lists of Cupid. The French
writer tells of one Tommy whom he saw "promenading
proudly before the awe-struck glances of
the villagers with three girls on his arm!"</p>

<p>"The English? Oh, they're good fellows!" remarked
a villager in whose house a number of the
allies of France were quartered. "They're in
bed snoring every night at eight. They get together
in my kitchen while I make their tea and
sing sentimental songs. They're all musical."
The journalist adds, in corroboration of this statement,
that he himself heard Tommies "singing
discordantly to the accompaniment of the cannon."</p>

<p>Also he found that Tommy had a sense of humor.
On one occasion, he learned, a German officer
came charging at the head of his men into an
English trench. Leaping over the edge of it, he
fell headlong into a sea of black mud, from which
he picked himself up, black and dripping, and exclaimed:</p>

<p>"What a confounded nuisance this old war is,
isn't it?"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>

<p>Whereupon a Tommy, about to run his bayonet
through the intruder, burst into roars of laughter,
and made him a prisoner instead.</p>

<p>"And the Tommies are philosophers, too,"
writes the Frenchman. "I heard one of them say
solemnly to a comrade: 'If you have any money,
spend it all to-day. You may be dead to-morrow!'"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="ONE_YOUNG_SOLDIER_WHO_PROVED_A" id="ONE_YOUNG_SOLDIER_WHO_PROVED_A">ONE YOUNG SOLDIER WHO PROVED A
HERO.</a></h2>


<p>"Jean Berger, 'simple soldat' of the Second
Regiment of Infantry, should, after the war, be
Jean Berger, V. C. He is a Frenchman&mdash;yes; but
listen to this story:</p>

<p>"He, a boy of about eighteen years of age, lies
in hospital here, wounded badly, but not dangerously,
in the side and also in the hand.</p>

<p>"Jean belongs to an old Alsatian family. After
the war against Prussia, his grandfather refused
to submit to the rule of the conquerors, and left
the province to settle in Normandy. He passed
his hatred of the Prussians on to his son, and the
son instilled it in the four grandchildren.</p>

<p>"When war broke out, two of the sons were already
in the army, one as an officer, and the
father, calling to him the two boys who were not
yet of age to be called upon by the military authorities,
said to them: 'Go and enlist! And be
sure to join regiments which will operate on the
Alsatian frontier.'</p>

<p>"Jean joined the Second Regiment of Infantry,
which was soon under orders for Upper Alsace.
Before it arrived at the scene of operations, however,
fresh instructions were received, and the
Second went to operate with the English on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
left. He went through the terrible ordeal of the
battle of the Marne, and, with his regiment, now
sadly diminished in numbers, but with its dash
and spirit as of old, he formed one of the stupendous
line drawn up to face the Germans in their
tremendously strong positions on the Aisne.</p>

<p>"It was during one of the almost innumerable
fights which, battles in themselves, are making up
that Homeric struggle of the nations on the River
Aisne that the Colonel leading the gallant Second
was shot down. Machine guns were raking the
quickly thrown-up trenches; showers of rifle bullets
were falling everywhere around. With that
heroism which takes account of nothing save the
object in view, Jean rushed out of his shelter to
carry his Colonel to safety.</p>

<p>"Through a rain of leaden death he passed
scatheless, reached his Colonel, and carried him to
safety.</p>


<h3><i>Back Through Hail of Lead.</i></h3>

<p>"As he was performing his glorious act, he
passed an officer of the Grenadier Guards
wounded severely in the leg who called out for
water.</p>

<p>"'All right!' cried Jean. 'I'll be back in a minute
or two.'</p>

<p>"He put the Colonel in the shelter of a trench
where the Red Cross men were at work, procured
some wine from one of the doctors, and set forth
again to face the bullet showers. And again he
went out untouched.</p>

<p>"Reaching the English officer, Jean held up the
flask to the wounded man's lips, but, before he
could drink, a bullet struck the young Frenchman
in the hand, carrying away three fingers, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
flask fell to the ground. Quickly, as though the
flask had merely slipped out of one hand by accident,
Jean picked it up with the other; and, supported
by the young Frenchman, the English officer
drank.</p>

<p>"While he was doing so, a bullet drilled Jean
through the side. Yet, in spite of the intense pain,
he managed to take off his knapsack, and, searching
in it, discovered some food, which he gave to
his English comrade.</p>

<p>"'But what about you, yourself?' asked the
officer.</p>

<p>"'Oh,' replied Jean brightly, 'it's not long
since I had a good meal!'</p>

<p>"As the Guardsman was eating, he and Jean
discovered that near them was a wounded German
soldier, who, recovering from the delirium of
wounds, was crying out for food and drink. The
Englishman, taking the flask, which had still some
wine in it, and also the remainder of the food from
the Frenchman's knapsack, managed, though suffering
great pain, to roll himself along till he
reached the spot where the German soldier lay.
There, however, he found he was, by himself, too
weak to give the poor fellow anything.</p>

<p>"So he shouted to Jean to come to his assistance,
and, though movement could only be at the
cost of great pain, the young Frenchman managed,
too, to reach the place, and together, Englishman
and Frenchman, succored the dying German.
One held him up while the other poured
wine between his parched lips.</p>


<h3><i>All Fall in a Heap.</i></h3>

<p>"Then human nature could stand no more, and
all three fell, utterly exhausted, in a heap together.
All through the long night, a night continuously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
broken by the roar of cannon, death
watched over that strange sleeping place of the
three comrades of three great warring nations.</p>

<p>"In the morning, shells bursting near them
aroused the English officer and the French soldier.
Their German neighbor was dead, and for a long
time they could only wonder how the day of battle
was going. When the forenoon was well advanced,
they saw Germans advancing.</p>

<p>"Jean, who can speak German, called out: 'We
are thirsty; please give us something to drink.'
He was heard by some officer of Uhlans, who rode
up, and, dismounting and covering them with his
revolver, asked what was the matter.</p>

<p>"'We are thirsty,' replied Jean.</p>

<p>"The German looked at the little group. He
saw his countryman lying dead with an empty
flask beside him, and guessed what was the scene
of comradeship and bravery which the spot had
witnessed. He gave instructions to an orderly,
and wine was brought and given to the two
wounded men. Surely that is a scene and a deed
which will wipe out many a bitter thought and
memory of war!</p>

<p>"Just then the cannonade burst forth again
with tremendous fury, and the German force
which had come up had to retire. Shells were
soon bursting all around, and fragments struck
the English officer. He became delirious with
pain, and the young Frenchman&mdash;stiff, feverish,
and weak himself&mdash;saw that it was necessary to
do something to bring the officer to a place where
he would be safe and would receive attention.</p>

<p>"Jean tried to lift the Englishman, but found
that he had not sufficient strength left to take his
comrade on his shoulder. So, half lifting him,
and dragging and rolling him at times, the gallant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
little piou-piou brought the wounded English
officer nearer and nearer to safety and help. The
journey was two miles long! * * * But at
last it was over."</p>


<h3><i>May Get Victoria Cross.</i></h3>

<p>"The two men came upon some trenches occupied
by the allied forces; they were recognized
and taken in charge by an officer of the English
Red Cross. They had both just enough strength
left to shake hands and say good-by.</p>

<p>"'If I live through this,' said the officer of the
Guards, 'I shall do my best to get you the British
Victoria Cross. I've your number and that of
your regiment. God bless you, mon camarade!'
And the Guardsman lost consciousness.</p>

<p>"Jean Berger lies in hospital here in Angers;
he is expected to recover.</p>

<p>"That is the story; and that is why I believe
that England will think that Jean Berger, 'simple
soldat' of the Second Regiment of Infantry,
should become Jean Berger, V. C.</p>

<p>"For the two nations have become one by blood
shed and bravery displayed, and, in addition, a
little incident which I can relate will show that
there is a precedent for a union of honors as there
is evidence of a complete union of hearts.</p>

<p>"In the British Expeditionary Force there is an
English soldier, a member of a cyclist corps, who
is proud to wear upon his breast the 'médaille
militaire' of the French Army.</p>

<p>"The story of the stirring incident has been
told to me by Henri Roger, a young soldier of
the Fifth Infantry who saw it from the trenches
and who is now lying wounded in hospital here.</p>

<p>"During one of the engagements last week on
the River Aisne, the Fifth was holding an intrenched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
position and was faced in the distance by
a strong force of the enemy. To the right and
left of the opposing forces were large clumps of
trees, in one of which a force of English troops
had taken up a position, a fact regarding which
the Germans were unaware. In the other wood,
it was soon discovered, lay a considerable body of
German infantry with several machine gun sections.</p>


<h3><i>Cyclist Wins Decoration.</i></h3>

<p>"A road ran beside the wood in which the enemy
lay hidden, and along it a force of French infantry
was seen to be advancing. How were they
to be saved from the ambush into which they were
marching? That was the problem, and it was a
difficult one.</p>

<p>"Every time the French troops in the trenches
endeavored to signal to their oncoming comrades
hidden German sharpshooters picked off the signalers.
Soon the position seemed to be almost
desperate; every moment the intrenched French
soldiers expected to hear the hideous swish of the
Maxims mowing down their unsuspecting comrades.</p>

<p>"Suddenly, however, something happened
which attracted the attention of the French and
German trenches. From the wood where the English
lay hidden a cyclist dashed&mdash;the English, too,
had seen the danger, and a cyclist had been ordered
to carry a message of warning to the advancing
French column, several hundreds strong.</p>

<p>"The cyclist bent low in his saddle and darted
forward; he had not gone a hundred yards before
he fell, killed by a well-aimed German bullet. A
minute later another cyclist appeared, only, in
a second or two, to share his comrade's fate.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>

<p>"Then a third&mdash;the thing had to be done! The
bullets whizzed round him, but on he went over
the fire-swept zone. The Frenchmen held their
breath as they watched the gallant cyclist speeding
toward the French column; puffs of smoke
from the wood where the Germans were showed
that the sharpshooters were redoubling their efforts.
But the cyclist held on and soon passed
beyond some high ground where he was sheltered
from the Germans, but could still be seen by the
intrenched French.</p>

<p>"The Frenchmen could not resist a loud 'Hurrah!'
when they saw the daring cyclist dismount
on reaching the officer in command of the troops
which he had dared death to save.</p>

<p>"The officer heard the message and took in the
position at a glance. He gave an order or two
instantly, and turned to the Englishman.</p>

<p>"Then there was a fine but simple battle picture
which should live.</p>

<p>"The deed which had saved hundreds of lives
was one of those which bring glory as of old back
to the horror of modern warfare. Courage, and
courage alone, had triumphed, unsupported by
any of the murderous machinery of the armies of
to-day.</p>

<p>"That was what the French officer recognized.
He saluted the gallant fellow standing by the
cycle. Then, with a simple movement, took the
'médaille militaire'&mdash;the Victoria Cross of France&mdash;from
his own tunic and pinned it on the coat of
the Englishman.</p>

<p>"'I am glad,' young Roger told me when he
had finished relating the story, 'to have lived to
see that deed. It was glorious!'"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="DR" id="DR"></a>DR. MARY CRAWFORD OF BROOKLYN
TELLS OF AMERICAN AMBULANCE
WORK IN A PARIS HOSPITAL.</h2>

<p class="center">TRAGEDY AND HUMOR MIXED.</p>


<p>Dr. Mary Merritt Crawford, who in 1907 became
widely known as Brooklyn's first woman
ambulance surgeon, and who has established for
herself since that time an enviable reputation in
the medical profession, served in the American
Ambulance Hospital at Neuilly-Sur-Seine under
Dr. du Bouchet and Dr. Joseph Blake. Her letters
recounting her experiences among the wounded
describe in the most graphic manner the terrible
nature of the wounds inflicted in modern warfare.</p>

<p>She writes:</p>

<p>"We have been getting so many men with
frozen feet from the trenches. They have had
much snow near Ypres, they say, and the cold is
terrible. Last night one poor Frenchman, who
had been in the trenches for several weeks before
he was wounded, was told he would be sent away
to-morrow. His regiment is still up north and he
would be sent there. He went almost mad with
despair and tried to kill himself. This is the only
case I've come directly in contact with, although
I've heard of others. I wonder there aren't more.
Most of the little 'piou-pious' take it with wonderful
stoicism. It is fate, and they accept it, but
no one wants to go back to trench fighting. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
don't blame them for anything they do. Human
flesh and blood cannot stand it beyond a certain
point."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>"Two days ago we had a poor wretch admitted,
who had, by actual count, 150 shrapnel wounds on
him. You never saw anything so ghastly as he
was. The shell had burst so close that all his hair
was singed, and he was literally peppered with
pieces of shell. He died to-night and I couldn't
help but be glad a little, for his suffering would
have been so awful and long-drawn out had he
lived.</p>

<p>"To-day I'm dismissing one of my little zou-zous
(Zouaves). He gave me one of his buttons
as a souvenir, and when I gave him 2 francs he
wouldn't take it until I told him to keep it as a
souvenir, not as money. Then he did finally consent.
He had to go out in the same dirty uniform,
all blood-stained and with the bullet hole in his
coat. The French Government is making the
gray-blue clothes as fast as possible. I've seen
a number when walking in Paris. They are the
same cut as before, not as trim and compact as
our service clothes, but the men inside are splendid,
and as patients, ideal."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<h3><i>A Dog That Saved His Master.</i></h3>

<p>"I must write you just one story that came to
me at the ambulance just before Christmas, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
though it is a little late. We had a French soldier
brought in frightfully wounded. He came from
the region around St. Mihiel. One leg had to be
amputated, and, besides that, he had half a dozen
other wounds. His dog came with him&mdash;hunting
dog of some kind. This dog had saved his master's
life. They were in the trenches together,
when a shell burst in such a way as to collapse
the whole trench. Every one in it was killed or
buried in the collapse, and this dog dug and dug
until he got his master's face free, so that he
could breathe, and then he sat by him until some
reinforcements came and dug them all out. Every
one was dead but this man. We have both the dog
and the man with us. The dog has a little house
all to himself in the court, and he has blankets and
lots of petting, and every day he is allowed to be
with his master for a little while."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>"I am very tired to-night. For some time now
I've had charge of the dental cases, in addition to
my regular work. Just now I have nine of them.
They are the men who have fractures of the upper
or lower jaws besides other wounds. The American
dentists here are doing wonderful work&mdash;some
of the most brilliant that is done in any department.
Such deformities you never saw. The
whole front of one man's face is gone, and how
we are going to build him a new one I don't see,
but as soon as he is ready we'll begin grafting and
plastic work generally. One of these men is a
black boy, the saddest figure in the whole hospital
to me. His identification tag was lost in transit.
He doesn't read or write or speak a word of
French and none of our Senegalesi, Moroccans,
Algerians, or Tunisians can talk to him. He is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
utterly alone and lost. In the course of time the
Government will place him, but it will be a long
process. His wound is ghastly. The bullet hit his
front teeth, but as his lips must have been drawn
back in a snarl or laugh at the time, no wound appears
there. The whole of his left upper and
lower teeth were blown out, upper and lower jaw
fractured and literally his whole left cheek blown
away. You can put your fingers right into his
mouth from just in front of his ear and see the
inner side of his lips. It is awful taking care of
him, but he is as patient as some poor dog who
knows you are trying to help him.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>"Next week I am going to have all my jaw cases
photographed together. Their deformities are
frightful, but they are cheery. One man whose
whole front face is almost gone is now radiant.
You see he couldn't smoke because he couldn't
suck in the air, having no upper teeth or lip. Well,
the dentists built him a kind of 'false front' of
soft rubber, and now he is 'très gentil,' as he says,
and can smoke nicely. My poor black boy is much
better. Dr. Blake did a marvelous operation on
his face and closed in most of the gap. Suddenly
to-day we discovered he was talking French. Before
he wouldn't say a word&mdash;couldn't, poor fellow!&mdash;and
seemed not to understand. He says
his name is Hramess ben something or other. Also
he says that he fought for three days with that
ghastly, blown-to-pieces face, and didn't give up until
he got the bullet in his back. Did I tell you we
got the bullet out, and he has it as a souvenir? He
nearly died of mortification because we had thought
he was a Senegalesi&mdash;he is so dark. He says he
is an Algerian, and has told us his regiment.</p>

<div class="figcenter bord" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/i_032fp.jpg" width="600" height="449" alt="REMARKABLE" />
<div class="caption"><p><small>Photo by International News Service</small></p>

<p class="center">REMARKABLE GENERAL VIEW OF THE AUSTRIAN TRENCHES NEAR
JASIONNA, SHOWING THE COVERED SHELTERS AS WELL AS OPEN
DITCHES AND THE WINDING LANES OF CIRCULATION</p></div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>

<p>"I must finish this letter with an attempted account
of our wonderful fête de Noël, which was
held here this afternoon [this letter was written
on Christmas Eve], and which will terminate at
midnight with a mass in the chapel. A famous
opera singer is to sing Gounod's 'Ave Maria,'
and I'm going to prop open my weary eyes and
attend it.</p>

<p>"We decorated the wards and halls with holly
and mistletoe, which grows in great abundance
and richness here in France. We had the tree all
lighted by electric bulbs downstairs, with a beautiful
Santa Claus giving out gifts. All walking
cases filed in and received small gifts. Many came
in chairs, too. Meantime a trained chorus was
walking through the halls from floor to floor, singing
Christmas carols, and finally Santa Claus carried
his gifts to all the bed patients. In the meanwhile
the chapel was filled with soldiers and
nurses, and many patriotic songs were sung. The
singing made me so homesick that the tears came
and I had to go back to my sick men. I bought
each man a package of cigarettes and a box of
matches, and I gave an enlargement of the group
photo I sent you to each man in it. Also I lent
them my big silk American flag to help decorate.</p>


<h3><i>The Clown of the Hospital.</i></h3>

<p>"Ahmed, the big Turco, who came to me with
seven shrapnel wounds, but is now almost well,
and who I told you is the proud husband of two
wives and the father of six sons&mdash;he does not
count the daughters&mdash;got hold of the flag somehow,
and now it hangs proudly over his bed. By
the way, he heard this morning that one of his
wives, Fatima, has presented him with a son, so
now he has seven. Such joy! While I was down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
at noon buying the tobacco and a few little things
for K&mdash;&mdash; I saw a little doll, chocolate in color,
dressed as a baby. I bought it and put it on Ahmed's
pillow when he wasn't looking. The instant
he spied it he let off a yell: 'Mon fils de Tunis!'
and hugged that poupée and carried on most delightfully.</p>

<p>"I also bought a wooden crane, whose head,
neck, and feet move, for Moosa, the black Senegalesi.
I told you about him a long time ago, but
not by name. He is the one who said a prayer
over his wound and tried to bite every one who
came near him. He has become quite tame under
the influence of Dr. Chauneau, who is the most
charming old Frenchman imaginable. Moosa got
toys exactly like a child and was just as delighted.
He laughs just like a typical Southern darky does,
and is altogether funny. They keep him in a red
jacket and cap, and the color effect is splendid.
It reminds me of chocolate and strawberry ice
cream.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>"That Turco, Ahmed, whom I've spoken of several
times, and who is absolutely devoted to me,
keeps the ward in a perfect gale. Last night the
men had a regular circus there, and it was all
fomented by that old rascal. I've told you how
he insists on calling me 'maman' and is jealous as
a spoiled child if I show any extra attention to
any of the other patients in the ward. Well, last
night old Ahmed was very much excited when I
came in after supper. He has learned some English,
which he now mixes with his French and
Arabic. When I asked him what was the trouble
he said: 'Spik, maman?' meaning might he talk.
I graciously gave him permission, whereupon he
burst into burning speech.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>

<p>"He said they were all French, both Arabs and
Frenchmen, and the English were their allies,
weren't they? Yes. They were all wounded?
Yes. All in the same cause? Yes. Some had
more than one wound; he had seven? Yes. Then
why weren't they all fed alike? Why should Risbourg
sit in bed, never walking, never going to the
table to eat&mdash;in fact, never doing any of the things
they all had to do&mdash;and yet have extra feeding?
You see, Risbourg is the case I told you of that
nearly died of hemorrhage from a small arm
wound. He had to be transfused and he is on
extra feeding to make up his blood. He does eat
enormously, and I love to see him do it.</p>

