A LETTER FROM SALONIKA
DEAR ED:
I have just returned here from the front, and learned from your letter
that you are in France. You don’t know how glad I was to hear from you.
My prompt reply will bear me out, for you know I am not much of a hand
at writing letters. Let me commence by saying that if they ever want
you to come down here, don’t you do it, for, if there is one place that
the Lord forgot to fix up just enough to be decent it’s this Bulgarian
front, and, from what I have seen, all the Balkan States are no better.
Once in a while we get some papers which show pictures of the hardships
the British Tommies are enduring with artillery, etc., in the Flanders
mud. If they have anything on us they must surely be in a bad way,
because ninety-nine per cent of our front is mud. The remainder
is—also mud. They have a roadway here and there at least. We never see
what one would call a clearly defined path. It’s just one big field of
mud.
The Monastir road is the main artery of travel out toward our front,
and this has been so cut up by the never-ending traffic and through
lack of other parallel roads that it is about as bad as you can imagine
it. At the end of the road (this end) conditions are barely tolerable.
The town Salonika itself is located on the sea in a sort of hollow, and
around us like sentinels are the hills, which guard every approach to
the city proper for miles. Members high on the staff say the city could
never be taken from the land side, and from the supplies stored here I
am sure they believe this to be a fact. I do not think it will be long
before we will come in for our share of attention in the columns of the
newspapers, for we have been expecting the development of military
activity for some little time past.
The sanitary conditions are much improved here and everything is done
to counteract disease. All kinds of improvements have been made, but
the poor devils at the front are the ones that come in for their share.
Men contract diseases here unknown to medical science, besides those
that are known. Nearly everything reeks with malaria. I have taken
enough quinine to run a drug store in the States six months, and while
I, like many others, pride myself on the good fortune we are having,
I am sure, in the days to come, we will see the effects which always
follow.
No doubt you are familiar with the Venizelos régime. I see him
about quite often. The men that are with him are all bright, smart,
up-to-date fellows, and with the Allies hammer and tongs, and they
are far more loyal to Greece than the King’s party, who follow the
instructions of Kaiser Bill.
Write me a long letter, for it helps a great deal in such a place as
this, and if you ever get some American newspapers you might send them
on when you are through with them. Keep in touch with me, but don’t
ever think of coming here unless they tie you hand and foot and send
you.
Take good care of yourself and hand those wooden-headed Germans some
hot ones.
Your pal,
JOE.
CHAPTER XX
EYES OF THE ARMY
All military observation balloons are practically “the eyes of the
army.” They are generally captive—always out of reach of enemy
artillery fire. Of course, they may become the victims of surprise
attacks from enemy aviators.
These sausage-shaped craft are very important adjuncts to the fighting
forces, and they have regular habits. They go up every morning and
come down every night. In this they are aided by the engine of some
large auto-truck, which hauls them in or lets them go up, according
to orders from the officer in charge. Their efficiency as posts of
observation may be readily appreciated. There is nothing going on below
for miles upon miles that cannot be distinguished through the use of
powerful glasses in the hands of skilled lookout men.
With these fellows on watch very little can transpire that they are not
likely to discover in a jiffy. The enemy tries to send a wagon train of
ammunition to some point of advantage, when, bingo! some shells explode
in their path—then it’s a case of jumping and running for their lives.
Troop movements are subject to the same kind of attack, in fact,
everything is an open book to the trained observers, lolling about in
the high altitude breezes, alert, however, to every little thing going
on.
It is most interesting to watch the work of the observation balloon,
which always anchors close enough to the front to give it the advantage
of seeing everything, yet far enough to the rear to protect it from
being shot at by the enemy anti-aircraft batteries. It depends upon
the contour and character of the ground, and at just what elevation
the balloon officials can best observe. The great bag is held in place
by a steel cable, and has direct telephone communication with the
artillery field station.
This station is located so that all wires from the observation posts
lead into it, as do also the wires from the field batteries along
certain parts of the front. When anything transpires that seems of
enough consequence to deserve a few shells, the observer phones the
location as it appears on his chart, and a corresponding chart at
the artillery bureau furnishes correct information to the officers
in charge, as though they were looking at the very spot themselves.
The range is computed and phoned to the battery that commands the
particular location of the objective. The range is soon found and the
firing begins.
It is then the duty of the gas-bag observers to inform the bureau
the moment a shell explodes, setting forth the information that is
necessary for corrections in the event that the shell missed; also
whether it exploded before reaching the object or passed beyond. The
moment this information is secured corrections in the range are
immediately made, phoned to the battery, and the second shell is sent
screaming on its way. After which corrections are again given, until
finally the observer comes back with the word “hit.” They then have the
range and can hammer away at the position until they have completed the
necessary destruction.
[Illustration: Trying on the Gas Masks]
[Illustration: Badonviller Barricaded for Street Fighting]
So accurate has this system become that, with an observation balloon to
govern and observe, artillery fire, after the second and third shot,
will come uncomfortably close to its objective, if it does not make a
direct hit. The accuracy of cannon-fire nowadays is remarkable, and,
although batteries may be located in clumps of trees or even hidden by
hills, they have reached a perfection almost beyond belief. Thus it may
be readily seen that the observation balloon plays an important part in
modern warfare. Because of these observation balloons, there has seldom
been, if ever, such a thing as concentrations of large bodies of
troops for attacking purposes, or unending streams of caissons bringing
up shells or supplies without coming under the eye of the observer.