<p>"Well, I noticed that Risbourg was the only one
who wasn't laughing, so I called Ahmed to attention
and told him the story of the hemorrhage,
whereupon he gave me a huge wink to show that
it was all a joke. Risbourg didn't regard it as
such, so I went over and told him that I understood,
and that I wanted him to eat as much as he
wanted, and that it was all right. He is really
very devoted to me, and said: 'You, doctor, you
understand, but all the time Ahmed tells the nurse
to tell you that I eat too much.'</p>

<p>"By this time they were all crowding around
him trying to make up, and he added: 'I know
why they say such things! It is because I am of
the infantry of France, and they are zouaves and
tirailleurs (artillerymen) of Africa. I am alone
among them.'</p>

<p>"Well, this was getting serious, so I made a
speech and told them they were all Frenchmen
and brothers, and we all 'vived la France!' Then
Old Incorrigible had to pipe up again: 'Mais,
maman, Risbourg said I didn't smell good. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
he spat when I said I was a Frenchman. And also
he said he was a German.'</p>

<p>"I said: 'Risbourg, did you tell him you were
a German?' Risbourg smiled broadly (he has one
tooth gone just like Dave Warfield) and said:
'Yes, doctor, but because the Irish boy told me to.
Je fais une plaisance.' So then I pointed out to
him that he had had his little joke, and Ahmed
had had his, when he said that he ate too much.
Great applause from the Arabs, who quickly got
the ethical point. So we all made up and shook
hands."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="ROYALTY_AT_THE_FRONT" id="ROYALTY_AT_THE_FRONT">ROYALTY AT THE FRONT.</a></h2>


<p>The following letter, written by Prince Joachim
of Prussia, the youngest son of the German Emperor,
was addressed to a wounded comrade in
arms by the Prince, himself at that time recovering
from a wound suffered in battle. Prince
Joachim, who is 24 years old, is a Lieutenant in
the First Prussian Infantry Guards. In a tone of
easy-going comradeship, not usually associated
with the stern and imperious Hohenzollerns, the
young Prince wrote to his friend and fellow-guardsman,
Sergt. Karl Kummer, who had been
sent, badly wounded, to the home of his sister at
Teplitz:</p>

<p>My dear Kummer: How sincerely I rejoiced
to receive your very solicitous letter! I was sure
of Kummer for that; that no one could hold him
back when the time came to do some thrashing!
God grant that you may speedily recover, so that
you can enter Potsdam, crowned with glory, admired,
and envied. Who is nursing you?</p>

<p>The old proud First Guard Regiment has
proved that it was ready to conquer and to die.
Kummer, if I can in any way help you, I shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
gladly do so, by providing anything that will
make you comfortable. You know how happy I
have always been for your devotion to the service,
and how we two always were for action
(Schwung). I, too, am proud to have been
wounded for our beloved Fatherland, and I regret
only that I am not permitted to be with the regiment.
Well, may God take care of you! Your
devoted</p>

<p class="sig">
<span class="smcap">Joachim of Prussia</span>.
</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Interesting, too, is a letter written on Sept. 5
by Ernest II., Duke of Saxe-Altenburg, who, besides
being a Lieutenant of the Prussian Guard
and Chief of the Eighth Infantry Regiment of
Thuringia, is Duke of Saxe-Altenburg (since
1908), of Juliers, Cleves and Berg, Engern, and
Westphalia; Landgrave in Thuringia, Margrave
of Misnia, Count of Henneberg, Marche, Ravensberg,
and Seigneur of Ravenstein and Tonna. In
1898 the Duke married Princess Adelaide of
Schaumburg-Lippe, thus uniting two great German
houses. His own house was started in 1655
by Ernst, Duke of Saxe-Hildburghausen. His letter
follows:</p>

<p>We have lived through a great deal and done a
great deal, marching, marching, continually, without
rest or respite. On Aug. 10 we reached Willdorf,
near Jülich, by train, and from the 12th of
August we marched without a single day of rest
except Aug. 16, which we spent in a Belgian village
near Liége, until to-day, when we reached
&mdash;&mdash;. These have been army marches such as history
has never known.</p>

<p>The weather was fine, except that a broiling
heat blazed down upon us. The regiment can
point back to several days' marches of fifty kilometers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
&mdash;&mdash;. Everywhere our arrival created
great amazement, in Louvain as well as in Brussels,
into which the entire &mdash;&mdash; marched at one
time. At first we were taken for Englishmen in
almost every village, and we still are, because the
inhabitants cannot realize that we have arrived
so early. The Belgians, moreover, in the last few
days almost invariably set fire to their own villages.</p>

<p>On Aug. 24 we first entered battle; I led a combined
brigade consisting of &mdash;&mdash;. The regiment
fought splendidly, and in spite of the gigantic
strain put upon it, it is still in the best of spirits
and full of the joy of battle. On that day I was
for a long time in the sharpest rifle and artillery
fire. Since that time there have been almost daily
skirmishes and continual long marches; the enemy
stalks ahead of us in seven-league boots.</p>

<p>On Aug. 26 we put behind us a march of exactly
twenty-three hours, from 6:30 o'clock in the morning
until 5:30 the next morning. With all that, I
was supposed to lead my regiment across a bridge
to take a position guarding a new bridge in course
of construction; but the bridge, as we discovered
in the nick of time, was mined; twenty minutes
later it flew into the air.</p>

<p>After resting for three hours in a field of stubble,
and after we had all eaten in common with
the men in a field kitchen&mdash;as we usually do&mdash;we
continued marching till dark.</p>

<p>The spirit among our men is excellent. To-night
I am to have a real bed&mdash;the fourth, I believe,
since the war began. To-day I undressed
for the first time in eight days.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The battle of Lyck, the victory of which has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
heretofore been attributed solely to Field Marshal
von Hindenburg, would appear to have been won
by his subordinate, Gen. Curt E. von Morgen, according
to the following letter, written by Gen.
von Morgen to his friend Dr. Eschenburg, Mayor
of Lübeck, the city where, in peace times, Gen.
von Morgen was stationed as commander of the
Eighty-first Infantry Brigade. Gen. von Morgen
is 56 years old. He has been in the army since
1878, when he was appointed Lieutenant in the
Sixty-third Infantry Brigade. He served in the
German campaign in the Kamerun in 1894 and
suppressed the rebellion there in 1896 and 1897.
In the latter year he served also in the Thessaly
campaign, attached to the headquarters of Edhem
Pasha, and in 1898 he accompanied the German
Emperor on the latter's journey to Palestine. The
General wrote:</p>

<p class="sig">
<span class="smcap">Suwalki</span>, Sept. 13.
</p>

<p>Yesterday, after a short fight, I captured Suwalki,
and I am now seated in the Government
Palace. This morning I marched into the city
with my division, and was greeted at the city limits
by a priest and the Mayor, who offered me
bread and salt. (The Russian officials had fled.)
It was a glorious moment for me. I have appointed
a General Staff officer as Governor of the
Government of Suwalki.</p>

<p>To-morrow we continue to march against the
enemy. The army of Rennenkampf is completely
destroyed. Thirty thousand men captured. Rennenkampf
and the Commander in Chief, Nicholas
Nicholaiewitch, fled from Insterburg in civilian
garb.</p>

<p>The plan of the Russians was to get us into a
pot, but it was frustrated. The Twelfth Russian
Army Corps, which was advancing from the south<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
to flank our army, was beaten by me on Sept. 7, at
Bialla, and on Sept. 9 at Lyck and was forced back
over the border.</p>

<p>You know that I always yearned for martial
achievements. I had never expected them to be
as great and glorious as these, however. I owe
them in the first place to the vigorous offensive
and bravery of my troops. I was probably foolhardy
on Sept. 9, when I attacked a force thrice
my superior in numbers, and in a fortified position;
but even if I had been beaten I should have
carried out the task assigned to me, for this Russian
corps could no longer take part in the decisive
battle. And so, in the evening, I sent in my
last battalion and attacked by storm the village
of Bobern, lying on the left wing. This, my last
effort, must so have impressed the Russians that
they began the retirement that very night. On
the morning of the 10th of September the last
trenches were taken.</p>

<p>My opponents were picked troops of the Russian
Army&mdash;Finnish sharpshooters.</p>

<p>Health conditions with me are tolerable.</p>

<p>(In a later note, Gen. von Morgen added that
Gen. von Hindenburg, his Commander in Chief,
sent word that he would never forget the valorous
deeds that had made possible these victories, and
that even before the battle of Lyck the Iron Cross
of the Second Class had been accorded to Gen.
von Morgen. When he entered Lyck, Gen. von
Morgen said, the inhabitants kissed his hands.)</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A letter containing a personal touch was sent
from the front in the early part of the war by
Rudolf Herzog, one of Germany's greatest living
poets and novelists. The letter, as originally published,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
was in rhymed verse. The poet, who visited
this country about a year ago and was fêted
by Germans in all the chief cities he visited, is the
author of numerous novels and romances, dating
from 1893 to the present. Herzog lives in a fine
old castle overlooking the Rhine, mentioned in his
letter, which is as follows:</p>

<p>It had been a wild week. The storm-wind swept
with its broom of rain. It lashed us and splashed
us, thrashed noses and ears, whistled through our
clothing, penetrated the pores of our skin. And
in the deluge&mdash;sights that made us shudder&mdash;gaunt
skeleton churches, cracked walls, smoking
ruins piled hillock high; cities and villages&mdash;judged,
annihilated.</p>

<p>Of twenty bridges, there remained but beams
rolled up by the waters&mdash;and yawning gaps.</p>

<p>Not a thought remained for the distant homeland
and dear ones far away; the only thought, by
day and by night: On to the enemy, come what
may! No mind intent on any other goal. No time
to lose! No time to lose! Haste! Haste!</p>

<p>And forward and backward and criss-cross
through the gray Ardennes the Chief Lieutenant
and I, racing day after day.</p>

<p>Captain of the Guard! You? From the Staff
Headquarters?</p>

<p>He shouts my name as he approaches:</p>

<p>"Congratulations! Congratulations!"</p>

<p>And he waves a paper above a hundred heads.</p>

<p>"Telegram from home! Make way, there, you
rascals! At the home of our poet&mdash;I've just
learned it&mdash;a little war girl has arrived!"</p>

<p>I hold the paper in my outstretched hand. Has
the sun broken suddenly into the enemy's land?
Light and life on all the ruins? * * *</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>

<p>Springtime scatters the shuddering Autumn
dreariness.</p>

<p>My little girl! I have a little girl in my
home! * * *</p>

<p>You bring back my smile to me in a heavy
time. * * *</p>

<p>I gaze up at the sky and am silent. And far and
near the busy, noisy swarm of workers is silent.
Every one looks up, seeking some point in the far
sky. Officers and men, for a single heart-throb,
listen as to a distant song from the lips of children
and from a mother's lips, stand there and smile
around me in blissful pensiveness, as if there were
no longer an enemy. Every one seems to feel the
sun, the sun of olden happiness.</p>

<p>And yet it had merely chanced that on the German
Rhine, in an old castle lost amid trees, a dear
little German girl was born.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The following is written from the front by Corp.
T. Trainor:</p>

<p>We have had German cavalry thrown at us six
times in the last four hours, and each time it has
been a different body, so that they must have
plenty to spare. There is no eight hours for
work, eight hours for sleep, and eight hours for
play with us, whatever the Germans may do.</p>

<p>The strain is beginning to tell on them more
than on us, and you can see by the weary faces and
trembling hands that they are beginning to break
down.</p>

<p>One prisoner taken by the French near Courtrai
sobbed for an hour as though his heart were
broken, his nerves were so much shaken by what
he had been through. The French are fighting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
hard all round us with a grit and go that will
carry them through.</p>

<p>Have you ever seen a little man fighting a
great, big, hulking giant who keeps on forcing the
little chap about the place until the giant tires
himself out, and then the little one, who has kept
his wind, knocks him over? That's how the fighting
here strikes me.</p>

<p>We are dancing about round the big German
Army, but our turn will come. Our commanders
know their business, and we shall come out on top
all right.</p>

<p>Sergt. Major McDermott does not write under
ideal literary conditions, but his style is none the
worse for the inspiration furnished by the shrieking
shell.</p>

<p>I am writing to you with the enemy's shells
bursting and screaming overhead; but God knows
when it will be posted, if at all.</p>

<p>We are waiting for something to turn up to be
shot at, but up to now, though their artillery has
been making a fiendish row all along our front,
we haven't seen as much as a mosquito's eyelash
to shoot at. That's why I am able to write, and
some of us are able to take a bit of rest while the
others keep "dick."</p>

<p>There is a fine German airship hanging around
like a great blue bottle up in the sky, and now and
then our gunners are trying to bring it down, but
they haven't done it yet.</p>

<p>It's the quantity, not the quality of the German
shells that is having effect on us, and it's not so
much the actual damage to life as the nerve-racking
row that counts for so much.</p>

<p>Townsmen who are used to the noise and roar
of streets can stand it better than the countrymen,
and I think you will find that by far the fittest men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
are those of regiments mainly recruited in the big
cities.</p>

<p>A London lad near me says it's no worse than
the roar of motor 'buses and other traffic in the
city on a busy day.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="GAELIC_SPIRIT_IRREPRESSIBLE" id="GAELIC_SPIRIT_IRREPRESSIBLE">GAELIC SPIRIT IRREPRESSIBLE.</a></h2>


<p>The Gaelic spirit has not deserted Sergt. T.
Cahill under fire. He writes:</p>

<p>The Red Cross girleens with their purty faces
and their sweet ways are as good men as most of
us, and better than some of us. They are not supposed
to venture into the firing line at all, but
they get there all the same, and devil a one of us
durst turn them away.</p>

<p>Mike Clancy is that droll with his larking and
bamboozling the Germans that he makes us nearly
split our sides laughing at him and his ways.</p>

<p>Yesterday he got a stick and put a cap on it so
that it peeped up above the trench just like a man,
and then the Germans kept shooting away at it
until they must have used up tons of ammunition.</p>

<p>But Mike Clancy was not the only practical
joker in the trenches, as the following from a
wounded soldier shows:</p>

<p>Our men have just had their papers from home,
and have noted, among other things, that "Business
as Usual" is the motto of patriotic shopkeepers.</p>

<p>In last week's hard fighting the Wiltshires,
holding an exposed position, ran out of ammunition,
and had to suspend firing until a party
brought fresh supplies across the open under a
heavy fire.</p>

<p>Then the wag of the regiment, a Cockney, produced
a biscuit tin with "Business as Usual"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
crudely printed on it, and set it up before the
trenches as a hint to the Germans that the fight
could now be resumed on more equal terms.</p>

<p>Finally the tin had to be taken in because it was
proving such a good target for the German riflemen,
but the joker was struck twice in rescuing it.</p>

<p>A wounded private of the Buffs relates how an
infantryman got temporarily separated from his
regiment at Mons, and lay concealed in a trench
while the Germans prowled around.</p>

<p>Just when he thought they had left him for good
ten troopers left their horses at a distance and
came forward on foot to the trench.</p>

<p>The hidden infantryman waited until they were
half way up the slope, and then sprang out of his
hiding place with a cry of "Now, lads, give them
hell!" Without waiting to see the "lads" the
Germans took to their heels.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HIGHLAND_KILT_A_POOR_UNIFORM" id="HIGHLAND_KILT_A_POOR_UNIFORM">HIGHLAND KILT A POOR UNIFORM.</a></h2>


<p>Why Highland kilts are not the ideal uniform
for modern warfare is concisely summed up by
Private Barry:</p>

<p>Most of the Highlanders are hit in the legs.
* * * It is because of tartan trews and hose,
which are more visible at a distance than any
other part of their dress. Bare calves also show
up in sunlight.</p>

<p>Private McGlade, writing to his aged mother
in County Monaghan, bears witness to the oft-made
assertion that the German soldiers object to
a bayonet charge:</p>

<p>I am out of it with a whole skin, though we were
all beat up, as you might expect after four days
of the hardest soldiering you ever dreamed of.
We had our share of the fighting, and I am glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
to say we accounted for our share of the German
trash, who are a poor lot when it comes to a good,
square ruction in the open.</p>

<p>We tried hard to get at them many times, but
they never would wait for us when they saw the
bright bits of steel at the business end of our
rifles.</p>

<p>Some of our finest lads are now sleeping their
last sleep in Belgium, but, mother dear, you can
take your son's word for it that for every son of
Ireland who will never come back there are at
least three Germans who will never be heard of
again.</p>

<p>Before leaving Belgium we arranged with a
priest to have masses said for the souls of our
dead chums, and we scraped together what odd
money we had, but his Reverence wouldn't hear
of it, taking our money for prayers for the relief
of the brave lads who had died so far from the old
land to rid Belgian soil of the unmannerly German
scrubs.</p>

<p>Some of the Germans don't understand why
Irishmen should fight so hard for England, but
that just shows how little they know about us.</p>

<p>Seven British soldiers who after the fighting
round Mons last week became detached from their
regiments and got safely through the German
lines arrived in Folkestone to-day from Boulogne.
They belonged to the Irish Rifles, Royal Scots,
Somerset Light Infantry, Middlesex and Enniskillen
Fusiliers, and presented a bedraggled appearance,
wearing old garments given them by the
French to aid their disguise.</p>

<p>One of the seven, a Londoner, described the
fight his regiment had with the Germans at a village
near Maubeuge.</p>

<p>The British forces were greatly outnumbered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
by the Germans, but held their ground for twenty-four
hours, inflicting very heavy loss on the enemy,
although suffering severely itself.</p>

<p>He declared that the Germans held women up in
front of them when attacking. "It was worse
than savage warfare."</p>

<p>Paddy, an Irishman, stated that the soldiers got
little or no food during the fighting. "When we
got our bacon cooking the Germans attacked us."</p>

<p>A Scotsman of the party said he saw a hospital
flying the Red Cross near Mons destroyed by
shrapnel. "When we were ordered to retire," he
continued, "we did so very reluctantly. But we
did not swear. Things are so serious there, it
makes you feel religious."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="FROM_MEN_IN_THE_FLEET" id="FROM_MEN_IN_THE_FLEET">FROM MEN IN THE FLEET.</a></h2>


<p>Equally interesting are some of the letters from
men with the fleet. Tom Thorne, writing to his
mother in Sussex, says:</p>

<p>Before we started fighting we were all very
nervous, but after we joined in we were all happy
and most of us laughing till it was finished. Then
we all sobbed and cried.</p>

<p>Even if I never come back, don't think I've died
a painful death. Everything yesterday was as
quick as lightning.</p>

<p>We were in action on Friday morning off Heligoland.
I had a piece of shell as big as the palm
of my hand go through my trousers, and as my
trouser legs were blowing in the breeze I think I
was very lucky.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A gunroom officer in a battle cruiser writes:</p>

<p>The particular ship we were engaged with was
in a pitiful plight when we had finished with her&mdash;her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
funnels shot away, masts tottering, great
gaps of daylight in her sides, smoke and flame
belching from her everywhere. She speedily
heeled over and sank like a stone, stern first. So
far as is known, none of her crew was saved. She
was game to the last, let it be said, her flag flying
till she sank, her guns barking till they could bark
no more.</p>

<p>Although we ourselves suffered no loss, we had
some very narrow escapes. Three torpedoes were
observed to pass us, one within a few feet. Four-inch
shells, too, fell short or were ahead of us.
The sea was alive with the enemy's submarines,
which, however, did us no damage. They should
not be underrated, these Germans. That cruiser
did not think, apparently, of surrender.</p>

<p>What naval warfare seems like to the "black
squad" imprisoned in the engineroom is described
by an engineer of the <i>Laurel</i>, who went through
the "scrap" off Heligoland. Writing to his wife
he says:</p>

<p>It was a terribly anxious time for us, I can tell
you, as we stayed down there keeping the engines
going at their top speed in order to cut off the
Germans from their fleet. We could hear the awful
din around and the scampering of the tars on
deck as they rushed about from point to point,
and we knew what was to the fore when we caught
odd glimpses of the stretcher bearers with their
ghastly burdens.</p>

<p>We heard the shells crashing against the sides
of the ship or shrieking overhead as they passed
harmlessly into the water, and we knew that at
any moment one might strike us in a vital part
and send us below for good.</p>

<p>It is ten times harder on the men whose duty
is in the engineroom than for those on deck taking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
part in the fighting, for they, at least, have the excitement
of the fight, and if the ship is struck they
have more than a sporting chance of escape. We
have none.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="FROM_A_DYING_FRENCHMAN" id="FROM_A_DYING_FRENCHMAN">FROM A DYING FRENCHMAN.</a></h2>