One day on the eastern front an artillery commander in our division
started out on a tour of inspection. He arrived at a certain position,
where a new battery was being located in a clump of woods just off the
roadside. In preparation for the new battery some concrete work was
being done on foundations.
Pulling up on the road in a clearing, the officer and his aide stepped
out of the car, followed by the chauffeur, and entered the woods to
review the work. At a distance, so small that it could scarcely be
seen, was a German observation balloon. The party had no sooner entered
the woods when they were attracted by the explosion of a shell in close
proximity. This was soon followed by a second, which landed in the
road, and then a third, which struck beside the front end of the auto
they had just left and blew it into fragments.
One thing that comes under the eye of a person traveling along the
military roads in France is the large number of soup kitchens that lie
toppled over along the roadside. The reason for this is that there are
always so many of these soup kitchens going to and from the front along
roads that can be seen from enemy observation balloons, and they can be
shelled with deadly and unerring accuracy.
It is a most rare occurrence for the drivers of these soup kitchens to
be injured or wounded, for they can hear the shell coming and dive off
of the kitchens into the roadside or run for their lives. Meanwhile
the shell will make a direct hit and blow the soup kitchen to pieces.
Observation balloons are a hindrance to operations that the enemy
desire to be unobserved; therefore aviators are dispatched against
them and instructed to clear them from the skies. Of course, there is
no means by which an observation balloon can resist successfully an
attack by an aviator, even if equipped with a machine gun, because the
aviator will always attack it from above.
The best opportunity to destroy observation balloons always comes on
cloudy days, when an aviator can circle around in the clouds until
he gets directly over the balloon, and drop, unobserved, upon it.
Then, with a machine gun, or an incendiary bomb, he can put it out
of existence. When the observers see that they cannot get away from
the enemy aviator their only chance is to jump from the basket with a
parachute, as the moment the bomb strikes the gas bag and the contents
ignite, it becomes an “inferno.”
Two interesting incidents took place at Verdun in connection with
observers and enemy aeroplanes after their gas bags had been struck and
destroyed. In the first instance, the observer jumped from the basket,
and was descending toward the earth suspended and swinging at the end
of a parachute, like the pendulum of a clock.
The enemy aviator, for additional exercise and excitement, circled
around and descended along with the parachute, shooting at the observer
as he swung through the air, with his machine gun, until he got his
man. But in so doing he descended closer to the ground than he had
contemplated doing, and a well-directed shot from an anti-aircraft
battery brought both himself and his plane tumbling to the earth.
The second instance was where a Boche aviator had dropped out of the
clouds and an observer, seeing there was no chance to get away from
him, quickly jumped from the basket of his balloon with a parachute.
The bag was struck shortly after and burst into flames.
It must have been the intention of the Boche to have some machine-gun
exercise with this observer, for he circled around and tried to get
into a position to fire. Before he could accomplish this the observer,
swinging through the air, drew an automatic revolver, and with a
well-directed shot hit the aviator and killed him.
Observation balloon work is considered a very dangerous branch of the
service, inasmuch as observers do not have an opportunity to protect
themselves from enemy aviators and must rely chiefly on anti-aircraft
batteries for protection.
CHAPTER XXI
ANTI-AIRCRAFT BATTERIES
Located all along the front are batteries, which consist principally of
French cannon that we have heard so much about, known to the world as
75’s. While this type is most frequently used, there are some aircraft
batteries of larger caliber, known as the 105’s. The reason that these
two types of guns are used exclusively is due to their flexibility.
They can be changed to different angles and elevations and be fired
with the rapidity so necessary in following an aeroplane in flight.
Aircraft batteries are always located where protection is necessary
from aviators in the rear of the lines, also in the event of the enemy
aviator being able to get by the batteries up front.
The guns are mounted over a pit on a revolving platform that can
complete a circle. Counterweights are attached to the gun for elevation
so that it can be changed quickly from the horizontal to very near
a 90-degree angle, the direction, of course, being obtained by the
shifting of the revolving platform.
Some very novel contrivances have been developed for computing ranges,
and each aircraft battery uses every available device that is likely to
assist them in making flying uncomfortable for the Boches. Where there
are two or more of these batteries they are connected up with each
other by telephone, and, as an enemy flyer comes within range of their
guns, the angles are phoned back and forth, and with this knowledge
they can make the location untenable, even if they do not bring the
flyer down. I have seen many an enemy flyer get into these pockets and
rejoice at the moment he discovered the trap that there were some
clouds close by into which he could dodge and get away with his skin
intact.
These planes are, in most instances, observation planes, either to see
what is transpiring behind the lines or to take photographs of enemy
positions. The bombing planes work mostly under cover of darkness,
which enables them to come down much closer to earth.
To meet this condition there is located at each aircraft battery a
device known as an audiphone. It is a large box-shaped affair, made of
sheet metal about thirty-six inches square. Inside are fastened four
small cones, in appearance much like victrola horns. These are in turn
connected with a vibrator similar to that in an ordinary telephone
receiver. To this are attached two rubber tubes, identical with the
instrument used by doctors called a stethoscope, for listening to the
heart.
This equipment is fastened to a post, and can be turned in any
direction. The box-shaped device, working on a common axle, can be
elevated or lowered at will. When an aviator is in the air a lookout
places the two hard rubber tubes to his ears and turns the equipment in
the general direction of the supposed location.