<p>The most dramatic letters come from the
French. On one of the fields of battle, when the
Red Cross soldiers were collecting the wounded
after a heavy engagement, there was found a half
sheet of notepaper, on which was written a message
for a woman, of which this is the translation:</p>

<p>Sweetheart: Fate in this present war has
treated us more cruelly than many others. If I
have not lived to create for you the happiness of
which both our hearts dreamed, remember that
my sole wish is now that you should be happy.
Forget me. Create for yourself some happy home
that may restore to you some of the greater pleasures
of life. For myself, I shall have died happy
in the thought of your love. My last thought has
been for you and for those I leave at home. Accept
this, the last kiss, from him who loved you.</p>

<p>Writing from a fortress on the frontier, a
French officer says the Colonel in command was
asked to send a hundred men to stiffen some reservist
artillery in the middle of France, far away
from the war area. He called for volunteers.
"Some of you who have got wives and children,
or old mothers, fall out," he said. Not a man
stirred. "Come, come," the Colonel went on.
"No one will dream of saying you funked. Nothing
of that kind. Fall out!" Again the ranks
were unbroken. The Colonel blew his nose violently.
He tried to speak severely, but his voice
failed him. He fried to frown, but somehow it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
turned into a smile. "Very well," he said, "you
must draw lots." And that was what they did.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Twenty-two grandsons and great-grandsons of
Queen Victoria are under arms in the war, and all
but five of them are fighting with the Germans.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The Cunard liners <i>Saxonia</i> and <i>Ivernia</i> were
converted into prison ships by the British. The
German prisoners were delighted with the transfer
to the roomy cabins, where they could keep
warm and dry in contrast to the unfavorable conditions
under which they lived in the camps at the
Newbury Race Course.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Reindeer meat and lamb, imported from Iceland,
found their way into the markets of Berlin
since the war began. The reindeer meat is a novelty
and the supply is plentiful. The supply of
game in the markets of Berlin ran short long before,
since hunting had almost ceased. Poultry in
the markets was still in great quantities, although
eggs were not so plentiful, as the supply usually
comes from Galicia, which was then overrun by
the Russians.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A sale of small Belgian flags in Paris and
throughout France brought about $40,000 for the
benefit of the Belgian refugees. The sale was prolonged
in the outlying provinces. There was
every manifestation of enthusiasm.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Once gay Ostend is desolated. The city lives in
an atmosphere of fear. The spectre of famine is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
continually before the inhabitants, who subsist on
wounded, emaciated horses purchased at $4 a head
from the Germans. They are the only meat the
people can buy. There are no vegetables, and
scarcely any coffee and no tea. Many convicts
from prisons in Germany, distinguished by their
shorn heads, are employed in grave digging work
about the city.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The hygiene committee of the French Chamber
of Deputies has won over the veto of General Joffre
that a number of committeemen be allowed to
inspect the hospitals at the front with a view to
certain reforms. General Joffre opposed the proposal.
The Minister of War, however, agreed
that twelve of the committee should go on the inspection
trip.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>That the battle of Crouy was one of the bloodiest
engagements of the war is demonstrated by
the stories told by wounded soldiers reaching
Paris to-day. An officer gives this thrilling account
of the affray:</p>

<p>"After our successful advantage the Germans
counter attacked with fearful violence. How
strongly they were reinforced is shown by the fact
that they were 40,000 against less than 10,000
French. They first drove us from Vregny to
Crouy, then, because further reinforcements were
still reaching them, we were compelled to quit
Crouy, Bucy, Moncel, Sainte Marguerite and
Missy.</p>

<p>"These attacks certainly hit us hard, but our
losses are not comparable with those of the Germans,
for we killed an inconceivable number of
them. A battery covering our retreat alone annihilated
two battalions of Germans who advanced,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
as usual, in a mass. We could not resist,
so we left a small rearguard force with the mission
to hold on to the last man so that the bulk of
our 10,000 men could recross the Aisne.</p>

<p>"This force took cover behind an old wall and
belched fire on the advancing Germans until its
ammunition was exhausted. The Germans managed
to reach the other side of the wall, and even
grasped the barrels of our rifles thrust through
gaps. 'Surrender!' they cried. 'We won't harm
you.' But we continued mowing them down with
six mitrailleuses. The carnage was frightful, and
that moment a shell splinter struck me.</p>

<p>"A shell fire directed on our positions in the
Valley de Chivres was fearful. Those of our
troops who escaped said it was a continuous rain
of Jack Johnsons, which are impossible to dodge.</p>

<p>"Next day the Germans tried to pursue us
across the Aisne, but our artillery repulsed two
determined attacks, decimating several regiments,
which were forced to retreat to Moncel."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>It is a curious thing that shell explosions always
make hens lay. Just whether it's shock or not no
one is able to say as yet, but as soon as the soldiers
see a stray chicken after a fusillade they make a
dash for it in hopes of finding an egg. Some of the
soldiers are suggesting running a poultry farm on
the explosion system.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Petrograd reports that the German officers in
command of the Turks induced the temperate Osmanlis
to drink cognac before going into battle.
Russian soldiers assert that many Turks fell from
dizziness before reaching the Russian bayonets.
So unused are many of the Turks to alcohol that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
small quantities of the cognac completely befuddled
them.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Kaiser Wilhelm has presented the Turkish
Government with a series of motion picture films
of the Germans in battle along the Western front.
These pictures will be reproduced in Constantinople
in public and are hoped to be a stimulant to
enthusiasm in the Turkish capital.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Switzerland's neutrality has thus far cost her
$22,000,000. This includes the expenses of mobilization
along the frontiers and other purely military
expenditures. It is an enormous sacrifice for
the Swiss people, but the spirit in which it is being
borne is the most striking proof of the determination
of the country to remain neutral.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Efforts are being made by the Washington Humane
Society to have laws enacted prohibiting the
exportation of horses and mules to the war. The
life of a horse or mule at the front in Europe
varies between three days and three weeks. The
life of the beast depends upon the service to which
it is put.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Eight Belgian heroes prevented the Germans
from piercing a weak spot in the Allies' line near
Dixmude. A patrol of eight Belgians with a machine
gun saw a column of Germans advancing.
The patrol took shelter in a deserted farm house.
Not until the German column was one hundred
yards away did the Belgians open fire. Then the
machine gun shot a spray of death into the column,
whose front rank just seemed to melt to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
ground. The Germans pressed on bravely, their
officers urging them with hoarse cries. But discipline
had to bow to death, and the first rush was
stayed. Behind their rough shelter the Belgians
fired steadily, though outnumbered twenty to one.
For two hours the unequal fight continued, and
still the Belgians continued to pick off individual
Germans or melted down any threatening rush
with a shower of flame and death from the machine
guns. When relief finally came three of the
Belgians were dead and the other five desperately
wounded.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>An order has been issued expelling all German
and Austrian subjects between the ages of sixteen
and sixty from Petrograd and its environs, and
from those Russian provinces bordering on the
Gulf of Finland and the Baltic, including the Gulf
of Riga. Drastic measures will be taken with
those who evade this order. All Germans and
Austrians found in the forbidden districts will be
dealt with as spies.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The British War Office is now urging the women
of the Empire to send their husbands to war.
London newspapers printed the following advertisement:
"To the Women: Do you realize that
one word, 'Go,' from you may send another man
to fight for our King and our country? When the
war is over and your husband or your son is
asked, 'What did you do in the great war?' is he
going to hang his head because you would not let
him go? Women of England, do your duty! Send
your men to-day to join our glorious army. God
Save the King!"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A brave young wife travelled from Paris to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
Belgian firing line to see her husband, but was
told that such was impossible because he was in
the trenches. Noticing that she wept, a Belgian
officer nearby told the woman to dry her tears.
He then telephoned to the trenches. In an hour
the French artilleryman appeared and rushed into
his wife's arms. "You must thank that Belgian
officer&mdash;he has a heart of gold," said the wife to
her husband, pointing to the officer who had befriended
her. "Hush," whispered the soldier,
"he is the King of the Belgians."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>One of Italy's best known military critics, while
manifesting high esteem for the strategy of General
von Hindenburg, severely criticized a certain
feature of the Marshal's tactics. Some days later
he received a parcel from Germany containing a
fine fac-simile of the famous General's baton, accompanied
by a note asking the critic to accept
the baton and come and have a try at the job of
beating the Russians if he thought himself more
capable of doing it than Von Hindenburg.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A British soldier made somewhat of a name for
himself by refusing to allow General Joffre to
enter the house used as headquarters owing to
the fact that the famous French General had no
permit from the English General, whose orders
were to allow nobody whatever to enter without
it. General Joffre was not upset, and went off
with his aide, who obtained the necessary permit.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The official aviation reports show that 135
deaths occurred in the French aero service between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
the beginning of the war and January 1.
This number includes observers, passengers, pupils
and pilots.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Every precaution has been taken to guard
against possible attack by German aeroplanes on
the Palais Bourbon during the session of Parliament
in Paris. Three French aeroplanes flew
constantly in the vicinity of the building during
the session.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A brilliant charge by French Alpine troops on
skis down the snow-covered slopes of Bonhomme,
on the Alsatian frontier, is the latest thing in warfare.
Under a heavy fire from the Germans the
Alpine troops climbed to the summit. Then they
charged down the side of the mountain with the
speed of the wind, firing their rifles as they sped
along. These Alpine men are so skilful on skis
that they can fight as they slide along at breakneck
speed. Many of them were dropped by German
gunfire during the charge, but as the outrunners
drew near the Germans broke and fled.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>That the Kaiser has Breton blood in his veins
is the latest assertion of Paris newspapers. To
prove their assertion the Kaiser's ancestry is
traced back to 1547 to the head of a princely
Breton family.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Five dollars for officers and $2.50 for non-commissioned
officers are the bounties placed on the
heads of French leaders, according to German
prisoners. The soldiers receive these amounts for
every officer killed. Many bounties have been
paid.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>General Grossetti, whose name matches his
physical proportions, has won fame by his habit
of sitting in an armchair when duty calls him to
the firing line. His contempt for death has become
proverbial and won for him the admiration
of a Japanese journalist, who compared him to
the Samurai. Once he rallied a wavering regiment
by taking a seat, amid a hail of shells, before
the trenches the regiment was defending.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>There are two plausible explanations of the
mystery that still surrounds the deposal of General
von Moltke, former Chief of Staff in the
Kaiser's war council. One story is that when von
Kluck was making his fierce drive to the very
gates of Paris, von Moltke was for having him
continue on to the coast. The Kaiser flatly decided
against von Moltke's strategy&mdash;which was
thoroughly justified by subsequent events. It
places von Moltke, however, in the untenable position
of one whose mere presence is the silent reproach
of "I told you so." The other explanation
is that von Moltke was too lavish in squandering
the lives of his men for petty gains, paying fancy
prices in blood for a few yards. The Over War
Lord finally called a halt.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The castle of the Duke de Tallyrand, husband
of Miss Anna Gould, of New York, in East Prussia,
has been occupied by Russians. The Duke
is acting as a military chauffeur in the French
army.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The new German super-submarine has just completed
successful trial runs in the Bay of Heligoland.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
This giant submarine is of the type that
carries three months' supplies, which does not
necessitate her putting into port or having recourse
to the parent ship. There have been rumors
that the Germans intended landing men on
the coast of Britain by means of this sort of submarine.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The fear of an attack by the Germans has about
worn out in Paris. The gates are no longer closed
and the Parisians can hereafter take their strolls
along the avenues of the Bois.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Following a mutiny in the Turkish army seventeen
officers who distinguished themselves in the
Balkan war have been shot.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Through inoculation the ravages of typhoid
fever among the British troops have been checked.
Not a single death has occurred among those thus
inoculated.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>That thousands of Russian women are rejoicing
over the fact that the sale of vodka has been prohibited
by the Russian Government was the news
brought by Mrs. Anna Omohundro, who arrived
on the Scandinavian-American liner <i>Oscar II</i>.
Mrs. Omohundro, who is an American woman and
a widow, has been living for the last three years
in Petrograd and Moscow, where her brother is
the agent for the International Harvester Company.</p>

<p>"For the first time," said she, "many Russian
wives find their homes livable. It appears that
the prohibition on vodka has worked wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
changes in a short time. I have heard of hundreds
of cases where men became home loving
and industrious because they were unable to get
the fiery liquor which turned their brains.</p>

<p>"There was one case in my own home in Moscow.
A woman servant came to me and fell on her
knees and said she wished to leave our service. I
asked her why she wished to go and she said:
'For the first time I am happy in my home and
wish to go there. My husband is no longer made
crazy by vodka. He is kind to me and I wish to
keep the home for him.'</p>

<p>"Of course the cases of reformation that I know
of personally are among the men who from one
cause or another have not joined the Russian
armies. I believe, however, that the benefit extends
throughout the nation."</p>


<h3><i>Twenty-seven Miles in Sleighs.</i></h3>

<p>Mrs. Omohundro made a journey of several
hundred miles to get out of Russia from Petrograd
to Stockholm, part of which was a trip in
sleighs of twenty-seven miles from Tornio, in
Finland, to Korning, Sweden. This trip took
about four hours and the ride was through the
rather weird twilight of midday in the northern
latitudes.</p>

<p>An amusing story was told of the stop at Tornio,
on the border, where the members of the
party were searched. Even the women did not
escape inspection by the Russian soldiers and all
postcards and suspicious looking papers were confiscated.
In the party was an English Jew who
was returning to London after selling out his
business in Moscow. It was noticed by some of
the travellers that the returning merchant, whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
name was Cohen, frequently bought many boxes
of matches.</p>

<p>When the search took place at Tornio the many
boxes of matches in Cohen's baggage did not seem
to excite any suspicion among the Russian troopers.
After the party had passed over the border
Cohen opened up box after box and from the bottom
of each took a compact roll of money. He
had concealed about $12,000 in this way.</p>

<p>"You see," he explained, "I could not afford
to take any chances."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A French officer who came under heavy fire
while carrying several cases of champagne across
an exposed place in his lines to a hospital nearby
wrote thus to a friend: "For the first time during
the war I was afraid&mdash;terribly so. No one could
have been more terrified. I wasn't afraid of being
killed, but if I had been hit while carrying the
champagne from a vacant house everyone would
have said, 'Served the looter right.' Who would
have believed that I was taking it to a hospital?"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A German living in St. Louis has twenty-three
nephews in the Kaiser's army, three of whom
have been decorated with the Iron Cross for
bravery. Two have been wounded in action. A
French Senator has given his three sons for
France. One was killed in Alsace, another storming
breastworks on the Aisne, and another in
Africa.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_NINE_DAYS_PURGATORY" id="A_NINE_DAYS_PURGATORY">A NINE DAYS' PURGATORY.</a></h2>


<p>A correspondent of the London <cite>Daily Chronicle</cite>
in Flanders telegraphs the following:</p>

<p>"The Germans had been attacked and driven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
back during a certain engagement to their
trenches 400 yards from ours. Between the lines
a German officer fell, wounded by a bayonet. He
was nearer the British trenches than the German,
but whenever our men began to go out to carry in
the wounded man the German snipers got busy.
They would neither succor their tortured comrade
nor let the British do it.</p>

<p>"For nine days the wounded officer lingered.
Finally a British non-commissioned officer and one
or two privates crawled to the fallen man at night
and brought him in. For nine days he had lain
there, pierced by a bayonet from breast to back,
without food or drink. He was unconscious when
rescued and died soon afterward. During his
purgatory the gallant man, unable even to crawl,
had kept a diary, a record of physical and mental
anguish borne like a noble gentleman. On him
was found a photograph of his wife and two little
children.</p>

<p>"A British officer translated the diary to our
men and with a catch in his voice held up the
German officer as a hero to whom they should bow
their heads in reverence. The diary was sent to
headquarters, and perhaps has by now found its
way with the picture to the widow of this man."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_GALLANT_FOE" id="A_GALLANT_FOE">"A GALLANT FOE."</a></h2>


<p>The German artillery is extremely efficient and
accurate and German soldiers thoroughly trained,
is the statement of an English brigadier-general
published in the London <cite>Times</cite>, in which he says:</p>

<p>"We are having a hard time in the trenches,
for we are cannonaded day and night. The infantry
fire was devastating, since our opponents
are sharpshooters who aim successfully at every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
moving head. The German artillery is better than
I had thought possible. We are never safe from
it and never know where we should conceal ourselves,
our horses and other equipments. I have
been attacked twice, and both times it cost me a
large number of good men and officers. I am
shocked about the newspaper reports which speak
of the 'inferiority' of the German soldiers. Do
not believe it! The German soldier is splendid in
every way. His courage, his thoroughness, his
organization, as well as the equipment and bearing
of the troops, challenge comparison. The
German soldiers always take the offensive. I
have the greatest admiration for them, and so has
every one who knows them."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="NOT_ALL_HATE" id="NOT_ALL_HATE">NOT ALL HATE!</a></h2>


<p>Chancellor Lloyd George has contributed a message
to the London <cite>Methodist Times</cite>, in which he
says:</p>

<p>"I recently visited one of the battlefields of
France. I saw in a village being shelled by German
guns a prisoner of war just being brought
into the French line. He was in a motor car
under guard. He was wounded and looked ill and
in pain.</p>

<p>"The French General with whom I had gone to
the front went up to the wounded Prussian and
told him he need not worry; he would be taken
straight to the hospital and looked after as if he
were one of our own men. The Prussian replied,
'We treated your wounded in exactly the same
way.'</p>

<p>"It was a curious rivalry under these conditions;
for you could hear the 'wizzle' of the German
shells and the shuddering crack with which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
they exploded, dealing out death and destruction
in the French trenches close by. We were in
sight of a powerful French battery which was preparing
to send its deadly messengers into the
Prussian ranks.</p>

<p>"A little further on I marvelled that this exhibition
of good will among men who were sworn
foes should be possible amid such surroundings,
until my eyes happened to wander down a lane
where I saw a long row of wagons, each marked
with a great red cross. Then I knew who had
taught these brave men the lesson of humanity
that will gradually, surely overthrow the reign of
hate. Christ did not die in vain."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="FOUGHT_TO_LAST_MAN" id="FOUGHT_TO_LAST_MAN">FOUGHT TO LAST MAN.</a></h2>


<p>An excellent idea of the vicious attack by the
Australian cruiser <i>Sydney</i> that ended the career
of the German cruiser <i>Emden</i> is gained in a letter
from an officer of the Indian army in Ceylon,
where the <i>Emden's</i> wounded were taken. He
writes:</p>

<p>"The <i>Sydney</i> was warned by a wireless message
from the Cocos Islands station to put on full
speed; she made twenty-nine knots. When she
sighted the <i>Emden</i> the latter was anchored, but
came out to give battle.</p>

<p>"The <i>Emden</i> got in the first three shots. Only
one landed, as after that the <i>Sydney</i> took care to
keep out of range. The larger guns fired 600
rounds, and after one and a half hours of action,
during which the ships covered fifty-six miles in
man&oelig;uvring, the <i>Sydney</i> forced the <i>Emden</i> to
beach herself, her steering gear having broken.</p>

<p>"The <i>Sydney</i> then put up a signal to surrender,
but as all on deck except three had been killed this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
was not done. The <i>Sydney</i> accordingly gave her
two more broadsides as she lay on the beach.</p>

<p>"When the Germans succeeded in showing the
white flag the <i>Sydney</i> went off to sink the collier.
After this she returned to the <i>Emden</i> and sent
parties to help the survivors. It is said the <i>Emden</i>
was a perfect shambles. She had nearly 200
killed.</p>

<p>"The Germans had torn up their flag and threw
it into the sea."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_SMILE_IS_GONE" id="THE_SMILE_IS_GONE">THE SMILE IS GONE.</a></h2>


<p>Entrained Austrian and German troops who
came from the Yser, presumably on the way east,
were a sight very comforting for the people of
Brussels, on account of the depressed bearing of
the men. Their uniforms were soiled and tattered,
and they looked worried. The spectators
remembered the former haughty and ardent look
of the same men.</p>

<p>The troops wore flowers in their helmets, and
had written on the car sides "To St. Petersburg,"
but they could not raise a single "Hoch!" among
them.</p>

<p>The wounded continue to pour into Ghent. The
town council is so pressed for money it has imposed
taxes on beer, fuel, petroleum, and yeast.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="WHIPPED_FOR_ROBBING_GIRL" id="WHIPPED_FOR_ROBBING_GIRL">WHIPPED FOR ROBBING GIRL.</a></h2>