He then elevates and lowers the box-shaped device until he arrives at
a position where the clearest motor vibrations are received, the post
being marked off in degrees, like the revolving gun-platform. The arrow
on the audiphone points to the degree indicated on the post, and thus
the direction is obtained and the gun trained at the same degree.
Then there is a second arrow with a scale corresponding to the one upon
which the gun is elevated. When the clearest vibrations come in, the
angle at which the box rests is indicated, and this in turn is copied
by the gun. The distance is estimated by the strength of the vibrations
coming in on the receiving instrument. The general location is phoned
to the searchlight stations and the light is projected to afford
the batteries observation in the event that the aviator changes the
direction of his flight after the first shot is fired.
These projectors in many instances depend, of course, upon the
locations where the greatest aerial activities take place, run up
as high as four and a half feet in size, and with three or four
searchlights playing into the heavens it is very easy to discern an
aeroplane, unless it is flying very high.
The French 75’s make a wonderful anti-aircraft gun that, with the
remarkable perfection that gunners have attained, insures an enemy
aeroplane quite a warm reception. But, at best, machines brought down
by either side by anti-aircraft guns are very few, for no matter how
good the marksmanship the aeroplane always has the advantage. He can
take to higher levels quickly and the higher his elevation the greater
his security.
When a shot is fired at him in a certain position he knows that it will
be from eight to eighteen seconds before the projectile will reach his
elevation. By merely changing his course in a fast machine, four or
five seconds will take him three or four hundred feet away from the
bursting shell. But the frequency of direct hits in lower altitudes
does not warrant aviators taking chances. They’d better be on their way.
CHAPTER XXII
HAND GRENADE WORK
There are two kinds of hand grenades, offensive and defensive. The
first is employed in all offensive operations and to explain its use
more clearly it is well to start with the bombers, popularly known as
the suicide club.
Before an attack is made, in most instances, a barrage fire is put
over on the enemy trenches and the length of this preparation depends
on the extent of the offensive and on the area over which it spreads.
The purpose of this barrage fire is to blast out of existence all of
the enemy machine guns on the parapet of the trenches that are to be
attacked.
It must be understood that with a heavy barrage fire on their
front-line positions the enemy would be unable to keep many men
in readiness at the guns, and the machine guns themselves would be
endangered if they were left exposed. Therefore they take to the
dug-outs with guns and all other equipment.
Chosen from the regiments, there are certain men known as bombers,
who are ready, at a specified time, with another kind of equipment—a
large basket-shaped pocket swinging at their waists filled with hand
grenades. They are always ready in the front-line trench to go over at
the time set by the command. The barrage fire still plays on the enemy
lines when the bombers charge across “No Man’s Land.” It is their task
to keep the enemy and their machine guns in their dug-outs so that they
cannot drag them to the parapets of the trenches for use against the
infantry, which invariably follows the bombers “over the top.”
The grenade used by the bombers in an offensive of this kind is a
trifle larger than a good-sized lemon; projecting from one end is a
pin, on which there is a touch button.
Touch the button and the pin does the rest. It ignites a fuse on the
end of which is an explosive cap, similar in design to the caps we use
in this country for dynamite blasting. The cap sets off the charge
which is supposed to be one of the most powerful and deadliest of
explosives.
The shell of the grenade is corrugated into little squares that break
up and fly in all directions when the charge is exploded, and covers
a large area on its mission of destruction. Much care and skill is
required of the bomber, since he must be able to throw a grenade with
great accuracy and always far enough to keep himself from being injured.
There is a common notion abroad that bombs are thrown like baseballs,
but this idea is erroneous. The method employed is radically different.
Grenades are timed so that they go off quickly after reaching their
objective and within five seconds of the time when the first throwing
motion is made and the time fuse is going.
During the early part of the war the moment a grenade was started
fusing it was the desire of the bomber to get it on its way as quickly
as possible. The Germans noticed that the grenades did not go off for
several seconds after they landed, and, in many instances, picked them
up and hurled them back. Many of our men were killed in this way before
they learned to measure the time accurately.
All along the front, in back of the lines, are fields where one may
see companies of men practicing daily with grenades. Their work is a
most important factor in modern warfare, as the defenders of a trench
rely chiefly on their machine guns to resist infantry attacks. Should
the bombers contrive to hold the enemy in their dug-outs, their own
infantry can cross over without having to face a death-dealing stream
of bullets that would be poured into them by three or four machine guns.
[Illustration: Awaiting Orders Behind the Front]
Strange to say, of all the men making up the different branches of
service around base and army hospitals one rarely ever sees a maimed
bomber. It is one thing or the other with these fellows. They come back
whole or not at all. A most dangerous work is that of the bomber, as he
is always the first to go over, and, of course, offers a tempting mark
for whatever machine guns are not in the dug-outs but remain on the
parapets of an enemy trench.
Defensive grenades have a different classification and are employed in
a distinctive way. Any or all infantrymen of an army may be equipped
with this form of grenade. They are made on a principle diametrically
opposite to that of the offensive grenade. The best of these are
manufactured by an English concern and are very reliable. The element
of danger in its operation is very slight. They are used principally
for the destruction of barbed-wire entanglements, in order that
infantrymen may make a quick passage over “No Man’s Land.”
Should one of these grenades land alongside of a post supporting the
enemy barbed wire, the explosion which follows is so tremendous that it
will shatter that post into bits, causing all of the wire to drop to
the ground. This will afford enough gaps to make passage free and easy.