<p>When the Cossacks raided Ropezica, according
to the Cracow <cite>Nova Reforma</cite>, they robbed the
house in which a Polish girl was housekeeper.
The girl hurried to the commander of the Cossacks,
who lived at a hotel.</p>

<p>"I told him my trouble," she said, "whereupon
he asked me: 'Are you a Pole or a Jew?' I replied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
that I was a Pole. 'Well, then, I shall go
and see these fellows myself.'</p>

<p>"He took a nagaika (whip) and accompanied
me to the house of my employer.</p>

<p>"Then he called to the Cossacks, who had in the
meantime broken open a trunk and were just in
the act of taking various things away, to come
upstairs and showed every one what position he
was to take, after which he whipped their faces
and chests until they began to bleed. I screamed
with horror. He repeated the procedure. Then
he asked me:</p>

<p>"'Do you want these fellows shot?' to which I
naturally answered 'No.'</p>

<p>"Thereupon he took the Cossacks to a room,
where he whipped them once more.</p>

<p>"In the evening he sent for me, and asked me
what articles had been ruined and what stolen,
whereupon he commanded the Cossacks to return
all articles they had stolen. In order to prevent
another theft, he gave me a Cossack, who
watched the house until the next morning. What
would have been the fate of the house had I been
a Jewess I dare not imagine."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_CORPORALS_TROPHY" id="THE_CORPORALS_TROPHY">THE CORPORAL'S TROPHY.</a></h2>


<p>Here is a little incident of the daily life of General
Pau, a hero of the Franco-Prussian war, in
which he lost an arm:</p>

<p>A dozen French infantrymen, mud-begrimed,
were resting in a drizzling rain on the wayside
under the dripping trees. The Corporal sits and
tries in vain to light his pipe, at intervals singing
lustily.</p>

<p>Suddenly the Corporal stands erect; his pipe is
hidden behind his back, and he makes a hasty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
salute. Through the fog and rain one of the three
great leaders of the French army has appeared.</p>

<p>"Why do you not wear your cap?" asks General
Pau.</p>

<p>"I have lost my cap, General."</p>

<p>"Where did you lose it?"</p>

<p>"When we were attacked in the woods this
morning. A branch knocked it off, and I was too
much in a hurry to go back and get it. It is gone."</p>

<p>"Take my cap."</p>

<p>The Corporal fears the end of things; he will
be punished for losing his cap.</p>

<p>"Take it, I tell you, and wear it," says the
General.</p>

<p>And the humble Corporal does as he is told and
becomes resplendent, like the sun in the cap, emblazoned
with the glorious, golden oak leaves.
The General draws rein and canters away.</p>

<p>Since that day the Corporal marches along the
country roads to the frontier, proudly wearing
the cap of General Pau.</p>

<p>"The General himself told me to wear it," he
says to those who protest. "I obey the General's
orders, and the cap stays on my head."</p>

<p>The General knows his soldiers, and the world
may understand why this tired, bedraggled and
weary army goes on marching and fighting and
dying for its commanders.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="WANT_MORE_THAN_THREE_CHEERS" id="WANT_MORE_THAN_THREE_CHEERS">WANT MORE THAN "THREE CHEERS."</a></h2>


<p>The Saxon Minister of the Interior has been
obliged to direct the following warning to farmers
of the south German kingdom, according to a
Dresden dispatch in the <cite>Frankfurter Zeitung</cite>:</p>

<p>"The farmer has especial cause to thank the
German army that he can still gather in his harvest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
and cultivate his fields, that his fields have
not been laid waste, and that the walls of his
farmhouse still remain standing and intact. For
this reason, however, he ought all the more to
show his gratitude by his acts and not grumble
when sacrifices are demanded of him, as of all
others.</p>

<p>"Thus, for instance, we hear of individual
cases, such as at the time of the mustering of
horses, when certain farmers demanded angrily
why they were called upon to sacrifice anything,
and gave expression to their anger because, in
the interests of the common weal, they were asked
to refrain from demanding exorbitant prices for
their products. In this manner the patriotic sentiments
of many farmers seem rather confusing.</p>

<p>"It is indeed not enough merely to belong to a
military society and wear a festive black coat on
the occasion of celebrating the birthday of the
Kaiser and King, or to drink at comfortable ease
in a cosy tavern an occasional glass of beer, pledging
the health of our troops. The main thing is
to give freely and gladly also of one's property
and fortune."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="WILLIAM_AS_JOVIAL_AS_EVER" id="WILLIAM_AS_JOVIAL_AS_EVER">"WILLIAM AS JOVIAL AS EVER."</a></h2>


<p>"If the Emperor does not happen to be elsewhere,
he is present at nearly every council without,
however, showing the slightest desire of asserting
his personal views," says Cabasino-Renda,
an Italian newspaper correspondent in a
letter in the <cite>Giornale d'Italia</cite>. "He takes part in
the council as any other General does, without
laying claim to any decisive voice even in questions
in which he is specially competent.</p>

<p>"It is well known, for instance, that William<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
II. is a distinguished tactician. At a recent meeting
of the Great General Staff a purely tactical
problem was discussed and was solved in opposition
to the Kaiser's views. His Majesty simply
remarked: 'I think differently, but, after all, tactics
are a matter of opinion.'</p>

<p>"Very frequently he goes to see the first line
troops, and in such days and nights he has to
suffer a great deal of privation, for he takes nothing
with him and moves about like a simple General.
His retinue comprises only eleven aides-de-camp
and functionaries, and his physician in ordinary,
Dr. von Ilberg. Small, too, is the number
of his riding and carriage horses, and of his autos,
which are painted gray.</p>

<p>"The Kaiser and his villa are under the strictest
police protection, yet William II. likes to go
out unattended, as if he were in Potsdam. Repeatedly
I saw him having fun with the children,
and he looked as jovial as ever."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The Kaiser has published the following injunctions
for economy in the use of food, especially
bread: "Respect your daily bread; then you will
always have it, however long the war lasts. Eat
war bread known as Letter K, which is satisfying
and as nourishing as other kinds. Cook potatoes
in their skins. Give animals no bread or corn, but
save them the scraps."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>According to a person who has the confidence
of the Belgian officials, a number of the art masterpieces
of Antwerp were placed in waterproof
containers and sunk in the Scheldt by the Belgians
before the capture of the city by the Germans.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>North of Rheims the Germans have built an
underground town. Ten thousand men live there
and have constructed long corridors, huge halls,
bedrooms, fully equipped offices, with typewriters
and telephones, and a concert hall where Wagnerian
music is played daily for the officers.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>At some points during the German retreat toward
Strykow, the German dead were piled not
less than a yard high. Polish peasants spent
days burying the bodies. Most of the dead were
frozen. Thousands of wounded Germans froze to
death before help could reach them.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The State of Georgia has been stripped of
mules for the British army in France. Every
negro who has a long-eared mule, not too antiquated,
has offered the beast for sale to the agents
of the British Government. Some Southerners
foresee danger in the heavy draft of mules from
the South.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A French infantryman writing to a friend in
this country says: "At night we crawl forward
and dig ourselves in. During the day we hide
behind the mounds of earth we have thrown up
and we fight foot for foot any attempts they make
to advance. They do not like our cold steel, and
many times we must give it to them. I cannot
write any longer; I must relieve a sentinel."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The Belgians adore their brave King, and he
adores them. The democratic friendship between
King and the common soldiers is amazing. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
quite customary for him to hand his cigarettes to
them and take a light from them in return. He
spends a portion of each day in the trenches with
them.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A cigar presented by the German Emperor and
by him to a gentleman living at Hambledon, England,
was sold by auction in aid of the local Red
Cross Hospital. The cigar brought $72.50, and is
now the property of a firm of local butchers.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Wounded Russian officers in the Tiflis hospitals
describe the extraordinary endurance of the
Turks, who march barefooted through the snow
and shoot standing and kneeling, but rarely from
trenches. They only dread bayonet charges. The
Turks are said to have lost very heavily.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Great Britain is provisioning Gibraltar on a
large scale. The shipments from this port of late
include 141,265 bushels of wheat, 2,240 bags of
refined sugar, and 1,400 bags of wheat flour. As
yet, no explanation has appeared why England
should make such plans.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A court-martial in France sentenced Louise
Zach, a German woman, to serve six months in
prison and pay a heavy fine, on the charge of
using an American passport, which was obtained
by a fraudulent declaration. The woman was a
governess in the employ of an American family.
She got a passport at Geneva by representing
herself as the wife of an American named Appel,
and on the strength of this came to Paris.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Russia has awarded the St. George cross to
three boys, aged seventeen, fourteen, and thirteen.
The youngest is the son of an engineer in
Warsaw, who has followed the army since the
fighting at Lublin and carried cartridges under
fire to the men in the trenches. He finally became
a wonderful scout, and his reconnoitering resulted
in the capture of ten heavy guns.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The ledger of the national debt of France listing
the names of the bondholders as distinguished
from bonds payable to bearer, was brought to
Paris again to-day from Bordeaux. It required
ten cars to transport the ledger. The Germans
had planned to seize this vast book and use it to
exact indemnity.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The International Sunday School Association
plans to send a Bible to every soldier in the warring
armies in Europe. An appeal will be sent to
every Sunday school in the country, each scholar
being asked to contribute five cents he has earned.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The Prince of Wales often goes incognito
among the soldiers. He likes to get among the
men, and the other day he was found talking to a
wounded sergeant and half a dozen privates to
whom the sergeant was explaining the methods
of snipers. A messenger came up and said something
to the Prince, who turned round and wished
the men, "Good-by and good luck!" and then
went off.</p>

<p>A minute later the soldiers who had been standing
near by came up.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>

<p>"Who was the grenadier chap?" asked the sergeant
of one of the new arrivals.</p>

<p>"Why," replied the man, with a grin, "don't
you know? It's only the Prince of Wales."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Three of the Foreign Legion with the French
Army, all Americans, were doing sentry duty in
front of the trenches when some cows came
along. In the darkness one of the Americans
crept forward to attack the cows, thinking they
were Germans. Another section began firing and
almost hit the Americans, who made their way
back. They were greeted with laughs.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="SAVED_BY_AEROPLANE" id="SAVED_BY_AEROPLANE">SAVED BY AEROPLANE.</a></h2>


<p>A curious story of the Kaiser's youngest son,
Prince Joachim, wafted away in an aeroplane
when in danger of capture is told by a wounded
Russian lieutenant.</p>

<p>The officer says at the battle on November 24
the Prince was in command of a German force
which occupied a village after driving the Russians
from it. The Czar's troops, however, received
reinforcements and reoccupied the place
after a tough fight.</p>

<p>When the Prince heard of the recapture, he
jumped on a horse and galloped off after the retiring
troops.</p>

<p>Three aeroplanes were circling above to discover
and rescue the Prince. Two of the aviators
who attempted to descend came into the Russian
fire and were disabled.</p>

<p>By this time the Prince was with a number of
German troops completely surrounded by Russians.
His position seemed very critical. Just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
in the nick of time the third machine came down
near him and the Prince, taking a seat thereon,
was borne away to safety.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_DEADLY_AIR_BOMB" id="THE_DEADLY_AIR_BOMB">THE DEADLY AIR BOMB.</a></h2>


<p>A correspondent of the Central News in northwestern
France says:</p>

<p>"In attempting to destroy a railroad station, a
Taube aeroplane dropped two bombs on Hazebrouck.
The first did no harm, but, on returning,
the aeroplane dropped a bomb on a curious crowd
gathered about a hole made by the first missile,
killing ten and wounding five civilians, including
women and children."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_SUPER-BELGIAN" id="A_SUPER-BELGIAN">A SUPER-BELGIAN.</a></h2>


<p>A quick command from General Bertrand at
Haecht turned a retreat of the Belgian forces into
an attack in much the same manner as that in
which General Sheridan rallied the Union forces
at the battle of Winchester in the Civil War. The
story is printed in the <cite>Currier des Armes</cite>, the official
Belgian soldiers' paper.</p>

<p>General Bertrand, who succeeded General Leman
in command of the division which withstood
the Germans at Liége, suddenly found his troops
in retreat.</p>

<p>"Friends," he shouted, "you've mistaken the
road! The enemy is in the other direction!"</p>

<p>Electrified by their leader's words, the soldiers
wheeled about and charged the German
troops with renewed vigor.</p>

<p>On another occasion the general is declared to
have stopped an attack of two Belgian companies
upon each other by rushing between their lines
and singing a popular ditty. Until they heard the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
general's voice, the soldiers did not realize that
they were firing on their own countrymen.</p>

<p>The general is fifty-seven years old. He was
a second lieutenant at twenty years, and became
a major-general last March.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="RARE_HONOR_FOR_JEWS" id="RARE_HONOR_FOR_JEWS">RARE HONOR FOR JEWS.</a></h2>


<p>While previously soldiers of the Jewish faith
have never attained any rank in the German
army, now promotion is given wholesale.</p>

<p>In the Prussian army alone, twelve Jews have
just been promoted to be officers; in the Bavarian
army another twelve, and one each in the Saxon
and Wurttemberg armies. Seven hundred and
ten Jews have received the Iron Cross, which
some have refused to wear because it is the emblem
of the Christian faith.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HORACE_STIRS_FRENCHMEN" id="HORACE_STIRS_FRENCHMEN">HORACE STIRS FRENCHMEN.</a></h2>


<p>A remarkable incident occurred, says the Paris
<cite>Journal des Débats</cite>, at the opening matinée of
the Comedie Française, when the old-fashioned
Roman tragedy, "Horace," was presented.</p>

<p>Written in 1639, when France was fighting Germany,
it contains numerous veiled allusions to the
war and prophecies of successes afterward realized
by Louis XIII. One such is the Sabine heroine's
appeal to Rome to spare her country and
seek conquests further afield: "Hurl your battalions
against the East; plant your flags on the
borders of the Rhine!"</p>

<p>The <cite>Journal des Débats</cite> says:</p>

<p>"At these words a shiver of excitement passed
over the whole dense audience, which rose, cheering
frantically, and continued the applause for
several minutes."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="THEY_FACE_A_SOLID_WALL" id="THEY_FACE_A_SOLID_WALL">"THEY FACE A SOLID WALL!"</a></h2>


<p>Paul Erco of the Paris <cite>Journal</cite> says in a message
from Furnes:</p>

<p>"It looks as if the Germans were out of ammunition.
Yesterday we spotted several of their
batteries along the Yser, and as soon as the
French and Belgian guns opened fire they withdrew
in a hurry, declining combat.</p>

<p>"I asked one of General Joffre's ablest lieutenants
if he thought the enemy meant to give up
the Yser and Yperlee lines. His reply was:</p>

<p>"'For obvious reasons I can't tell you what I
think on that point; but I will say that even if
the Germans resume the struggle on our left wing
they cannot break through. From the Lys to the
sea they have a solid wall in front of them, which
cannot be broken down and before which they will
shatter themselves to pieces if they try it.'"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The late King Charles of Rumania left an estate
of $10,000,000, of which $750,000 is bequeathed
to the army and navy. The will states
that the money be set apart for the purchase of
quick-firing guns for the Rumanian army.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A Frenchman suggests the value of protective
armor against shrapnel. He says that metallic
disks attached inside the cap, so as to afford almost
complete protection of the neck, back, and
shoulders when soldiers are firing prone, would
no doubt save seven or eight per cent. of the men.
He cites the cases of two infantrymen who thus
utilized zinc mess tins which showed numerous
scratches where shrapnel had ricochetted and thus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
prevented wounds despite the feeble defensive
qualities of the material.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The British Government stopped the circulation
of the <cite>Irish World</cite> of New York in Ireland
because of its attitude against recruiting in Ireland.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A Paris newspaper recently printed the following:
"Now begins the twilight of the German
gods. The Kaiser's expiation commences. It is
not Napoleon vanquished by his own conquests; it
is not the eagle bowing his crest, but a wretched
vulture with the stomach ache. In his sleepless
nights, he must see, like Belshazzar's writing on
the wall, the words: 'The despicable little army
of General French!'"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The tragedy of silence killed many of the
women of Europe. Suicides occurred by thousands,
especially in Austria. Women did not
know whether their husbands and sons were alive
or dead. They were given no news. Wherever
they turned for light they were confronted by an
impenetrable pall of silence. They were not permitted
to dress in mourning, nor were the bodies
of their dead brought home for burial. Insanity
came to the relief of many. Thousands of others
went to suicides' graves.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The German army aviators discovered a
method of making clouds to hide them when
shelled by the French. A French officer was
watching some German aeroplanes under fire
when they suddenly disappeared into a cloud of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
brown smoke. In a few moments they became
perfectly invisible. The French gunners were unable
to find them again.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>A former Edinburgh newsboy in the British
army was awarded the Victoria Cross for capturing
a machine gun, an officer, and six men.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="DEJECTED" id="DEJECTED">DEJECTED!</a></h2>


<p>A dispatch from Flanders to the London <cite>Daily
Mail</cite>, referring to the condition of the Germans on
the Yser, said:</p>

<p>"Nine hundred and ninety-one prisoners
bagged in the fighting in the neighborhood of
Ypres on December 2 came to my notice to-day.
If these are a sample of the men left behind, then
the German army in western Flanders is in a
sorry state. They walked dejectedly and cursed
the guards for hurrying them into anything more
than a mile an hour. Altogether, they were as sad
a crew as ever surrendered.</p>

<p>"I saw some with boots without heels or soles
and trousers which were rotten to the knees from
the constant wetness of the dikeland. Many of
the men had been indifferently fed for days, and
many others had been for weeks fully dressed and
had not been able to bathe in the filth-sodden
trenches. One has to marvel at their endurance."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="GUIDED_BY_HEAVEN" id="GUIDED_BY_HEAVEN">"GUIDED BY HEAVEN."</a></h2>


<p>Copies of a proclamation which was to have
been posted throughout Servia by the Austrians
were received from Vienna. "By the will of God,
Who guides the destinies of peoples and the
strength of his Majesty the Emperor Francis Joseph,"
it reads, "your country had been subdued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
by force of the arms of the Austro-Hungarian
army. You have submitted to a rule just and wise
of the Gospodar, who sent us, not to avenge and
punish, but to inaugurate a reign of truth and justice.
Trust in his clemency, trust in the soldiers,
who love justice and are conscious of their duty.
They will be a strong guard for your country
which will protect you devotedly."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="DARING_TOMMY" id="DARING_TOMMY">DARING TOMMY.</a></h2>


<p>Five motor lorries of the British army Ordnance
Corps conveying ammunition were cut off
by the Germans, and the men in charge to escape
capture made off across country after blowing up
the ammunition. One, however, refused to leave,
and remained hidden in a wood at the side of the
road. The Germans, finding the ammunition destroyed,
went off, and as soon as the coast was
clear the soldier who had remained hidden came
out. Seeing the wheels of the lorries were intact,
he managed to get one of the motors going, and,
hitching the other four behind, he succeeded in
bringing his convoy into camp.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="WE_ARE_WELL_TREATED" id="WE_ARE_WELL_TREATED">"WE ARE WELL TREATED."</a></h2>


<p>A Frenchman from Normandy writes as follows
to his wife:</p>

<p>"I must tell you that I am a prisoner of war.
Chance, the great master of all things, willed it
that our battalion was to be annihilated and that
a few survivors, all uninjured, among them I, fall
into the hands of the Germans. We were brought
to P&mdash;&mdash; under guard. Don't worry about my
fate, sweetheart. The Germans are treating us
with extraordinary kindness; they look upon us
as unfortunate enemies. We get our dinner&mdash;bread,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
coffee, apples, etc.&mdash;and when we have no
tobacco they give us cigarettes."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="WOMEN_AND_CHILDREN_FIRST" id="WOMEN_AND_CHILDREN_FIRST">WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST!</a></h2>


<p>The official investigations conducted at Vienna
with reference to the claim that the Russians at
Tomaszow placed civilians in front of their troops
during the engagement there disclose the following:</p>

<p>"A battalion of the reserves under the direction
of a cavalry regiment was engaged in a rearguard
action while seeking to occupy certain positions
near Tomaszow. During the encounter the
Russians drove the inhabitants of Tomaszow
along the highways in front of them and directly
in the path of the German fire. Among these were
women and children. Similar action was taken by
the Russians at Kipanen and Sendrowen, in East
Prussia. Since strong masses of Russian troops
in this manner approached our positions as close
as 400 or 500 yards, we had to open fire. It was
unavoidable that many of the innocent civilians
thus had to be sacrificed."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="PILE_DEAD_YARD_HIGH" id="PILE_DEAD_YARD_HIGH">"PILE DEAD YARD HIGH."</a></h2>