The defensive grenade is vastly different in structure and function, as
the jacket containing the charge is a tin composition, very light in
construction, so that every particle of force will be effective at a
given point, without the necessity of having to break through a heavy
iron shell. Just enough weight is used in the body of this type; it is
devoid of the pin and the button, but has a handle held in place by
a cotter pin on the end of which is a ring. When the ring is pulled
it draws the cotter pin from the locking device on the body of the
grenade, which holds the handle in a safe position.
Before the pin is pulled the bomber must have the handle clamped down
securely in the palm of his hand with the grenade, for the moment
the handle is allowed to fly up the grenade begins fusing and must be
thrown.
As long as the handle is held securely in its original position, even
though the pin be drawn, it is harmless. It is, however, ready for
service in the fraction of a second, and makes an ideal defensive
weapon for instant use. It can be thrown directly in front of a man
rushing at you with a bayonet, and it will blow him into fragments. At
the same time there will be perfect security to the one who launches
it, but, at five times the distance, an offensive grenade would prove
a boomerang. For cutting down enemy barbed wire, there is nothing so
effective, except heavy artillery, which can compare with this high
explosive hand grenade for terrific power of destruction.
There is a newer form of grenade now in use, which is fired from a
regular rifle. An attachment like a cylinder is fastened to the barrel
of the rifle and a regulation cartridge inserted into the cartridge
chamber, as when it is to be ordinarily fired. Then a grenade is
placed in the cylinder and the gun is discharged while held at
the height of the waist line, the muzzle being elevated or lowered
according to the distance the grenade is to be thrown. There is a gauge
showing where the grenades will approximately strike at different
elevations of the muzzle, and it is surprising with what accuracy they
will reach their objective. This method is used where the distance
is too great for throwing by hand. The ball, when fired, passes down
the rifle barrel and through the grenade, striking a contact spring,
which starts it fusing. The gas from the explosion of the powder in the
chamber forms the propelling power.
A great many other contrivances are used for the launching of grenades,
such as various forms of spring traps. The French have a pneumatic
device,—a cylinder in which the grenade is placed, and the pressure
for launching it is produced by means of a pump, not unlike in design
that of the automobile tire pump. All these different devices, while
serving a purpose, do not meet all requirements as effectively as does
the grenade which is launched by hand. It is a most dangerous missile
and hard to get away from.
One serious danger to which consideration must be given and into
which Americans are apt to be tempted is the collection of souvenirs
of war. All along the front one sees many things that are of
interest,—unexploded shells, hand grenades, and the like. The
inexperienced, unsuspecting the danger of such things, are tempted to
pick them up and examine them.
This has caused many a death. It is a risk that should never be
taken, for it is only another way of courting death. Not every shell
or grenade that is sent over explodes, and many actually lie intact
for days only to explode at some slight disturbance. One only needs
to observe the French, who are familiar with all angles of the game
through their three and a half years’ experience, to learn what they
think about tampering with shell heads.
A regular corps of men, appointed generally from some artillery
battery, make it their duty to look after unexploded shells, either by
setting them off, or by carting them away and burying them,—likewise
unexploded hand grenades. These are collected and buried, but many
an experienced man has come to his death while clearing up roads and
fields of these unexploded missiles.
There have been instances known on different fronts where the Germans
have “fixed” everything they leave on the field, allowing shells and
grenades to lie there for someone to pick them up. An attractive
officer’s helmet might catch one’s eye and appear to be just about the
most harmless thing in the world. But to touch it more than likely
means death.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE AMERICAN Y. M. C. A.
An honest confession is said to be good for what ails you, mentally
and physically, so here goes with reference to my erstwhile ignorance
concerning that great and growing organization known to all the world
as the Young Men’s Christian Association. I’ll admit my prejudice. It
goes back to the days when I invented every possible excuse to keep
from going to Sunday-school, and so when I arrived at maturity I found
myself shying toward the outer curbing every time. I used to pass
quickly these quiet, orderly buildings, fearful that someone would rush
out and thrust a lesson leaflet into my hand.
Once I had a friend who, when in earnest conversation, would halt
occasionally to point his long forefinger and say, “Listen to the
truth!”—and that’s the kind of a gesture and the exact words that
I would use now if I should find it necessary to raise my voice in
defense of the Y. M. C. A.
I’ll never forget the first one I visited. I was in Paris on leave of
absence, along with another young man in the same service as myself.
He suggested a visit to the Y. M. C. A., and, so far as my pleasure
was concerned, he might just as well have suggested the morgue. The
motion was carried, however, and I found myself being jostled along,
speechless with disgust for having come all the way from the front-line
trenches to waste my time at such a tame sort of a place. Visions of
being met at the door with a bundle of “tracts” and a pocket Bible
came into my mind’s eye, but, on the theory that it never pays to be
a joy-killer, I said nothing. In less time than it takes to tell it I
found myself the worst fooled mortal of my age and weight among all my
numerous friends and acquaintances.
Our taxicab drew up in front of a palatial building, which I recognized
as our destination, for I did know the triangular flag of the Y. M.
C. A. We entered a large open court, where were several small tables
and chairs, reasons for which we learned afterwards. Ascending a grand
stairway we arrived at the second floor, or Club Room. At once two
gentlemen stepped forward with a cheerful “Hello, Boys,” and invited
us to make ourselves “quite at home.” Almost immediately thereafter we
were taken in tow and escorted around the place.
At this moment I glanced at the peculiar expression on my friend’s
face. We had been there five minutes, and no one had handed either of
us a Bible—which seemed most surprising to me. There were spacious
lounging rooms, with big easy chairs, and tables heaped with books
and magazines, also writing rooms, smoking rooms, victrolas, pianos,
billiard and pool tables, just as you find them in a genuine American
club. It reminded me of good old New York with all its comforts and
ease. The atmosphere was that of wholesome refinement with a welcome in
every face that beamed our way.
Our escorts informed us that things were not exactly in shape as yet,
but would be in full running order very shortly. For a place that was
not in working trim I wondered what could be done to make it more
complete. I was soon to learn that its growth since the war began had
been phenomenal. It had become the principal rendezvous for the army
boys, a home, indeed, to which they could come at any time, day or
night, and get good hot baths and clean up. I was completely surprised,
for in Paris, at the finest hotels, such a thing was impossible, except
on Saturdays and Sundays, because of the conservation of fuel.
Then, too, the Y. M. C. A. had established a Bureau of Tobacco, where
the boys could obtain American cigarettes and cigars at a cost which
was much less than they could be bought even at home. The French
Government would not allow cigarettes to be sent to the boys in
service, unless the duty, which was prohibitive, was paid on them. One
has to have but a single experience with “army issue,” the name applied
by the boys to the tobacco passed out to soldiers, to know what a big
satisfaction it is to be able to walk up to the counter of the Y. M.
C. A. with the feeling of ease one feels in going into one’s home-town
favorite cigar store or club.
After showing us everything about the premises, our escort finally
capped the climax by announcing, “It’s four o’clock. Ice cream is ready
to be served.”
Now, say, gentle reader, suppose you had been driving an ambulance for
several months, practically day and night for weeks at a time, and
that all you had known in the way of “eats” was the same old stuff day
in and day out? And, I ask you again, what would you say if suddenly
you were invited to sit down beside a daintily covered table in a
delightful courtyard and found yourself confronted with a heaping
big dish of real ice cream. Never mind your answer. You’d be found
“a-hanging around” the place at four o’clock every afternoon of your
stay in Paris. That’s what we did, and we were welcomed each time in
that same cordial way.
In the colder season, when it becomes too chilly for ice cream, the
Volunteer Canteen Workers of the Y. M. C. A. established a tea room,
where at four p. m. hot coffee, chocolate and such things as home-made
doughnuts, cakes and pies were served. This place did not go a-begging
for popularity, as may well be surmised, for it was filled to capacity
every day.
It would be unjust to create the impression that the popularity of the
American Y. M. C. A. is due to the fact that it serves good ice cream.
That was only one of the many things that hit the right spot.
The biggest attraction, to my mind, was the spirit of sterling good
fellowship which permeated the institution. The welcome was sincere.
There was no snobbishness, no attitude of “look what we’re doing for
these fellows—shouldn’t they be most awfully thankful.” There wasn’t
a bit of that. On the other hand there was plenty of “there’s nothing
too good for you boys who are doing the job out there; we’re going to
serve you!” That is the attitude of the big-minded business men who
have thrown open the doors of this institution in order that the boys
from “out there” might have comfort when on furlough in Paris. It was a
big thought and it has kept many a youngster from going to the devil in
that same big city.
Before I left France, the Y. M. C. A. was making big strides in the
establishment of Huts and Canteens along the front; also around the
villages where the divisions of the army go for rest. Here the men at
the front can have an opportunity to purchase food and supplies. This
in itself is a wonderful blessing for, in the devastated towns along
the front, it is impossible to buy anything.
Imagine the undying impression a man will retain of this wonderful
organization when he recalls the day he was sent to the rear, drilled
by a Boche bullet and dragging one foot after the other through the mud
and water of the trenches, chilled to the bone, as he turned a corner
and found tucked away in a hole in a wall a man who handed him a cup
of steaming hot coffee; or, when that same man lies on a hospital cot
in the rear, recovering, there comes a representative of this same
wonderful institution with words of cheer and consolation. Such is the
work that these men are doing and such the wonderful contribution to
humanity it has proved to be!
While in London I spent most of my time at the Y. M. C. A. huts. There
they serve regular meals at a maximum cost of fourteen cents, which
consist of soup, meat, potatoes, vegetables, bread, butter, dessert
and coffee. It is open to any of the men of the Allied armies. I was
particularly attracted one day to a group of boys sitting around a
piano in the recreation room, singing and playing. An American soldier
played the piano, an American sailor played a violin, a Canadian a
banjo, and an Englishman a mandolin.
The “choir” was composed of a Belgian, a Scotch Highlander, an
Irishman, a New Zealander, an Australian and a Frenchman—with a dozen
Americans thrown in. I inquired of one of our sailors how he liked
London? He replied, “Well, as much as I have seen of it, it’s fine, but
we boys spend most of the time right here at this piano.”
I found this to be true, for, no matter what time I would go there,
the same crowd was always present, and the room filled with blue smoke
thick enough to choke a Chinaman.
The facts set forth are my only experiences with the Y. M. C. A., but
let me commend to everyone the wonderful work that this organization is
doing, for if anything can hearten a man when he is away from all that
is near and dear to him it is the attention paid him by big-minded,
big-hearted men who carry on the field work of the Y. M. C. A. No one
preaches to you when you are under its roof, but there creeps into
one’s heart a new feeling that one longs to hold on to. I’m for the Y.