<p>An official Russian statement describes as ridiculous
the German claims of having captured enormous
numbers of prisoners, cannons, and machine
guns. It says the armies have been fighting continuously,
and it is impossible to estimate the
losses.</p>

<p>"On the other hand, the German denial that
they have lost a single gun is disproved by the
fact that in the Brzeziny district alone (near
Lodz) we took twenty-three guns and a large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
amount of spoils. As to German prisoners, 10,000
have passed one point alone of our front where
prisoners are registered.</p>

<p>"Neither do the Germans mention the supply
columns which they burned, nor the cannon and
ammunition which they abandoned and which we
are gradually finding.</p>

<p>"The Germans also conceal the losses which
they sustained in the November fighting, although
witnesses state never has a field of battle presented
such a sight as on the roads of the German
retreat toward Strykow&mdash;at some points where we
attacked the German flanks the German dead were
piled not less than a meter (over a yard) high."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CANT_CARE_FOR_WOUNDED" id="CANT_CARE_FOR_WOUNDED">CAN'T CARE FOR WOUNDED.</a></h2>


<p>A letter received from a member of one of the
foreign Red Cross missions in Servia paints a
gloomy picture of conditions in Nish.</p>

<p>The town was crowded with wounded, fresh
batches were still pouring in, and here tobacco
factories were being utilized for their reception.
There was serious shortage of dressings and other
appliances. At one hospital visited by the writer,
the attendants were merely putting on bandages,
the supply of proper dressings being exhausted.</p>

<p>The number of surgeons and other workers, despite
the arrival of foreign missions, was too
small to deal with the enormous number of
wounded. As a consequence, the work was taxing
their powers to the utmost.</p>

<p>The Servians were meeting their difficulties
with the greatest courage and cheerfulness, but
the situation was extremely grave, and further assistance
in the shape of personal service, money,
and stores was urgently required.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="FORWARD_MY_CHILDREN" id="FORWARD_MY_CHILDREN">"FORWARD, MY CHILDREN!"</a></h2>


<p>According to a letter received recently by the
parents of Lori G. Periard, a French infantryman,
when he wrote the letter on November 5, he
was resting at Montrol, a village back of Tresne
en Oise for two days after a twenty-four-hour
shift at "advance work," the driving back of the
Germans.</p>

<p>"It is four o'clock in the afternoon," he writes.
"We are at rest for two days in Montrol, a small
village a little back from Tresne, where has been
fought the frightful battle of October 8, of which
mayhap you have heard. I was in that battle.</p>

<p>"There I saw my captain killed at my side as he
shouted to us, 'Forward, my children! Courage!'
The poor one! He was indeed one brave! I saw
my best friends killed beside me. Myself, I got
but a spent bullet in my pocket.</p>

<p>"Now we are advancing with caution. We take
the advanced post every third day. That is to say
this: We advance on Tresne, where the Germans
are, with short dashes.</p>

<p>"The Prussians are only 400 yards away from
us. We sprint and fall flat, and then we work all
night to make some trenches to shelter us. The
charges are always made at dark. In the morning
Ave relieve ourselves by crawling back, while
other soldiers who have had sheltered positions
crawl to relieve us. I say crawl, because if the
Prussians should catch sight of us they would
honor us with a fusillade en regle....</p>

<p>"During the day we hide behind mounds of
earth which we throw up, and we fight foot for
foot any attempt they make to advance. They do
not like our cold steel, and many times we must
give it to them."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="ANOTHER_RECORD_SMASHED" id="ANOTHER_RECORD_SMASHED">ANOTHER RECORD SMASHED.</a></h2>


<p>The London <cite>Standard's</cite> Berlin correspondent
says the Berlin <cite>Tageblatt</cite> relates that in the
Belgian village of Beveren 150 Bavarian soldiers
who had taken part in the siege of Antwerp drank
1,485 liters of beer within two hours.</p>

<p>Each Bavarian soldier thus drank in round figures
nearly twenty pints within two hours.</p>

<p>The <cite>Tageblatt</cite> has no other comment than that
it was satisfactory to find that Belgian beer was
fit for Bavarian consumption.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="YOUNG_GERMANY" id="YOUNG_GERMANY">YOUNG GERMANY.</a></h2>


<p>Heinz Skrohn, who attends the public school at
Prussian Battau, near Neukuhren, sent the following
letter of congratulation, which the Berlin
<cite>Tageblatt</cite> publishes, to General von Hindenburg
on the occasion of his birthday anniversary:</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Gen. von Hindenburg</span>: I read in the
paper that October 2 is the anniversary of your
birthday. The public school of Battau, Fischhausen
county, sends its heartiest congratulations
and hopes that you will continue to give the Russians
a good thrashing. We very often play soldier,
but nobody wants to be the Russ, saying that
as such they get beaten up too much. I am also
sending you a picture in this letter showing us
lined up as soldiers. I am the leader, and have
the Iron Cross on my chest. On another picture
the girls are seen knitting socks for the soldiers.
I would also like to have your picture, but a big
one, please. We want to hang it up in our classroom
alongside of the Kaiser's picture. When a
few days ago the Russians were coming nearer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
and nearer to Koenigsberg many people here became
alarmed and moved away. We, however,
stayed at home and went to school every day.
Our teacher here tells us every day what happens
in the war. We had a big celebration here after
the battle of Tannenberg. We got all the flags
together and marched through the village. We
boys would like to go to war, too, but are too small
yet. I am only twelve years old. Please write me
that you got the letter. If you have no time yourself,
have somebody else write. The boys here
are very anxious to know whether I will get a
reply.</p>

<p>"Now, good luck once more to you and health
from all the boys of the public school of Prussian
Battau, especially from the captain.</p>

<p class="sig">
"<span class="smcap">Heinz Skrohn.</span>"
</p>

<p>The following reply was received by Heinz in
due time:</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Heinz</span>: His Excellency Major General
von Hindenburg wishes me to thank you very
much for your letter and the pictures. His Excellency
will have a picture sent to you, and hopes
that you will always be industrious boys, despite
the war.</p>

<p class="sig">
<span class="smcap">Caemmerer</span>,<br />
"Captain and Adjutant.",
</p>

<hr class="chap" />


<h2><a name="THE_INVISIBLE_FOE" id="THE_INVISIBLE_FOE">THE INVISIBLE FOE.</a></h2>


<p>A visit to the French trenches in Flanders, under
the auspices of the French General Staff, is
here described:</p>

<p>Standing in the shelter of a wonderfully ingenious
and deep-dug trench on what undoubtedly
is the bloodiest battlefield in European history,
the most notable impression is one of utter surprise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
at the absence of movement and the lack of
noise.</p>

<p>Within one's range of vision, with a strong field
glass, there are probably concealed not fewer
than 100,000 men, yet except for the few French
soldiers with rifles in their hands standing or
kneeling in the immediate vicinity and keenly
peering over the flat land toward the positions
held by the Germans, no human presence was noticeable.</p>

<p>A staff officer said that behind a slight slope 300
yards away many German guns were hidden, but
only an occasional burst of flame and a sharp
whirring sound coming from an indefinite point
told of this artillery.</p>

<p>A little forest to the left bristles with machine
guns backed by infantry in rifle pits and covered
trenches. The approach to these positions has
been made almost impossible by barbed-wire entanglements
strewn with brush and branches of
trees and having the appearance of a copse of
heather.</p>

<p>British, French, and Belgian troops are greeted
with cheers by the people as they march from
spells of duty in the trenches to the villages in the
rear. These men are jaded and worn. They stay
in the trenches for days at a time and are constantly
under artillery fire as well as being subjected
to infantry attacks.</p>

<p>As one group goes back to rest, another moves
forward to take its place, and the men going into
action cheer those who are retiring.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="TRAITOR_MAYOR_SHOT" id="TRAITOR_MAYOR_SHOT">TRAITOR MAYOR SHOT.</a></h2>


<p>A British officer writes home from the front
remarking on the curious avoidance by the Germans,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
at first, of shelling the town hall at Ypres.</p>

<p>"Some suspicions were aroused by it," he
writes, "and the place was searched. In the
vaults underneath it, which are of very great extent,
was found an enormous quantity of German
stores and ammunition sufficient to last them a
month and serve as a depot for their attack on
Calais.</p>

<p>"It had been put there with the connivance of
the Mayor at the time the Germans were in occupation.
This explains their desperate efforts to
capture the town again. The traitor Mayor was
shot. Immediately afterward the Germans
shelled the place and smashed up the building and
set it on fire."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HE_WONT_GET_HURT" id="HE_WONT_GET_HURT">HE WON'T GET HURT.</a></h2>


<p>A British prisoner of war named Lonsdale, confined
in the Doeberitz Camp, has been condemned
by a German court-martial to ten years' imprisonment
for striking one of his custodians.</p>

<p>The incident is thus described by the <cite>Lokal Anzeiger</cite>:
"When the occupants of one of the tents
in the camp failed to turn out for work, a group
of reservists in charge of the camp were ordered
to drive them out. Lonsdale struck one of the
German soldiers. A sergeant major drew his
sword and hit Lonsdale several blows on the back.</p>

<p>"At the trial the president of the court-martial
told witnesses to speak the truth and not to be
influenced by hatred of the English."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="REAL_LUXURIES" id="REAL_LUXURIES">REAL LUXURIES.</a></h2>


<p>The way in which the Russian soldiers will risk
their lives for comparatively small luxuries is evidenced
by the following story:</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>

<p>During the fighting in East Prussia, a corporal
asked permission to take a couple of his comrades
and try to surprise one of the German scouting
patrols. When he returned and reported that his
effort had been successful, his officer asked him
why he volunteered for such risky work. The corporal
replied that the previous night a friend had
relieved a German officer of a good supply of
chocolate and a flask of brandy, and he wanted to
"try his luck," too.</p>

<p>"And what did you get?" asked the officer.</p>

<p>The corporal grinned and showed two cakes of
milk chocolate and five cigars.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_GRATEFUL_PRINCE" id="THE_GRATEFUL_PRINCE">THE GRATEFUL PRINCE.</a></h2>


<p>A letter from Prince Joachim, the Kaiser's
youngest son, who was recently wounded in action
against the Russians in the East, to a non-commissioned
officer who rendered first aid to him,
was given out here by the German Information
Service last night as follows:</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Corporal</span>: You surely must have
thought me ungrateful for not having thanked you
ere this for your kind aid. I would have done so
long ago had it not been for my removal to Berlin.
To-day the Empress read me your letter,
which was a source of great joy to me and her
Majesty. At the time when you rushed on with
your company I did not find an opportunity to
thank you for your faithful aid. I shall always be
grateful to you for it. That was true comradeship.
I trust you are in good health when this
letter reaches you. Did Private Ewe get a new
package of bandages? I have reproached myself
for having taken his. And now farewell and remember
me to all the boys of the 83d, my Cassel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
friends, and tell them that I shall be back as soon
as I am able to get on my feet again. Your thankful
comrade,</p>

<p class="sig">
<span class="smcap">Joachim</span>,<br />
"Prince of Prussia."
</p>

<hr class="chap" />


<h2><a name="TOO_AWFUL_TO_DESCRIBE" id="TOO_AWFUL_TO_DESCRIBE">"TOO AWFUL TO DESCRIBE!"</a></h2>


<p>An eyewitness, a soldier who took part in that
fearful siege, describes his impressions of the
slaughter near Przemysl:</p>

<p>"The fury of the Russians' attack was shown
by examination of the battlefield. The bodies of
fallen Russians in the zone of our obstacles
formed great piles many meters high. It was a
terrible sight. I was one of a squad accompanying
the examining officers. It was too sickening
to repeat. Those masses of dead and dying
wounded men. The dead were not so terrible&mdash;so
sad to me!&mdash;as those wounded.</p>

<p>"It was the living&mdash;the writhing creatures, in
that mass of humanity, causing the piles of flesh
to quiver, as these helpless ones struggled feebly
to escape."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="BRITISH_AND_BELGIAN_KINGS_MET_BY" id="BRITISH_AND_BELGIAN_KINGS_MET_BY">BRITISH AND BELGIAN KINGS MET BY
ROADSIDE.</a></h2>

<p class="center">A LONG HANDSHAKE THE FIRST GREETING; THEN THEY
DROVE ACROSS THE BELGIAN FRONTIER.</p>


<p>The London <cite>Daily Mail</cite> correspondent sends
the following dispatch from Dunkirk, the date being
omitted:</p>

<p>"There was a historic incident on the roadside
in Flanders to-day when King George met King
Albert. The King of the Belgians, as the host,
was first at the rendezvous. He was dressed in
his usual quiet uniform of dark blue.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>

<p>"As he alighted from his motor and walked toward
some old cottages here, he waited, and exchanged
kindly words with some Belgian soldiers
who came out of a neighboring inn to touch their
hats to their monarch.</p>

<p>"Noon struck from an old clock tower near at
hand, and a moment later a motor cyclist flying
the Union Jack was buzzing along the road toward
&mdash;&mdash;. Behind were three black limousine
cars, all flying Union Jacks, and behind them was
a second motor cyclist.</p>

<p>"The cars and cyclists stopped, and from the
first motor came King George and the Prince of
Wales with him. He wore a khaki uniform, with
a scarlet band round his hat. He looked fit and
well.</p>

<p>"The two kings moved forward with outstretched
hands to greet each other there in the
muddy road with none but a few officers, a few
soldiers, and simple villagers looking on.</p>

<p>"Upon a canal barge on the water alongside
the road a woman was hanging out her washing
on the mainmast and boom. All she saw was two
men shaking hands, but there was quiet earnestness
about that greeting. The handshake was
long and firm, and the accompanying smiles like
those of men who meet on serious occasions.</p>

<p>"Their first talk was not long. After returning
the salute of a soldier, who had come up close to
look on, they entered King Albert's motor car and
passed on over the frontier into the little remnant
of Belgium that still remains out of the enemy's
clutches.</p>

<p>"The two kings stayed a short time to review
the troops, Belgian and others, drawn up in the
village square, and then the monarchs drove on
together to here. They dined and talked in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
friendly intimacy of the strange happenings that
had befallen the kingdoms of both and of the
great fights that have been fought."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Fifteen hundred British men and officers are in
the base hospital at Boulogne suffering from frozen
feet. Fully one thousand of this number must
have one or both feet severed, owing to the deadening
of the nerves, which makes futile all attempts
at treatment. Chilblains and frostbites
have been depleting the ranks worse than bullets
and shrapnel, and once a man's foot is frozen he
is through, as far as fighting is concerned, for the
rest of the war.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Says one British officer now in the hospital:
"From the time I arrived at the front, three
weeks ago, until I arrived at the hospital last
night, I have not been warm for one moment."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>While the men are away at the war, the Women's
Freedom League of London has formed a
corps of policewomen for duty on the streets, at
railway stations and in public parks. The women
have organized under the name of "Women Police
Volunteers."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The throne of Egypt is going begging. Great
Britain and the native government are finding it
impossible to induce any of the native princes to
accept it. It is now proposed to make the country
a separate kingdom, independent of Turkey.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>One arms and ammunition company in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
country is erecting a million-dollar building to
supply the demand for its products created by the
European war. This company has a contract that
calls for the manufacture of fifteen hundred rifles
per day.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Many of the Allied soldiers are in the hospitals
"wounded without wounds." They have been so
dazed by the shock of exploding shells that it was
deemed best to invalid them for a while. In some
cases the shells destroy a man's memory. One
corporal was brought in who remembered his
name and the events preceding the war, but has
utterly forgotten anything subsequent to the mobilization.
He even refused to believe a story of
his own heroism.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The spy scare in London forced many innocent
men out of the country. Adolph Boehm, who sold
newspapers in Piccadilly for more than thirty
years, was forced to flee unless he wished to stand
trial for being a German spy.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="ROUGH_ON_THE_PRISONERS" id="ROUGH_ON_THE_PRISONERS">ROUGH ON THE PRISONERS.</a></h2>


<p>The Paris <cite>Temps</cite> correspondent describes a
meeting near Soissons with a French infantry soldier
who had just escaped from the Germans.
They had forced him, he said, with fifty others
captured at the same time, to dig trenches after
shooting those refusing. The soldier said:</p>

<p>"Under a French cannonade which killed many,
we were compelled by blows to dig in the most exposed
situation the trenches the Germans now
occupy, which are very wide and deep and cemented
against damp at frequent intervals. We
received only one meal, at 11 P. M. We had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
coverings and slept in the trenches. Finally, when
my comrades were most all killed, I crept from
one end of the trench and crawled 100 yards to a
shell hole, where I spent the following day. Then
I crawled 200 yards to the French trenches.</p>

<p>"The Germans received food and munitions
regularly, but seemed dispirited, and suffered
from rheumatism greatly. The majority are middle-aged.</p>

<p>"During the last fortnight the Germans have
withdrawn many guns, which were replaced with
trunks of trees as barrels to deceive aviators, and
some were even mounted on wheels."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HANDICAPPED" id="HANDICAPPED">HANDICAPPED.</a></h2>


<p>Passing a building in Glasgow where some of
the Belgian refugees were housed, two young girls
were overheard arguing about the language of the
guests, thus:</p>

<p>"A wish we'd been gettin' French this year;
we'd been able tae speak tae the wee Belgians."</p>

<p>"They widna understan' French, for A heard
they speak Flemish."</p>

<p>"Well, A heard the Belgians speak better
French than they dae in France, just the same's
we speak better English than they dae in England."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="PRINCE_A_FINE_SOLDIER" id="PRINCE_A_FINE_SOLDIER">PRINCE A FINE SOLDIER.</a></h2>


<p>The London <cite>Times</cite> military correspondent, giving
an account of the life led by the Prince of
Wales at the front, says:</p>

<p>"He won golden opinions. Personally of slight
physique and almost fragile looking, the Prince
was but little known to the army until he joined it,
and now that he is becoming known it is a revelation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
He is among the keenest and hardest soldiers
in the army. He walks more than six miles
before breakfast every morning, drives his own
car and spends every moment of the working day
in acquainting himself with the situation of the
troops and the service of the army.</p>

<p>"Although nominally attached to Sir John
French's staff, he is not chained there. He has
been attached in turn to army corps, divisional
and brigade headquarters and is undergoing an
education which no books can ever give him. Only
last week he occupied a house rocking and shaking
day and night with the bombardment, and he has
visited the trenches, including those of the Indian
army. It will be difficult to keep him out of the
firing line of his grenadiers.</p>

<p>"A more zealous and indefatigable young officer
does not serve with the King's troops. He has a
quiet, confident dignity which is most attractive
and his character and intelligence arouse the enthusiasm
of all who meet him. It was not exactly
the expression of a courtier, but it was the expression
of a truth, when an old soldier looked wistfully
after him and muttered, half to himself:
'That's a d&mdash;&mdash;d good boy!'"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="FOR_YOUR_LEETLE_AMIE" id="FOR_YOUR_LEETLE_AMIE">"FOR YOUR LEETLE AMIE."</a></h2>


<p>But for the honesty of a British "Tommy,"
says a Paris despatch, a famous French actress
would have lost her satchel containing jewels valued
at $25,000. She had dropped the satchel as
she was getting into a taxi, and the soldier, who
was passing along, picked it up and restored it to
her.</p>

<p>So grateful was the actress that she took off a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
valuable ring from her finger and presented it to
the finder, saying:</p>