M. C. A. strong.
[Illustration: A Small “Persuader” at Verdun]
[Illustration: Field Telephone Station Controlling the Shell Fire]
CHAPTER XXIV
REAR-LINE DIVERSIONS
During their leisure hours it is quite necessary for men to have
something of interest to divert their minds; the French military
authorities have been quick to realize the value of the old saying that
all work and no play makes Jack a poor fighter.
There is with each army corps a regularly established department
devoted to the entertainment of the soldiers. They have also with them
official kinematographers of the French Army, who take pictures of
everything interesting that transpires in the sector. The films of one
army, through a bureau, are exchanged with those of an army operating
in another sector, for the benefit of the men so that they can see
what is going on at the fronts. The shows are generally given in some
little village at the rear, where the men who are not in the trenches
are quartered. The program is changed each day and a sprinkling of
comedies are worked in to give the entertainment the proper flavor.
Commencing at seven-thirty to eight p. m. the little streets are
generally packed, long before the time the doors are to open, and when
they are thrown back you are generally lifted off your feet by the mad
rush and scramble for seats. After being jostled about like a rubber
ball, you may finally end up inside the theater—and occasionally
outside. It’s a case of come early or you don’t see the show, because
there are no places large enough in these small villages to afford
accommodation for all the men that are quartered there.
On these occasions there is always music furnished by the regimental
bands, and this is one of the features of the show. Many of these bands
have men who are celebrities known internationally. We had in our
division two grand opera singers and a violinist, who, before the war,
was the leader of the orchestra at Monte Carlo.
As soon as the performance began the doors were closed to exclude all
light, and the windows covered with heavy drapery. The minute the
soldiers get inside, they light their pipes and cigarettes and settle
down for an evening’s entertainment. In ten minutes the place is filled
with smoke, and an hour after the performance commenced it would seem
impossible that a picture could be thrown on the screen. But no one
seems to mind the smoke barrage so long as they are afforded amusements
to divert their minds.
Other evenings, at scheduled times, big events would come off in the
form of a drama or a comedy, produced entirely by the soldiers. Some
sketch was always presented where the largest men in the regiments took
the parts of angels or some fellow with a beard portrayed the part of
the ardent young lover. Of course, to complete the performance, it was
necessary to have a few women, and these not being available, someone
had to make-up for the part.
These were usually picked from among the mule drivers and cooks of the
regiment (or somebody in similar positions, where daintiness in the
execution of their regular work best suited them, in the judgment of
the impresario, for the part). There was always a king who was a very
stern ruler, likewise a fearless warrior. The smallest man with the
squeakiest voice generally fell heir to this rôle. All in all, the cast
was usually very well selected, and it invariably produced just the
effect that the entertainment committee desired.
But the concerts given by the military bands were the real
entertainments, after all. They were sure to exceed one’s expectation,
for they were classical and sublime. Selections from all of the leading
operas were rendered in a most creditable way, and it was really a
great pleasure to attend them.
CHAPTER XXV
“FOOD WILL WIN THE WAR”
Upon my return to this country, after having lived as I did abroad,
the billboards with the caption, “Food Will Win the War,” was one of
the first things that caught my eye, and I was deeply impressed with
its significance, but a few days after arriving I was also destined to
learn very soon how little these words seemed to mean to the average
American. I visited, of course, several of the leading cafés and
hotels, and from the menus one could hardly believe that this country
is at war and allied with people and armies that are badly in need of
food.
No army can fight efficiently, laborers cannot toil in the manufacture
of equipment and supplies for the armies in the field, unless they
have the proper and sufficient food.
America little realizes what France has accomplished along lines
of conservation. Reflect, for the moment, on the following facts.
Before the war, France depended largely on this country for many
foodstuffs, even when all of her tillers of the soil were following
their agricultural work daily. Upon the outbreak of war, all her
able-bodied men of a military age were called to the colors. There was
no one left to work the farms but women, old men and young boys, and
naturally their domestic production fell off, though the demand for
food was ever greater. Moreover, one must consider the territory that
has been devastated into regions of barren wastes, for, in August,
1914, when the German armies swept through northern France to the very
gates of Paris, all the stock on farms were driven off and confiscated
for their troops. Then in the retreat everything that was productive
was destroyed.
It is not difficult to understand why the internal production of
France has suffered a material decrease, and she must now lean just
that much more on our assistance in the providing of foodstuffs. With
conservation working in this country we can give them that which is
really unnecessary to us, but vital to them. An order has just been
issued to the French Army from Headquarters to cut down the daily bread
ration of each soldier, and I want to say that I know what this means,
for I have lived on it, and for nourishment, at the best, it is nothing
to brag about.
Some people think they are making a supreme sacrifice in submitting to
our wheatless day regulation, but they should dwell a moment on the
thought that for over three years the soldiers, to say nothing of the
women and children of France, have not seen a loaf of white bread.
Their wheatless day is seven days a week and fifty-two weeks a year.
I think I know the American people well enough to feel that they would
not stand aside and selfishly see men, women and children go without
food, especially when they can give it without any great inconvenience
to themselves. I feel it is the lack of a proper understanding that is
the basic cause of food wasting in this country, and not a disregard
for the suffering of others.
Every time we sit down to a meal, either in the home or in a
restaurant, and order more food than we can consume or need, we are
taking from the reserve which does not morally belong to us and thereby
depriving the man at the front of sufficient food. I think everyone
will agree with me when I say that if there is anyone entitled to a
decent meal once in a while it’s the fellow who is ready to give up his
life for his country—and all we are asked to do is to give up those
habits which are unnecessary and wasteful.
The great problem of winning this war rests with the American people,
and if each one does his and her part, that will prove the deciding
factor in defeating the Germans.
A noted statesman of Germany is credited with saying that Germany has
not the slightest fear of the American Army or Navy. But when the
hundred million people rise up as a unit with undivided aim—that day
will be the undoing of Germany. Now, this simply means that it is the
American people that Germany is afraid of.
It is very difficult to bring the nearness of the war home to each
and every one of us. It is difficult, indeed, for each to realize
that we are just as much a part of this war as the boys who wear the
uniform abroad. The only difference is that they have given everything
they have to give and we can only approach their one hundred per cent
liberality by conserving and rendering every assistance that is within
our power to do by word, deed, and particularly money.
Everyone should do his part as an individual patriot, so that when
our hundred million are working as a unit, the sledge hammer blows of
our nation will be the undoing of a monster that will be swept from
this earth with such force that it will never again menace liberty and
freedom.
CHAPTER XXVI
HOMEWARD BOUND
It is said to be something of a job to run over to Europe during these
war times, with so many restrictions in the way of ocean travel, but if
anyone ever found it hard to get there they should try _leaving_
there. The day we were given our discharge from the French Army we
started to leave. We soon found that if it had not been for taxicabs
we would all be there to-day, for when the offices that control the
routine and formality that one has to go through were finally located,
the only person that was considered was the taxi driver, seemingly in
order that he might come in for his share of your roll before you go
out of the country.
First it is necessary to go to the American Ambassador’s office with
your passport, and establish the fact that you really are yourself.
Application must be made in writing for your return passage and all
facts about yourself established. After this is done you get your stamp
of approval, which makes you feel that you are fairly well started.
The next in order, however, is a visit to the United States Consulate’s
office, and while this is not such a great distance away you feel
that it is far enough. Here you get a second stamp of approval and
are directed to the French Bureau of Military Control. This office is
located out of town, possibly in order to afford the employees the
fresh country air, and while you’re getting there the taximeter does
its share toward making the trip interesting and exciting, and causes
one to lose all interest in the passing scenery no matter how beautiful.
At the French Bureau you surrender your release from the Army and are
given a third stamp of approval, this time with a paper, which must
be taken to the Prefecture of Police. So again you sit and watch the
centimes turn into francs, until you’re tempted to get out and walk.
But where is this Prefecture of Police Bureau? Well, it’s about the
same distance on the other side of town as was the Bureau of Military
Control on this side. On the theory that nothing from nothing leaves
nothing, it would seem that for a weary soldier the only thing to do
was to curl up on the rear seat and sink into dreamland. It might
have turned out only a bad dream. I have heard shells flying by at a
fast clip, but never did anything go so fast as the figures on that
taximeter.
From the looks of the records kept at the Police Bureau I am sure they
would know if there was anything in the world to your discredit, but
if you have a clean bill you are quickly O. K.’d and are again on your
way. When I got out of there I glanced at my driver, who was a young
fellow when we started out, but having been gone so long I felt sure by
now he had a beard that he could trip in.
On going back to America by way of England it is now necessary to pay
a call upon the English Consul in Paris, who will look over the stamps
the various offices have put on your passport in order to determine
whether or not he would care to have you go back that way. This was
my last taxi ride by way of kicking off the shackles that held me on
foreign soil. Much as I loved France I was hungry for home and glad to
feel that I was free to go there.
The following morning found our crowd on the train bound for Havre.
As we sped along we passed just back of the front held by the English
and, after an eight-hour trip, arrived at our destination. After
transferring our baggage we were greeted with the pleasant information
that there had been a storm on the Channel and many mines had broken
loose. Until the trawlers succeeded in sweeping them back into harness
no boat would leave that port.
Now the sad part of this news was that if this boat did not leave
during the night we would miss our steamer for America—and the boat
did not leave. So we slept on board, and the next day was spent in the
town. That night we got under way, the storm kept us company and our
steamer did everything but run upside down. It was a messy-looking
crowd that arrived in Southampton the next morning, but we stayed only
long enough to attend a meeting of the customs officials, then we were
off for London. We had missed our boat and must wait four days for a
sailing on another line.
That night I went to the theater, and after enjoying a good play for
two hours the curtain descended abruptly and a gentleman stepped out
on the stage to announce that there was an air raid on, and anyone
choosing to leave could do so. There were a great many people who got
up and left for the shelters that are provided throughout the city. In
less than five minutes the curtain went up again and the performance
was resumed. When we left the theater autos and police bicycles
plastered with signs, “Take to Cover,” were speeding up and down the
street. Most people went down into the underground railway stations,
but the Boche did not penetrate the outer defenses and were only able
to drop a few bombs on the outskirts of the city. During the four
nights we spent in London there were three air raids.
A great many American sailors were in London, and it happened that the
Church of Saint Martin held services while we were there. We couldn’t
miss that chance. The King and Queen and Princess were in attendance,
as well as Field Marshall French and Admiral Jellicoe, with other
celebrities.
After four days in London we left for Liverpool to catch our boat, and
sailed for dear old America on the evening we arrived. Hard luck seemed
to pursue us, for the next morning we found ourselves at anchor at the
mouth of the river with the consoling news that two German submarines
were lying outside the bar awaiting our departure. So we stayed
there all day in a dense fog and also that night, with about twelve
other vessels of various sizes.