<p>"This ees for your leetle English amie."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Bone grafting to save shattered limbs is being
accomplished at Bordeaux by the Russian surgeon
Woronoff, who experimented with Dr. Alexis Carrel
at the Rockefeller Institute in this city. Doctor
Woronoff is replacing as much as seven and
one-half inches of missing bone by transplanting
monkey's bone to the wounded limb. He also employs
the bones of other men.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The latest charges against the British censor
comes from Germany, where it is asserted that the
censor deleted entirely the message sent by the
Kaiser to the Queen of Spain at the death of her
brother. The message, the Germans declare,
never reached its destination.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>In a raid sixty Cossacks captured three hundred
German cavalrymen. The Cossacks were sent out
to learn what was going on in Czenstochowa.
They divided into sections and dashed into the
sleeping town simultaneously. They killed a number
of Germans before they had time to crawl out
of their blankets. Then they drove three hundred
Germans ahead of them to their lines. When the
prisoners were examined forty of them were
found to be women dressed in soldiers' uniforms.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Japan has transported two hundred big Krupp
guns, together with the men and officers for handling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
the guns, over the Trans-Siberian Railway
to the Russian front. For this service Japan is
said to have been promised that half of the peninsula
of Saghalien which at the present belongs to
Russia. These guns were purchased by Japan
from Germany last year.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The King of Saxony has joined the troops in
Belgium. His presence greatly encourages the
men. He is said to be taking the Kaiser's place
while the latter is in East Prussia exhorting his
warriors there.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>When a wounded Belgian soldier was examined
in the hospital a leather purse was found in his
pocket and in it a bent and broken Belgian one-franc
piece, part of which was missing. The purse
itself was badly gashed by a bullet. The man's
wound did not heal readily and the surgeon, probing
deeper into the man's thigh, found the missing
part of the coin imbedded near the bone. It
was removed and the soldier speedily recovered.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="EVEN_THE_BUTLER" id="EVEN_THE_BUTLER">EVEN THE BUTLER!</a></h2>


<p>"I have the honor to inform you that I have
enlisted in the 4th Queen's," wrote a butler resigning
his position with a wealthy Kent family
by whom he had been employed for fifteen years.
"I hope my leaving will not inconvenience you,
but I feel that my obvious duty is to do my little
share toward the defence of my King and country,
especially as my work as an indoor servant is
such as can be done&mdash;and in times like these I
think should be done&mdash;by women. No single man
with any patriotism can remain if he is able-bodied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
and otherwise eligible to serve in the
army."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THEY_ARE_BRAVE_MEN" id="THEY_ARE_BRAVE_MEN">"THEY ARE BRAVE MEN!"</a></h2>


<p>"A Hindu belonging to a Lancer regiment to-day
rebuked in my presence a man who spoke
slightingly of the German people," cables a correspondent.
"With amazing dignity he said:</p>

<p>"'Do not talk like that of the Germans. It is
a great country which can make war on five Powers.
They are brave men who can fight and die
as the Germans do. The pity for them is that
they are not so well trained as we.'"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THOUGHT_KIPLING_SPY" id="THOUGHT_KIPLING_SPY">THOUGHT KIPLING SPY.</a></h2>


<p>How Rudyard Kipling narrowly escaped arrest
on a charge of espionage is told in the following
letter written by Cycle Sergeant Callis of the
Fifth (Loyal North Lancashire) Territorials, now
training at Sevenoaks:</p>

<p>"Our battalion turned out in full marching order
and proceeded to our usual practice ground,
Knole Park. The cycle section marched in the
rear of the column and an ordinary looking man
came to me and asked me a lot of particulars
about the battalion. He told me he had seen a lot
of soldiering in his time and said he must confess
our men struck him as being about the smartest
on the march he had ever seen outside the regulars.</p>

<p>"He asked me for so many particulars about
them, and also about their billets, that I thought
I should detain him as a sort of spy.</p>

<p>"I excused myself and rode off to the head of
the column and informed one of our majors as to
the nature of the conversation, etc., and later took
the man to said major.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>

<p>"The officer stopped me to-day and laughingly
asked me if I knew whom I had tried to put under
arrest. I answered in the negative and he told me
it was no less than Rudyard Kipling."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="KAISERS_CONSCIENCE_CLEAR" id="KAISERS_CONSCIENCE_CLEAR">KAISER'S CONSCIENCE CLEAR.</a></h2>


<p>The Berlin <cite>Lokalanzeiger</cite> publishes the following
description of the Kaiser by Sven Hedin:</p>

<p>"I had the happiness of speaking to the Kaiser
in former years, and he has not altered. Latterly
I have met him frequently, and I can only say that
he has lost nothing of his freshness and elasticity.
His appearance has not altered in the least, and
yet every day he puts in twenty-four hours of
work. Everything must be reported to him and
he takes part in everything.</p>

<p>"I am often asked: 'How is the Kaiser able to
bear this physical and mental strain?' I think the
correct answer is that he is able to bear it because
his conscience is clear; that he feels himself innocent
before God and man of having caused this
war and that he knows he has done everything in
his power to prevent it. The Germanic cause cannot
wish for any better representative than the
Kaiser, and it would almost appear that he had
been born for this crisis. For, just as he did all in
his power to keep the peace, he feels now that he
is responsible for the development of German
destiny, and with this in view he devotes to the
cause all his feelings, thoughts and acts."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_FRIGHTFUL_HECATOMB" id="A_FRIGHTFUL_HECATOMB">"A FRIGHTFUL HECATOMB."</a></h2>


<p>The disadvantage of having a sovereign who insists
upon being his own generalissimo must have
weighed heavily of late upon the German armies
in the west. A French soldier engaged in the district<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
just south of the Somme gives particulars,
gathered from German prisoners, of the Kaiser's
recent visit to his lines in this region. He says:</p>

<p>"To prove their zeal in his presence the German
officers increased their daily quota of about
100 shells for firing at the French to 3,000 in
twenty-four hours. The next day the imperial
traveller was five miles south of Lihous, where
the same ceremonial was organized for his reception.
There was a regular debauch of shells from
cannon, guns and mortars. There, again, the infantry
showed little eagerness to attack us, but
some blows and threats improved their sense of
duty.</p>

<p>"There was a frightful hecatomb. They again
tried to capture the villages of Dilrens and Quesnayen
Santerre on the following day, but, although
encouraged by the presence of Emperor
William, they failed ingloriously. One officer says
500 German bodies already have been buried and
many still are on the ground."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="WILL_AVENGE_BELGIUM" id="WILL_AVENGE_BELGIUM">WILL AVENGE BELGIUM.</a></h2>


<p>"Day and night the agony of Antwerp is present
with me," said the Bishop of London, preaching
at St. Nicholas Cole Abbey, "but if there be
a God in heaven the wrongs of Belgium&mdash;absolutely
innocent in this war&mdash;will one day be
avenged.</p>

<p>"For myself, when I have boys whom I love as
my own sons killed every day, and my rooms filled
daily with their sisters and their young widows,
I feel that I should go mad but for my religion.</p>

<p>"It is hardly to be expected that Great Britain
can feel charitably toward Germany, which has
perpetrated diabolical acts of cruelty, but, nevertheless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
we must fight this war with Christian
faith."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HIDE_DEAD_FROM_WOUNDED" id="HIDE_DEAD_FROM_WOUNDED">HIDE DEAD FROM WOUNDED.</a></h2>


<p>A correspondent of the <cite>Nieuwe Rooterdamsche
Courant</cite> tells an amazing story of how the German
dead are disposed of at Quatricht, a little village
in the neighborhood of Ghent. Every day
people see huge pits dug, and every night they
hear the rumble of wagons, but they must not even
peep from their houses.</p>

<p>Each morning, however, shows fresh mounds
of earth, and the people have come to the conclusion
that bodies must be brought to the place of
burial in tip wagons.</p>

<p>The wounded are transported during the day
so that they may not see the procession of the
dead.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CLOSE_CALL_IN_THE_CLOUDS" id="CLOSE_CALL_IN_THE_CLOUDS">CLOSE CALL IN THE CLOUDS.</a></h2>


<p>The story of a thrilling airship raid by French
officers comes from Arras.</p>

<p>The captain in command of the airship had received
orders to try to destroy a railway junction
where the Germans were conveying troops. The
line was well guarded, and it was necessary to
cross the enemy's position for a considerable
distance.</p>

<p>The airship started at dusk, without lights, and
succeeded in crossing the German lines without
being perceived. It soon located the junction and
dropped in rapid succession three dynamite
charges upon the station, with considerable damage
to the tracks.</p>

<p>The airship by that time had been discovered
by the Germans' searchlights, and all the field<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
guns and mortars in the neighborhood were aimed
at it. The sky was ablaze with bursting shells,
some coming dangerously near.</p>

<p>By throwing over all the available ballast, the
airship's crew was enabled to rise rapidly. As a
departing salute it attempted to drop a fourth
charge of dynamite.</p>

<p>Just then something went wrong which threatened
the airship with instant destruction. The
dynamite charge got stuck in the tube.</p>

<p>The automatic detonator already had been set
in motion. The captain seized a hatchet and
climbed over the rigging. He struck a few desperate
blows at the tube, at the risk of his life,
and released the charge, saving the airship. The
dynamite exploded with a terrific detonation long
before it reached the ground, with a burst of
flames.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CAPT_VON_MULLERS_GALLANTRY" id="CAPT_VON_MULLERS_GALLANTRY">CAPT. VON MULLER'S GALLANTRY.</a></h2>


<p>Another tribute to the gallantry of Capt. Von
Muller of the German cruiser <i>Emden</i> is contained
in a letter received by a Glasgow woman from
her son, a member of the crew of the steamship
<i>Kabinga</i>. The letter says:</p>

<p>"The <i>Emden</i> captured the <i>Kabinga</i> in the Bay
of Bengal, but when Capt. Von Muller learned
that our skipper's wife and children were aboard
he presented the ship to the lady, remarking to
the skipper, 'You can inform your owners that as
far as they are concerned the <i>Kabinga</i> has been
seized and sunk.'"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="BOMBARDMENT_TERRIBLE" id="BOMBARDMENT_TERRIBLE">"BOMBARDMENT TERRIBLE!"</a></h2>


<p>An officer in the pay department of the French
army, writing from Ypres, says:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>

<p>"The town is being sprinkled with shells. In
the earlier days of the attack only bombs from
aeroplanes fell, but during the last forty-eight
hours the town suffered from the attentions of big
howitzers.</p>

<p>"Night before last a regular bombardment destroyed
a score of houses and killed eight persons,
of whom two were women. Up to now the shells
have spared the wonderful city hall, but will this
delightful Flemish city suffer after the manner
of Arras?</p>

<p>"My letter has been interrupted by the bombardment,
which is terrible. For two hours yesterday
evening nearly all the houses in our neighborhood
were struck. Many are smashed. We
sought refuge in the cellars of the Hotel de Ville,
the only place capable of resisting the great shells.</p>

<p>"Profiting by a lull we went out in search of
another shelter and found a vault under the ramparts
of the town. There we spent the night,
huddled up with a hundred men, women and children."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_TERRIBLE_EXPERIENCE" id="A_TERRIBLE_EXPERIENCE">A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE.</a></h2>


<p>A mile and a half crawl with five bullets in his
body under artillery and rifle fire was the experience
of Private Dan Hurst of the Coldstream
Guards. Writing to his wife, Hurst says:</p>

<p>"Don't fret over me. I have five wounds, but
I am a lucky chap to be here to tell the tale, for if
the shell which hit me in the chest had exploded
a bit lower I should have been killed outright.
Our ambulance men tried to get us away, but the
Germans fired upon them, so they had to leave us
to take our chances. It rained in torrents all that
night and the Germans put sentries with bayonets
over us. They took all our food and water away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
and on Tuesday afternoon some of them tried to
make out that we had been firing upon them. We
asked how that was possible when they had taken
everything from us, but they were going to shoot
us when an officer came up and stopped them.</p>

<p>"On Wednesday they removed us to the far
side of a haystack out of their line of fire so we
could not get hit, but one of the British shells exploded
near us, and of course I got hit. We
thought it best to make a dash for it. I could not
walk and had to crawl on my hands and knees
with my wounds bleeding, and while I was crawling
away they started to fire on us. There were
six of us who started but only two of us finished.
Our trenches were only a mile and a half away,
but it took us four hours and a half to crawl
there."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_NEW_WAR_WEAPON" id="THE_NEW_WAR_WEAPON">THE NEW WAR WEAPON.</a></h2>


<p>A French doctor, who has just returned from
Flanders, describing the effect of the "Fleche
d'aero," as the steel darts with which the French
airmen are supplied are generally called, said:</p>

<p>"Among the 2,000 wounded whom we treated in
forty-eight hours was a German who had been
struck by an aeroplane dart. He was evidently
bending over when hit, for the dart had entered
the right thigh and traversed the whole leg, so
that the point emerged just above the boot. The
man was conscious when he was brought in, and
said he felt no pain, only a heavy blow. He died
soon afterward from shock and loss of blood."</p>

<p>The darts resemble steel pencils. They are
about five inches long with the unpointed end
half-fluted to insure their falling head first. It is
calculated that they strike with a hundred pounds
force if thrown from an elevation of 1,000 metres.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CENSORING_THE_CENSOR" id="CENSORING_THE_CENSOR">CENSORING THE CENSOR.</a></h2>


<p>As threats and entreaties have proved equally
vain against censorship the Paris <cite>Temps</cite> attacks
it with ridicule. Pierre Mille, one of the best
known contributors, writes a column article, beginning:</p>

<p>"Regarding the origin of the convulsion which
is shaking Europe, together with the least known
diplomatic secrets and the most concealed strategic
projects, I am going to make some most important
revelations."</p>

<p>Before he can reveal anything here, however,
the censor intervenes with a four-line cut. He
continues:</p>

<p>"It will be remembered that Napoleon once
cried before the Pyramids&mdash;&mdash;" (Here is another
slash.)</p>

<p>The writer goes on:</p>

<p>"But we do not need the support of history or
the remembrance of the victories won by Jeanne
d'Arc at (name excised) or at Valmy by (another
obliteration). One fact I will add&mdash;&mdash;" (Here
follows a ten-line cut.)</p>

<p>He continues:</p>

<p>"His undaunted attitude at&mdash;&mdash;" (This time
ten lines more disappear.)</p>

<p>The article proceeds:</p>

<p>"She cried in a trembling voice, 'Oh daughter,
cruel&mdash;&mdash;' (the woman's speech is all excised save
the words 'the devourers fight among themselves,'
although the passage appears to be taken from
nothing more modern or harmful than a famous
tragedy).</p>

<p>The writer makes a last effort:</p>

<p>"The adversary's position was now very serious.
Throwing himself upon his knees, he cried,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
'Our Father, which art&mdash;&mdash;' (Even of the Lord's
Prayer the censor allows only this beginning and
the final 'Amen.')"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HOCH_DER_CZAR" id="HOCH_DER_CZAR">"HOCH DER CZAR!"</a></h2>


<p>During a fortnight's sojourn with his armies in
the field the Czar spoke to thousands of wounded,
according to a Petrograd correspondent. His
Majesty visited the Germans and Austrians in
field hospitals, addressing kindly words to them.
In one ward, entirely occupied by wounded Germans,
the men, who were unable to rise, spontaneously
greeted the Czar with a three-fold
Hoch!</p>

<p>The Czar inquired about the identity and direction
of a column passing the imperial train. He
was told they were officers and men recovered
from wounds returning to their respective regiments.
His Majesty alighted and asked where
and how they had been wounded. It appeared
they all had participated in the early battles of
the war. They were anxious again to go to the
firing line.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_HOLOCAUST" id="A_HOLOCAUST">A HOLOCAUST.</a></h2>


<p>A wounded English officer describes the following
incident of the German attack between Dixmude
and Ypres:</p>

<p>"A German regiment with the flag flying approached
our trenches to about 300 yards. It was
met by a heavy discharge of our machine guns
and rifle fire, and fell back in disorder. Immediately
it reassembled some distance away. Once
more we saw it advance, with the ranks already
thinner. It came to within 100 yards of us, when
it was received as before and again beaten back.</p>

<p>"This time the order was sent through our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
trenches to let them come on to twenty yards. We
did so; then the order to fire at will was given.
Two-thirds of the regiment had already fallen in
the first two attacks, and now the remainder was
wiped out. Not one of the assailants got to our
trenches."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="FIGHT_WITH_SHOVELS" id="FIGHT_WITH_SHOVELS">FIGHT WITH SHOVELS.</a></h2>


<p>Soldiers who have been fighting near Roye say
that the hostile trenches there are only fifteen
yards apart at some points, so that the enemies
can hear each other talking. Last week a company
of sappers were misled by the darkness right
into a German trench, where a squad of Teuton
sappers were at work. The men fought in the
dark with picks and shovels until rifles also began
to crack, whereupon each side drew back.</p>

<p>French cemeteries, with their strong stone
tombs, sometimes play an important part in the
hostilities. Thus the Germans have intrenched
themselves on a cemetery height near Roye and
have made it a strong position. The vaults offer
a safe shelter against rain and shrapnel, while
metallic coffins have been placed along the edge
of the trenches as a protection against rifle fire.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="OUR_LUCK_WAS_IN" id="OUR_LUCK_WAS_IN">"OUR LUCK WAS IN."</a></h2>


<p>A thrilling incident in the wonderful retreat of
the British from Mons is described by Sapper
Wells of the Royal Engineers, who passes lightly
over his own part in an extraordinary act of heroism.</p>

<p>"One of our officers asked for a man to go with
him to blow up a bridge, so that the Germans
could not follow us, and I went with him," says
Wells.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>

<p>"Well, to blow a bridge up we use guncotton
and a wire fuse. It is safe enough if you take
your wire well away, but this time it would not
work. Our men in running back had stepped on
the wire, so we had to go nearer to the bridge and
try again. Even then it would not act, so the officer
said to me, 'Get out of the way, Wells.' I
said, 'No, I'll go with you.' We were the only two
on the bridge and the Germans were shooting at
us, but our luck was in. Well, we both lay down
and I fired ten rounds at the guncotton with my
rifle, and he did the same with a pistol, but it
wouldn't work. If it had we should have gone
with it, so you see what a shave we had. We
made a dive back and got some more guncotton,
and were making to have another go when an officer
ordered us back, saying it was no use trying."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="IN_HONOR_BOUND" id="IN_HONOR_BOUND">"IN HONOR BOUND."</a></h2>


<p>A photographer in Southampton row showed
outside his studio an apt comment on the war.
Last September the Duke of Westminster and
other British sportsmen sent round a circular letter
asking for subscriptions to the Olympic games
to be held in Berlin, and in the request were the
following words: "In honor bound, Great Britain
must send a team to Berlin, and ... this object
can only be accomplished by efficient organization
and adequate financial support."</p>

<p>The photographer has written below by way of
comment: "The response to the above appeal
has been most successful. The money has been
found and the team, most thoroughly equipped, is
now on its way to Berlin. Very little doubt exists
that all the prizes will fall into its arms."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="A_HEROIC_SACRIFICE" id="A_HEROIC_SACRIFICE">A HEROIC SACRIFICE.</a></h2>


<p>Correspondents of Finnish newspapers report
the heroic sacrifice of the crew of a picket boat in
order to save a Russian cruiser, which was unwittingly
approaching a mine in the Gulf of Finland.</p>

<p>Realizing that it was too late to signal the danger,
the boat deliberately rushed at the mine at
full speed. A terrific explosion followed. Six of
the crew of seven perished. To the survivor, who
was severely wounded, was awarded the decoration
of St. George.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_TERRIBLE_BAYONET_CHARGE" id="A_TERRIBLE_BAYONET_CHARGE">A TERRIBLE BAYONET CHARGE.</a></h2>


<p>A dispatch to the London <cite>Times</cite> from Dunkirk,
France, said:</p>

<p>"It may be admitted that the position at Ypres
two days ago was serious. The town itself was
bombarded by the Germans with great violence
and under the fierce cannonading the Allies had
to withdraw from the town, which became a 'No
Man's Land,' shells from both sides bursting
across it.</p>

<p>"The Germans made a final effort under cover
of a fierce bombardment of the British positions.
They had prepared a determined onslaught.
Masses of men were launched in succession at
chosen points on the allied front. The assault was
met in a supreme way.</p>

<p>"Two regiments, one Scottish and one of the
Guards, went down with bayonets to stem the advance.
It was the most terrible bayonet charge
of the whole war. It succeeded, the break in the
line was repaired and the German attack was once
more driven back.</p>

<p>"That was their last effort. The Germans are
now assailing the allied line at Arras, forty miles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
further to the south, but not with the same fury
as they exhibited in the onslaught of the past
week.</p>

<p>"So fierce has been the fighting around Ypres
that the casualties of the Germans are believed to
have reached 100,000, though these figures may
prove to have been exaggerated."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="COLONEL_AVENGED_INSULT" id="COLONEL_AVENGED_INSULT">COLONEL AVENGED INSULT.</a></h2>


<p>"At one time in Berlin I saw two British officers
guarded by twenty-four soldiers with fixed
bayonets," writes a correspondent. "One of the
officers was an officer of some importance, I think
a colonel, a tremendous man about 6 feet 4 inches
in height, with iron-gray hair and mustache. His
companion was a younger man, with a red band
around his cap, denoting, I believe, he belonged
to the General Staff.</p>