[Illustration: Ruins Along the Lorraine Front]
The following morning we slipped anchor and in a few hours were well
out into the Irish Sea, the heart of the infested area. If there is
any place where U-boats are thick it is off the Irish coast. Nothing
eventful happened that first day but our boat was heavily armed and all
the men were at their posts every minute. Meals were served to the gun
crews at their posts.
About seven-thirty that night, after we had come on deck from dinner,
there was a report of a cannon behind us—a U-boat had come up fifteen
hundred yards astern, and, not having a chance to launch a torpedo,
took a shot at us with a small deck gun. It was so dark that the U-boat
could not be seen, but our gunners at the stern could see the flash of
their gun and took that for a target. Of course, we could not see a hit
if one was made, but the U-boat did not fire any more. Probably its
officer did not care to try conclusions with so watchful a foe.
We did not wait to investigate. Full steam ahead soon put distance
between us. All went well the rest of the night and the following day,
each minute making our travel safer, and soon we were well out to sea
with chances of being attacked growing less all the while.
On her trip previous the same thing had happened to this vessel, only
their opponent was a little more persistent than ours had been. The
U-boat fired fifty-four shots at her.
When three days at sea a fire broke out in one of the holds and spread
to the dynamo room. All hands turned out to fight the flames, and,
considering that they were coming out of the upper deck hatches for a
while, things looked pretty bad. But at last, with good work on the
part of the crew, it was under control. It is not very easy to sleep
on a boat in mid-ocean when you know that a fire is smouldering and
likely to break through and spread at any moment.
Four days later we fell in with the American patrol and the sight of
two American warships was at once a comfort and a delight.
The only disappointment in store for us was our failure to arrive at
New York early enough to get up the river and land. We missed it by
half an hour and had to lie in the Narrows in sight of home all night
long! Rotten luck. However, bad luck is sometimes good luck, for next
morning as we came on deck there was the Statue of Liberty! I had seen
it hundreds of times but never as I saw it that beautiful morning. And
then, an hour later, wasn’t it fine to scramble up the gangplank to
see who would be first to put foot on good old American soil! Home
again—_home again_.
What a wonderful feeling!
Of all the charming books that may come forth this year, none will be
more welcome than
GEORGINA’S SERVICE STARS
By Annie Fellows Johnston
TO BE PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 1st
In it will be found a new story of beloved Georgina whose Rainbow
adventures led into her tenth year. Now she is older—sweet sixteen,
if you please—and Richard, her playmate of childhood days, is a grown
man of seventeen—and as devoted as ever. Of course he got into the
great war enough to give Georgina a second star to her service flag;
her father, being a famous surgeon, his star is rightfully at the top.
But watch out for Richard! (Beautifully illustrated. $1.35 net.) AS
USUAL—FOR ALL THE FAMILY
---------------------------------------------------
|GEORGINA of the RAINBOWS |
| |
|Now selling in beautiful popular edition, 60 cts.|
---------------------------------------------------
Britton Publishing Company New York
He has written another one—and it is as good as his famous book
_“Laugh and Live”_
MAKING LIFE WORTH WHILE
—that the title of _Douglas Fairbanks’_ new book to be published in
early autumn
It is written in his own inimitable style—another book of inspiration
for people of all ages and either sex—a new vein of optimistic cheer
for us mortals of a war-worn world—another message from the man who
knows how to keep himself happy and well, and who is willing to pass
his recipe on to others.
_His book makes for Success_
_Everybody will want it_
12mo.—Beautifully Illustrated with
16 New Photographic Duotones
Cloth, $1.00 Khaki, $1.00
Leather, $2.00 Ooze, $2.50
To be published September 1
Britton Publishing Company New York
Over the Seas for Uncle Sam
By ELAINE STERNE,
Author of “The Road of Ambition”
Miss Sterne is Senior Lieutenant of the Navy League Honor Guard, which
has charge of entertainment and visitation in behalf of sick and
wounded sailors sent home for hospital treatment. Their experiences,
such as may be published at this time, now appear in book form. This
book brings out many thrilling adventures that have occurred in the
war zone of the high seas—and has official sanction. Miss Sterne’s
descriptive powers are equaled by few. She has the dramatic touch which
compels interest. Her book, which contains many photographic scenes,
will be warmly welcomed in navy circles, and particularly by those in
active service.
Cloth Illuminated Jacket $1.35 Net
Ambulancing on the French Front
By EDWARD P. COYLE
Here is a collection of intensely interesting episodes related by a
Young American who served as a volunteer with the French Army—Red
Cross Division. His book is to the field of mercy what those of Empey,
Holmes and Peat have been in describing the vicissitudes of army life.
The author spent ten months in ambulance work on the Verdun firing
line. What he saw and did is recounted with most graphic clearness.
This book contains many illustrations photographed on the spot showing
with vivid exactitude the terrors of rescue work under the fire of the
big guns.
Cloth 16 Full page Illustrations $1.35 Net
Britton Publishing Company New York
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
Inconsistencies in a.m., a. m., p.m., and p. m. spacing have been
retained. Inconsistent hyphenations have been left as is.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Page 47. Replaced “parrafin” with “paraffin”.
Page 161. “Teshez Vous” is probably “Taisez Vous”.
Page 162. “Teshez Vous” is probably “Taisez Vous”.