<p>"The prisoners were surrounded by the usual
hooting, jeering crowd. Suddenly one of the
guards deliberately prodded the big colonel in the
back with the butt end of his rifle. It was a
brutal act. The next moment the gray-haired officer
turned around and struck his tormentor full
in the face with his fist. It was a fine blow.</p>

<p>"I saw no more, for the crowd in a paroxysm of
rage closed in on the group, surging here and
there. I heard afterward both prisoners were
handcuffed and led away. Their fate I do not
know."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="WORK_OF_NEW_AERIAL_BOMB" id="WORK_OF_NEW_AERIAL_BOMB">WORK OF NEW AERIAL BOMB.</a></h2>


<p>The London <cite>Daily Mail's</cite> Paris correspondent
reports an interview with a French airman on the
new French air bomb.</p>

<p>"I have used both the dynamite bomb and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
new bomb," said the aviator. "The two are very
similar in size and weight, but the effect as seen
from above is very different.</p>

<p>"When a dynamite bomb falls upon a body of
men you can see the bodies leap up in air. It is
like a small volcano in action. When the new
bomb bursts it simply lays everything out flat
within the area of its explosion. It seems to exert
the whole of its force in waves like the ripples
made when a large stone is thrown into a pond.
The men go down like ninepins; buildings collapse
like houses of playing cards; guns are turned over
as if by some unseen hand.</p>

<p>"The explosion raises practically no dust or
smoke. Even the earth disturbed by the case of
the bomb striking the ground is instantly flattened
out by the same extraordinary waves of
force. Extreme cold is produced at the moment
of the explosion. It is so intense that I felt it
myself when I dropped my first bomb at a height
of about 800 feet.</p>

<p>"I was taking great chances in flying so low,
but I wished to see the effect of the bomb. It fell
on a section of Germans bivouacking in a field. I
estimate that at least thirty men were killed
within the area of the explosion. Death from
these bombs comes instantly from intense cold and
concussion."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="BRITON_PRAISES_GERMANS" id="BRITON_PRAISES_GERMANS">BRITON PRAISES GERMANS.</a></h2>


<p>The Hon. Aubrey Herbert, M. P. for South
Somerset, a lieutenant in the Irish Guards, describing
his experience in North France, says:</p>

<p>"I was shot and was found by some German
privates after about an hour and a half.</p>

<p>"With other wounded men and officers I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
taken away to a house that had been converted
into a temporary hospital after nightfall. We
remained prisoners in the hands of the Germans
for eleven days, until the French occupied the
village where we lay and set us at liberty.</p>

<p>"It is only fair to say that both on the battlefield
and subsequently we were all shown courtesy
and great kindness by the Germans, from all
ranks, from Prussians and Bavarians alike."</p>

<p>He adds that from the general behavior of the
British troops "one might have supposed that
they were engaged in autumn man&oelig;uvres."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="NEARLY_PUT_ONE_OVER" id="NEARLY_PUT_ONE_OVER">NEARLY PUT ONE OVER.</a></h2>


<p>"The Germans are full of resources," writes
an English correspondent, "and it is one of their
favorite plans to lure the allied troops on to attack
them by various devices, of which an indicated
intention of surrendering is the most common.
If this deception is successful, a skilfully
concealed machine gun turns a murderous fire
upon those who have advanced either to attack or
to accept surrender.</p>

<p>"The audacity of the enemy cannot better be
illustrated than by a well-authenticated statement
of what took place last night in a trench held by a
Gurkha regiment. A figure, silhouetted by the
moonlight and wearing a complete Gurkha uniform,
approached the end of the trench and delivered
the message.</p>

<p>"'The Gurkhas are to move further up the
trench; another Gurkha contingent is advancing
in support.'</p>

<p>"Puzzled by this announcement, the officer in
command replied, 'Who are you? Where do you
come from?' to which the only answer was, 'You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
are to move up and make room for other
Gurkhas.'</p>

<p>"The English was good, but something excited
the officer's suspicions.</p>

<p>"'Answer, and answer quickly,' he said; 'if
you are a Gurkha, by what boat did you cross?'</p>

<p>"This question, under the circumstances, was
no easy one to answer, and the German (for such
he was) turned and fled, but he had not gone five
yards before he fell, riddled with bullets.</p>

<p>"If the officer had been deceived the trench,
of course, would have swarmed with Germans almost
before the Gurkhas had made room for
them."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CLOSE_CALL_FOR_AIRMAN" id="CLOSE_CALL_FOR_AIRMAN">CLOSE CALL FOR AIRMAN.</a></h2>


<p>"Roland Garros had a narrow escape from
death while engaged in an aerial duel with a German
near Amiens," cables a correspondent. "His
motor broke down and Garros made a corkscrew
descent and feigned death, whereupon the German
landed and approached.</p>

<p>"The Frenchman arose and shot the German
dead with his revolver. He regained the French
lines in the German aeroplane."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="FASTIDIOUS_SANDY" id="FASTIDIOUS_SANDY">FASTIDIOUS SANDY.</a></h2>


<p>News has come back to England of how the
British soldiers taken prisoners are faring in
Germany. There are 6,000 in a caserne at Daboritz.</p>

<p>Among them are some Highlanders. It's getting
to be cold weather in Daboritz and a German
officer, with the kindest of intentions, offered to
provide them with trousers.</p>

<p>The Scots were indignant and rejected the gift.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>

<p>"But why do you prefer petticoats?" the German
asked of one of the Highlanders.</p>

<p>"Because they never bag at the knees," replied
Sandy.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="IS_THIS_THE_KAISER" id="IS_THIS_THE_KAISER">"IS THIS THE KAISER?"</a></h2>


<p>According to a despatch from Petrograd to the
London <cite>Daily News</cite>, the Russian soldiers pursuing
the Germans in western Galicia are bringing
"captured Kaisers" into camp two or three times
each day.</p>

<p>It is the belief of the Czar's force that the war
can be easily terminated by making a prisoner of
Emperor William. For that reason nearly every
German officer who wears a "Kaiser" mustache
and is caught by the Russians is taken to headquarters.
"Is this he?" is the oft repeated query.
The fact that the Kaiser is still at liberty has not
dampened the enthusiasm of the Russians.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="SEND_ON_SOME_MORE_DISHES" id="SEND_ON_SOME_MORE_DISHES">"SEND ON SOME MORE DISHES!"</a></h2>


<p>Appended to the French official communique
recently was the following note:</p>

<p>"The example of the German chiefs has influenced
all the German troops to plunder systematically
everywhere in Belgium and France. A special
train service is now admirably established to
carry the chateau booty taken by the princes and
lesser lords of the army back to Germany. The
whole plunder service is well organized.</p>

<p>"A letter from Gettenau, Hesse, dated Oct. 8, to
a landwehr trooper at Ste. Croix-aux-Mines shows
the high development of the frenzy of plunder. It
says:</p>

<p>"'The shoes did not fit little Hermann. All
the other things pleased us very much. We have
no need to hide them or be secret about what you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
send us because others at the front have sent
much more stuff than you. Among other things
the French pots are very much appreciated. If
you find more French dishes or ware send them
along.'"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="A_NEW_FOE_ENTERS" id="A_NEW_FOE_ENTERS">A NEW FOE ENTERS.</a></h2>


<p>Winter begins officially in Russia with the closing
of navigation on the Neva, but already snow
is lying on the ground on the western frontier,
and in Poland there are severe frosts at night.</p>

<p>A new touch of horror is introduced by the
freezing of the ground, which makes it practically
impossible to dig graves for the great number of
dead in the woods, where recent floods washed the
bodies from the shallow graves in which they had
been hastily buried.</p>

<p>The villagers report the presence of an unparalleled
number of wolves, and have petitioned the
army authorities to detach soldiers to shoot them.</p>

<p>The Germans are suffering intensely from the
cold. In every town which they occupied they
carried off all the available winter clothing, furs,
sheepskins and leather coats. At Lodi and Shiradow,
where there are great cloth factories, they
commandeered the whole of the stocks and kept
the plants working day and night providing materials
for export to Germany. They failed, however,
to bring away much of this owing to the destruction
of the railway bridges by Polish guerillas,
whose activities are acknowledged to have
contributed to the Russian success.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THE_BRIGHTER_SIDE" id="THE_BRIGHTER_SIDE">THE BRIGHTER SIDE.</a></h2>


<p>Life in the trenches appears by no means to be
the irksome and dreadful thing it is reported to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
be. According to soldiers just back in Paris from
the firing line troops that are supposed to face
each other grimly across a fire-swept space only
a few hundred yards wide are not the bloodthirsty
fellows we all took them for.</p>

<p>They carry chivalry into their work, and certain
conventions, all making for comfort, have
been tacitly established between them. For example,
toward midday both sides suspend fire in
order that they may eat luncheon in peace. They
would undoubtedly oblige each other when the
evening meal is due but for the unhappy fact that
the dinner hours of the contending armies do not
tally.</p>

<p>Obviously, says a facetious Frenchman, it is
somebody's duty to see that the meal hours of the
opposing forces synchronize exactly. The soldiers
entertain each other with music, the trenches
on either side furnishing items turn and turn
about.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HOW_THE_RUSSIANS_PAY" id="HOW_THE_RUSSIANS_PAY">HOW THE RUSSIANS PAY.</a></h2>


<p>"Oh, yes, the Russians pay for what they take,"
exclaims the Koenigsberger <cite>Zeitung</cite>, and adds:</p>

<p>"The inspector of a great farm, who was riding
a fine horse, his saddle and bridle ornamented
with silver, encountered a troop of Russians.</p>

<p>"'We need that horse; dismount,' ordered the
Russian commander. 'But to prove to you that
we Russians are not so black as we are painted, I
now pay you for the horse.'</p>

<p>"So saying he handed a ruble (51.5 cents) to
the inspector, who discovered later that the piece
was coined in the eighteenth century and is not
current now."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="KAISERS_CLOSE_CALL" id="KAISERS_CLOSE_CALL">KAISER'S CLOSE CALL.</a></h2>


<p>Further details are now at hand of the Kaiser's
narrow escape from death from bombs thrown by
an airman attached to the allied army occupying
the line from Nieuport to Ypres for five days.
The Emperor was present at the operations on
that front, and it was because of his presence that
the enemy made such persistent and vigorous attacks
on the Allies, regardless of the enormous
sacrifice of life.</p>

<p>The Kaiser, with some of his aides, arrived by
motor car at a tavern at Thielt about 5 p. m.
Apartments had been reserved for the Emperor.
Dinner was ready and his personal baggage had
already been deposited in the bedroom prepared
for him. He was in a hurry and did not dress for
dinner, but immediately sat down to dine.</p>

<p>After the meal, instead of going to his room, he
hurriedly left the tavern with two of his aides.
He motored to the other end of the town, where
fresh rooms were engaged. Twenty minutes after
the Kaiser left the first tavern six bombs fell upon
the building and the room where his baggage lay
was destroyed. Two of his aides, who had remained
in the tavern, were killed and the motor
car in the yard wrecked.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="EXTRA_RUSSIA_GOES_DRY" id="EXTRA_RUSSIA_GOES_DRY">EXTRA! RUSSIA GOES DRY!</a></h2>


<p>The official bulletin of the Prefect of Petrograd
published another addition to the prohibition of
the sale of alcoholic drinks. Up to that date
restaurants of the first class had the privilege of
selling vodka and all other spirituous liquors in
unlimited quantities. It was thought these establishments
would only provide for the wealthier
classes, and there was no danger of the common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
people being able to secure strong drink. It
seems, however, that habitual topers even of the
lower classes arrayed themselves in clothes finer
than they had ever worn before in their lives and,
putting up a bold front, have entered first class
restaurants and got what they wanted.</p>

<p>The story goes that hatters and milliners had
been doing a rushing business selling bowler hats
to men and women who hitherto had worn caps
and shawls. A bowler on a man and a hat on a
woman being in Russia a mark of superiority, if
not of intelligence, there was no ban on champagne
for the wearers.</p>

<p>This reached the ears of the commander-in-chief
of the army, who has absolute powers. He
accordingly instructed prefects of police throughout
Russia to prohibit the sale of vodka and
strong drink of every description, even in first-class
restaurants.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HE_IS_NOT_A_PRIEST" id="HE_IS_NOT_A_PRIEST">"HE IS NOT A PRIEST!"</a></h2>


<p>The following story illustrates the versatility of
German spies: A French battalion had just entered
a village which for some time previously
had been occupied by the Germans. The place
had been pillaged and devastated, the inhabitants
had fled, but the church and priest's house were
still intact. The aged curé came forth to greet
the soldiers with open arms.</p>

<p>That evening officers invited the venerable
cleric to dinner, and, as a matter of course, they
invited him to say grace.</p>

<p>As he murmured a Latin prayer one officer, a
lieutenant, became strangely interested. He became
absolutely astonished as the priest went on.
The lieutenant whispered to the colonel, and before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
the company had quite realized what was
happening, four men with fixed bayonets had
ranged themselves behind the curé.</p>

<p>"That man has never been a priest," exclaimed
the officer.</p>

<p>Forthwith the man was searched. He was a
German spy and had disguised himself as a priest
in the deserted village. The real pastor was a
hostage.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THOUGHT_SHELLS_FIREWORKS" id="THOUGHT_SHELLS_FIREWORKS">THOUGHT SHELLS FIREWORKS.</a></h2>


<p>The London <cite>Morning Post</cite> prints an extract
from a letter of a cavalry officer, giving an account
of how the Indian troops behaved in their
first encounter with shell fire. Although a cavalry
officer, the writer was serving in the trenches.
In his letter, written from Belgium, he says:</p>

<p>"Night before last we were told that the regiment
was going to be relieved by the Indians. I
was delighted till I heard that my troops were to
stay out to give them moral support, as it was
their first go&mdash;a compliment, I suppose, although
I didn't think so at the time. It was the most
weird sight I've ever seen.</p>

<p>"There were six farms and a windmill blazing,
all set alight by shell fire, when these fellows with
turbans and with flashing eyes and teeth came up
out of the darkness. The undefeated dragoons, of
course, became firm friends with them at once.
French, Belgians, Indians&mdash;they make pals with
them all.</p>

<p>"Well, these natives had hardly got into the
trenches on either side of me when the Germans
opened fire. It was the worst half hour I've ever
spent. As, of course, I couldn't make them understand
and as they had never seen shells before I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
didn't know what they would do. They behaved
splendidly, and I think they thought the shells
were fireworks let off for their benefit.</p>

<p>"The officer in charge of them told me that
morning that he was most frightfully anxious as
to how they'd do, but they shouted with glee when
they saw a German and let him know what good
shots they are. In the middle of the attack one
native hurled himself into my trench and spoke
excitedly to me. Of course, I couldn't make out
what he wanted, but thought he wanted a doctor
for some one, as he kept pointing at a cartridge,
so I sent down for him, but when he arrived I discovered
it was more ammunition they wanted and
not the doctor."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="YOU_ARE_AN_ANGEL" id="YOU_ARE_AN_ANGEL">"YOU ARE AN ANGEL!"</a></h2>


<p>A vivacious English woman, the wife of a very
well known officer bearing a famous name, returned
over the border into Holland, after an adventurous
day's tour behind the German lines.</p>

<p>"I made up my mind to see for myself what
was going on," she said, "so I disguised myself
as a Flemish peasant woman, with the assistance
of the national costume&mdash;earrings, headdress, and
everything complete, down to the very shoes&mdash;stained
my face brown with a concoction of strong
coffee, borrowed a pair of spectacles and a market
basket and set off across country on foot.</p>

<p>"On my way out of town I met a German soldier
with his arm and hand dreadfully shattered.
His bandages had slipped and he was trying
vainly to replace them. I helped him redress his
nasty wounds and rebandaged them with a pocket
bandage I happened to have with me. The soldier
fumbled in his pocket, and at last produced a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
crumpled five-franc note which he offered me. I
refused it.</p>

<p>"'Why do you refuse good money for a good
action, madame?' he said.</p>

<p>"'Because I am an English woman,' I replied,
'and English women do not take payment for
good deeds, however great or small they may be.'</p>

<p>"'I cannot believe you are English,' he said,
'but you are an angel, and angels have no nationality.
May I kiss your hand?'</p>

<p>"I held out my hand. He bent low and kissed
it. There were tears in his eyes, and I rather
wish now I had accepted the five-franc note to
keep as a souvenir of Prussian gratitude."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="KILLS_40_FOR_SINGING" id="KILLS_40_FOR_SINGING">KILLS 40 FOR SINGING.</a></h2>


<p>"Among the wounded was a young Frenchman
with a gold medal about which he refused to speak,
and a slight wound in the foot about which he
made considerable fuss," cables a correspondent.
"Disgusted by these complaints among so much
suffering silently borne, my informant elicited
from the youth's comrades the following story,
which subsequently was verified:</p>

<p>"At a point where the French trenches were
barely fifty yards from the enemy's a party of
Germans sang songs during the night which infuriated
the French&mdash;'They wouldn't let us sleep
with their howling,' as one of the French soldiers
put it. Finally one little chasseur, crying, 'I will
silence them,' seized a rifle and disappeared before
any one could detain him.</p>

<p>"After a moment's silence came the crackle of
rapid firing, followed by German shrieks and wild
volleys. The firing continued, accompanied by
shouts in French as from an officer directing an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
attack; then in guttural tones: 'Stop! Stop!
We surrender.' A few minutes later the little
chasseur reappeared escorting several unarmed
Germans. He said: 'You can occupy the trench;
there's nothing but corpses left to defend it.'</p>

<p>"Advancing, the French discovered forty dead
Germans in the trench, killed by the little chasseur,
firing from the end, whither he had crawled
unnoticed. In some cases the same bullet pierced
several Germans."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="RUSSIAN_AIRMANS_RUSE" id="RUSSIAN_AIRMANS_RUSE">RUSSIAN AIRMAN'S RUSE.</a></h2>


<p>The story of the strategy of a Russian aviator
which got him out of a tight corner, is cabled from
Petrograd:</p>

<p>A Russian airman accompanied by an observation
officer was flying over the enemy's territory
when he was obliged to descend owing to engine
trouble. The pilot and the officer were wearing
leather clothes without any distinctive mark.</p>

<p>They were working on the motor when suddenly
seven Austrian soldiers in charge of an
under officer appeared over the crest of a little
hill and approached them.</p>

<p>Resistance was impossible, for the Russians
had no weapons but revolvers. Fortunately the
officer knew German. Calling loudly to the Austrian
officer he ordered him in a peremptory manner
to come and help him mend the motor. The
Austrian, believing he was in the presence of a
superior officer, hastened with his men to obey,
and soon the engine had been put right.</p>

<p>The aeroplane started off, and as it ascended
in spirals to the clouds a paper fell at the feet of
the gaping Austrians. It contained a short message<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
of thanks to the officer and his men for giving
such timely aid to Russian aviators.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="IT_IS_LOVELY_HERE" id="IT_IS_LOVELY_HERE">"IT IS LOVELY HERE!"</a></h2>


<p>The Earl of Kingston, who is an officer in the
Irish Guards, in a letter to his wife at Kildonin
Castle, County Roscommon, from France, says:</p>

<p>"We had a bad night last night in the trenches,
as we are only 800 yards from the Germans, and
both sides are as jumpy as fleas, loosing off at any
moment, and the guns are keeping up a terrific
fire on us, but doing little damage. We had two
killed and two wounded yesterday.</p>

<p>"They have a large gun here that was meant
for the siege of Paris. It throws a shell thirty-two
inches long and makes a hole big enough to
bury eighteen men in. This battle has been on
for ten days and we hope for the best.</p>

<p>"We have a farm here that has been taken and
retaken, but we have it again at present. It is
lovely at night, with hundreds of shells bursting
all around, and if it were not for the death they
bring they might be fireworks on a large scale.</p>

<p>"I have lost my servant and all my kit. Please
send me out some cigarettes, tobacco and
matches."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="THEY_TOOK_HIS_SHOE" id="THEY_TOOK_HIS_SHOE">THEY TOOK HIS SHOE.</a></h2>


<p>One of the British flying corps, Lieut. Rainey,
crossed the Channel from France in a much damaged
machine, thus completing in a fitting manner
a series of thrilling adventures which have befallen
him since he last left English soil.</p>

<p>Lieut. Rainey had been engaged for three weeks
in reconnoitring at the front, and so little leisure
had he been able to snatch that, as he told his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
friends here, in the whole of that time he could
not remove his clothes, or even get a wash.</p>

<p>He had two machines disabled by rifle and shell
fire, while a third caught fire in midair. On each
of these occasions he very narrowly escaped losing
his life.</p>

<p>Once when he came down he was so exhausted
that he lay with his head on his aeroplane and
fell fast asleep. On waking he was astonished to
find that the puttee, boot and sock of one leg had
been removed by some one who, as the lieutenant
himself suggested, took the opportunity of his
slumber to get them as mementoes.</p>

<p>Lieut. Rainey brought home with him a German
helmet belonging to a man he shot, and he proudly
asserted it was the first trophy of the kind taken
by a British airman.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="SOLDIERS_BECOMING_RARE" id="SOLDIERS_BECOMING_RARE">"SOLDIERS BECOMING RARE."</a></h2>


<p>An official communication issued by the French
War Office said:</p>

<p>"The following are extracts from a letter found
on a German prisoner, dated Dusseldorf, Oct. 4:</p>

<p>"'With us officers and soldiers are becoming
rare. We have no more men than are adequate.
Volunteers and men of the Landwehr are all we
have to-day. If you saw these soldiers you would
turn your head.</p>

<p>"'Everybody is being taken. It is Germany's
last hope. All the aged men are becoming soldiers.</p>

<p>"'Have you bread? Many complain they have
none.'"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="SHELLS_KILL_HORSES" id="SHELLS_KILL_HORSES">985 SHELLS KILL 2 HORSES.</a></h2>


<p>The Paris <cite>La Liberte's</cite> war correspondent says
60 per cent. of the German shells fail to explode;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
985 shells fell on a single battery, killing only two
horses.</p>

<p>The extent of invisible fighting in the war is
shown by the revelation of an artilleryman now
resting with his regiment. He entered the battle
line at the beginning of the war and after ten
weeks of continuous fighting has not seen a single
German.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="KILLED_FOR_INSULT_TO_WOMAN" id="KILLED_FOR_INSULT_TO_WOMAN">KILLED FOR INSULT TO WOMAN.</a></h2>


<p>Proof that high German officers will not tolerate
insults to women by their men is furnished in the
following cable from a correspondent in Antwerp:</p>

<p>"Gen. von Beseler is a pleasant-looking old gentleman
with a white mustache. He conducted himself
most correctly toward every one in the hotel.
On the other hand, one of his junior officers immediately
asked for a hot bath and made exacting
demands, culminating in a gross insult to the
chambermaid. For this he was severely reprimanded
by Von Beseler, who told the girl, patting
her kindly on the shoulder, to report to him at
once any further annoyance.</p>

<p>"A drunken soldier grossly insulted a poor
woman on the street. She complained to an officer,
who at once emptied a revolver into the
offender's body, killing him. This had a salutary
effect on the attitude of the troops toward the
female population, for I heard of no similar outrage."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="SOME_FEE" id="SOME_FEE">SOME FEE!</a></h2>


<p>A fee of $35,000 was paid to a French surgeon
of Epernay for operating on the wounded German
Crown Prince. There was a certain retributive
justice on the size of the fee, for $35,000 was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
precise amount the Germans demanded as a war
contribution from Epernay.</p>

<p>During the battling on the Marne the Crown
Prince was seriously wounded. No German surgeon
was in Epernay, so the Germans asked a
well-known Paris surgeon, Dr. Veron, to operate,
telling him they would pay any fee. Dr. Veron
fixed the fee at an amount equal to the enforced
war contribution, and that sum the German army
treasurer paid in gold.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CALLS_FOE_TREACHEROUS" id="CALLS_FOE_TREACHEROUS">CALLS FOE TREACHEROUS.</a></h2>


<p>In a letter written to relatives in London Corporal
N. Hastings of the Guards accuses the Germans
of treachery. He writes:</p>

<p>"If the papers were permitted to send their
correspondents to the front they would have something
to say which would open the eyes of the
world about the Germans. It is an insult to Zulus
to compare these squareheads to them for treachery.
Some of them fight fair and square, but
there are thousands of them who are devoid of all
human feeling. Near the banks of the River
Aisne they had been attacked and driven down by
rifles and machine guns. A small number of the
Northamptons were in a trench when 400 or 500
of the Germans held their hands up. The 'Cobblers'
were ordered not to fire, and an officer asked
in French and English if they surrendered.</p>

<p>"They came on in skulking manner and some
of them threw down their rifles. In every way
they showed they were giving themselves up as
prisoners. The 'Cobblers' were priding themselves
on the capture and the officer said, 'We
have a haul here,' as they got near the trench.
When they were three or four yards away they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
poured a murderous fire at the poor fellows. They
had not a dog's chance and nearly all were
knocked over. The devils then tried to get back
and ran for their lives, but our battalion was soon
after them. Before they got many yards a machine
gun ripped them up and scores of them
rolled over. Some of them got away, but our battalion
got them in the rear. Our lads were simply
furious at such treachery.</p>

<p>"I had a narrow shave as I fell over one of
their wounded, and before I could get up again a
bullet whizzed through the sleeve of my coat, but
he who fired was shot through the head the next
second. Some of the German officers are low
bred. They are not like ours&mdash;gentlemen&mdash;and
when they get a chance they gorge themselves and
get mad drunk, so what can you expect from their
men? I have spoken to several prisoners&mdash;one
seemed a decent chap and spoke English well,
having worked in London&mdash;and they admit it.
The one who spoke English was a sergeant and he
said his officers were perfectly mad because they
were unable to get into Paris."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="HOW_HE_WON_THE_V_C" id="HOW_HE_WON_THE_V_C">HOW HE WON THE V. C.</a></h2>


<p>The story of how the first recommendation for
the Victoria Cross was won in the present war is
told in two letters. The first is from the hero
himself, an English soldier named Dobson, to his
wife in North Shields. He says very modestly:</p>

<p>"You will know by the time you receive this
letter that I have been recommended for the Victoria
Cross, an honor I never thought would come
my way. I only took my chance and did my duty
to save my comrades. It was really nothing."</p>

<p>The second letter is by Lady Mildred Follet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
whose husband commands the company to which
Dobson belongs, and is addressed to Mrs. Dobson.
It reads:</p>

<p>"You will be glad to know that your husband is
very well and has behaved with very great gallantry.
Capt. Follet says: 'A thick fog came
down, so I sent three men out 100 yards to our
front to give warning of an attack by the enemy.
After they had been there an hour the fog suddenly
lifted and they were fired on at close range.
One man was killed, one badly wounded and one
crawled back. I didn't know how to get the
wounded man back, so I called for a volunteer,
and Reservist Dobson at once responded and went
out to fetch him. He was heavily fired at but not
hit.'"</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p class="center b15">
The Big Furor</p>

<p class="center">in books on the subject of war has been created by</p>
<p class="center b13">GERMANY</p>

<p class="center b12">AND THE NEXT WAR</p>

<p class="center">BY GENERAL F. VON BERNHARDI
</p>

<p>This book presents a clear exposition of the
German attitude in the European War, and predicts
with remarkable accuracy the plan of campaign
of the German Army in their attacks on
Belgium and France. General Bernhardi claims
that England is stationary or retrogressive in the
world's progress, that Germany is the coming
world power, who by her rise will elevate the
world's standard of civilization, art and commerce;
that Germany's rise is in fact <strong>civilization's
greatest asset</strong>.</p>

<p>The coolness with which the author assumes
his views to be true, without argument or evidence,
takes one's breath away.</p>

<p>War all around is considered with composure:
war with England; France overthrown;
Belgium conquered; and the balance of power in
Europe to be deliberately destroyed. The two
chapters on the inevitable naval war with England
are of great interest.</p>

<p>The book is a 12 mo., contains 288 pages
printed from new large type and is bound in substantial
paper cover. <strong>Price, 25 cents postpaid.</strong></p>

<p class="center">
<i>J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY<br />
57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK CITY</i>
</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<p class="center b15">THE WAR</p>

<p class="noind">is the big thing in the public eye and mind today.
It occupies all of the prominent space in newspapers
and magazines everywhere, and will as long
as it lasts; and for a number of years afterward literature,
art and sculpture will show the war's effects in
their general treatment.</p>

<p>We have just issued the</p>

<p class="center b13">
Best Stories of the<br />
European War</p>


<p class="center"><i>RECEIVED FROM ALL SOURCES</i>
</p>

<p>Correspondents at the front or marooned in obscure
places while the great conflict rages, manage
daily to get through the wary censors some little
grimly humorous, or tragic side-lights of the war.
These we have collected into book form illustrated
with some unusual war photographs.</p>

<p>The book contains 128 pages paper bound, illustrated.</p>

<p>Price, sent by mail postpaid, 25 cents.</p>

<p class="center">
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY<br />
57 Rose Street, New York
</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<p class="center b15">
AUSTRIA-HUNGARY<br />
AND THE WAR</p>

<p class="center">By ERNEST LUDWIG<br />
<br />
I. &amp; R. Consul for Austria-Hungary, in Cleveland, Ohio,<br />
with preface by his excellency<br />
<br />
DR. KONSTANTIN THEODOR DUMBA<br />
Austro-Hungarian Ambassador to the United States
</p>

<p>This book contains a comprehensive presentation
of the political forces and historical developments
which led to the initial clash of arms. It offers a
graphic description of conditions in Bosnia and Herzegovina,
the two Austrian provinces coveted by
Servia, and throws an illuminating light upon the
real, the underlying causes of the world-conflict.</p>

<p>It gives detailed particulars of the Serajevo trial
in which the assassination of the Crown Prince and
his consort is proved to have been committed by
members of the notorious "Narodna Odbrana" society
of Servia, with the guilty fore-knowledge and complicity
of the Servian Government and tells why
Servia's equivocal note regarding this was not acceptable,
making necessary from the Austro-Hungarian
standpoint, the declaration of war against Servia
which brought on the present European Conflict.</p>

<p>The chapter on the greater Russian propaganda
is based on confidential and official reports, now made
known for the first time.</p>

<p>The chapter dealing with economic conditions in
Austria-Hungary contains entirely new facts, official
and authentic.</p>

<p>The book contains 220 pages, size 7&frac12; × 5
inches, substantially bound in cloth. PRICE, ONE
DOLLAR, net; postage 10 cents additional.</p>

<p class="center">
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.<br />
P. O. Box 767.      57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.
</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<div class="tn">
<p class="noind"><a name="toc" id="toc"></a>This table of contents has been provided by the transcriber.</p>

<p class="noind">

<a href="#THREE_MONTHS_IN_THE_TRENCHES">THREE MONTHS IN THE TRENCHES.</a><br />
<a href="#FRENCHMAN_MEETS_THAT_STRANGE_BEING">FRENCHMAN MEETS THAT STRANGE BEING, TOMMY ATKINS.</a><br />
<a href="#ONE_YOUNG_SOLDIER_WHO_PROVED_A">ONE YOUNG SOLDIER WHO PROVED A HERO.</a><br />

<a href="#DR">DR. MARY CRAWFORD OF BROOKLYN TELLS OF AMERICAN AMBULANCE WORK IN A PARIS HOSPITAL.</a><br />
<a href="#ROYALTY_AT_THE_FRONT">ROYALTY AT THE FRONT.</a><br />
<a href="#GAELIC_SPIRIT_IRREPRESSIBLE">GAELIC SPIRIT IRREPRESSIBLE.</a><br />
<a href="#HIGHLAND_KILT_A_POOR_UNIFORM">HIGHLAND KILT A POOR UNIFORM.</a><br />
<a href="#FROM_MEN_IN_THE_FLEET">FROM MEN IN THE FLEET.</a><br />
<a href="#FROM_A_DYING_FRENCHMAN">FROM A DYING FRENCHMAN.</a><br />
<a href="#A_NINE_DAYS_PURGATORY">A NINE DAYS' PURGATORY.</a><br />
<a href="#A_GALLANT_FOE">"A GALLANT FOE."</a><br />
<a href="#NOT_ALL_HATE">NOT ALL HATE!</a><br />
<a href="#FOUGHT_TO_LAST_MAN">FOUGHT TO LAST MAN.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_SMILE_IS_GONE">THE SMILE IS GONE.</a><br />
<a href="#WHIPPED_FOR_ROBBING_GIRL">WHIPPED FOR ROBBING GIRL.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_CORPORALS_TROPHY">THE CORPORAL'S TROPHY.</a><br />
<a href="#WANT_MORE_THAN_THREE_CHEERS">WANT MORE THAN "THREE CHEERS."</a><br />
<a href="#WILLIAM_AS_JOVIAL_AS_EVER">"WILLIAM AS JOVIAL AS EVER."</a><br />
<a href="#SAVED_BY_AEROPLANE">SAVED BY AEROPLANE.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_DEADLY_AIR_BOMB">THE DEADLY AIR BOMB.</a><br />
<a href="#A_SUPER-BELGIAN">A SUPER-BELGIAN.</a><br />
<a href="#RARE_HONOR_FOR_JEWS">RARE HONOR FOR JEWS.</a><br />
<a href="#HORACE_STIRS_FRENCHMEN">HORACE STIRS FRENCHMEN.</a><br />
<a href="#THEY_FACE_A_SOLID_WALL">"THEY FACE A SOLID WALL!"</a><br />
<a href="#DEJECTED">DEJECTED!</a><br />
<a href="#GUIDED_BY_HEAVEN">"GUIDED BY HEAVEN."</a><br />
<a href="#DARING_TOMMY">DARING TOMMY.</a><br />
<a href="#WE_ARE_WELL_TREATED">"WE ARE WELL TREATED."</a><br />
<a href="#WOMEN_AND_CHILDREN_FIRST">WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST!</a><br />
<a href="#PILE_DEAD_YARD_HIGH">"PILE DEAD YARD HIGH."</a><br />
<a href="#CANT_CARE_FOR_WOUNDED">CAN'T CARE FOR WOUNDED.</a><br />
<a href="#FORWARD_MY_CHILDREN">"FORWARD, MY CHILDREN!"</a><br />
<a href="#ANOTHER_RECORD_SMASHED">ANOTHER RECORD SMASHED.</a><br />
<a href="#YOUNG_GERMANY">YOUNG GERMANY.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_INVISIBLE_FOE">THE INVISIBLE FOE.</a><br />
<a href="#TRAITOR_MAYOR_SHOT">TRAITOR MAYOR SHOT.</a><br />
<a href="#HE_WONT_GET_HURT">HE WON'T GET HURT.</a><br />
<a href="#REAL_LUXURIES">REAL LUXURIES.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_GRATEFUL_PRINCE">THE GRATEFUL PRINCE.</a><br />
<a href="#TOO_AWFUL_TO_DESCRIBE">"TOO AWFUL TO DESCRIBE!"</a><br />
<a href="#BRITISH_AND_BELGIAN_KINGS_MET_BY">BRITISH AND BELGIAN KINGS MET BY ROADSIDE.</a><br />
<a href="#ROUGH_ON_THE_PRISONERS">ROUGH ON THE PRISONERS.</a><br />
<a href="#HANDICAPPED">HANDICAPPED.</a><br />
<a href="#PRINCE_A_FINE_SOLDIER">PRINCE A FINE SOLDIER.</a><br />
<a href="#FOR_YOUR_LEETLE_AMIE">"FOR YOUR LEETLE AMIE."</a><br />
<a href="#EVEN_THE_BUTLER">EVEN THE BUTLER!</a><br />
<a href="#THEY_ARE_BRAVE_MEN">"THEY ARE BRAVE MEN!"</a><br />
<a href="#THOUGHT_KIPLING_SPY">THOUGHT KIPLING SPY.</a><br />
<a href="#KAISERS_CONSCIENCE_CLEAR">KAISER'S CONSCIENCE CLEAR.</a><br />
<a href="#A_FRIGHTFUL_HECATOMB">"A FRIGHTFUL HECATOMB."</a><br />
<a href="#WILL_AVENGE_BELGIUM">WILL AVENGE BELGIUM.</a><br />
<a href="#HIDE_DEAD_FROM_WOUNDED">HIDE DEAD FROM WOUNDED.</a><br />
<a href="#CLOSE_CALL_IN_THE_CLOUDS">CLOSE CALL IN THE CLOUDS.</a><br />
<a href="#CAPT_VON_MULLERS_GALLANTRY">CAPT. VON MULLER'S GALLANTRY.</a><br />
<a href="#BOMBARDMENT_TERRIBLE">"BOMBARDMENT TERRIBLE!"</a><br />
<a href="#A_TERRIBLE_EXPERIENCE">A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_NEW_WAR_WEAPON">THE NEW WAR WEAPON.</a><br />
<a href="#CENSORING_THE_CENSOR">CENSORING THE CENSOR.</a><br />
<a href="#HOCH_DER_CZAR">"HOCH DER CZAR!"</a><br />
<a href="#A_HOLOCAUST">A HOLOCAUST.</a><br />
<a href="#FIGHT_WITH_SHOVELS">FIGHT WITH SHOVELS.</a><br />
<a href="#OUR_LUCK_WAS_IN">"OUR LUCK WAS IN."</a><br />
<a href="#IN_HONOR_BOUND">"IN HONOR BOUND."</a><br />
<a href="#A_HEROIC_SACRIFICE">A HEROIC SACRIFICE.</a><br />
<a href="#A_TERRIBLE_BAYONET_CHARGE">A TERRIBLE BAYONET CHARGE.</a><br />
<a href="#COLONEL_AVENGED_INSULT">COLONEL AVENGED INSULT.</a><br />
<a href="#WORK_OF_NEW_AERIAL_BOMB">WORK OF NEW AERIAL BOMB.</a><br />
<a href="#BRITON_PRAISES_GERMANS">BRITON PRAISES GERMANS.</a><br />
<a href="#NEARLY_PUT_ONE_OVER">NEARLY PUT ONE OVER.</a><br />
<a href="#CLOSE_CALL_FOR_AIRMAN">CLOSE CALL FOR AIRMAN.</a><br />
<a href="#FASTIDIOUS_SANDY">FASTIDIOUS SANDY.</a><br />
<a href="#IS_THIS_THE_KAISER">"IS THIS THE KAISER?"</a><br />
<a href="#SEND_ON_SOME_MORE_DISHES">"SEND ON SOME MORE DISHES!"</a><br />
<a href="#A_NEW_FOE_ENTERS">A NEW FOE ENTERS.</a><br />
<a href="#THE_BRIGHTER_SIDE">THE BRIGHTER SIDE.</a><br />
<a href="#HOW_THE_RUSSIANS_PAY">HOW THE RUSSIANS PAY.</a><br />
<a href="#KAISERS_CLOSE_CALL">KAISER'S CLOSE CALL.</a><br />
<a href="#EXTRA_RUSSIA_GOES_DRY">EXTRA! RUSSIA GOES DRY!</a><br />
<a href="#HE_IS_NOT_A_PRIEST">"HE IS NOT A PRIEST!"</a><br />
<a href="#THOUGHT_SHELLS_FIREWORKS">THOUGHT SHELLS FIREWORKS.</a><br />
<a href="#YOU_ARE_AN_ANGEL">"YOU ARE AN ANGEL!"</a><br />
<a href="#KILLS_40_FOR_SINGING">KILLS 40 FOR SINGING.</a><br />
<a href="#RUSSIAN_AIRMANS_RUSE">RUSSIAN AIRMAN'S RUSE.</a><br />
<a href="#IT_IS_LOVELY_HERE">"IT IS LOVELY HERE!"</a><br />
<a href="#THEY_TOOK_HIS_SHOE">THEY TOOK HIS SHOE.</a><br />
<a href="#SOLDIERS_BECOMING_RARE">"SOLDIERS BECOMING RARE."</a><br />
<a href="#SHELLS_KILL_HORSES">985 SHELLS KILL 2 HORSES.</a><br />
<a href="#KILLED_FOR_INSULT_TO_WOMAN">KILLED FOR INSULT TO WOMAN.</a><br />
<a href="#SOME_FEE">SOME FEE!</a><br />
<a href="#CALLS_FOE_TREACHEROUS">CALLS FOE TREACHEROUS.</a><br />
<a href="#HOW_HE_WON_THE_V_C">HOW HE WON THE V. C.</a><br />

</p></div>

<hr class="chap" />

<div class="tn"><h3>Transcriber's note:</h3>

<p>Minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.</p>

<p>Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where the missing quote should be placed.</p>

<p>The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>
</div>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 48636 ***</div>
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