A Bomb Thrower and Tank Master Who “Paid His Way in Huns”
It is very hard to pick out definitely any single name and exclaim
“Here is the Hero!” Not that that man would not be a hero, but that he
is not the only hero, and definite naming of some seems to exclude all
the rest. If this book shows anything, it shows that in the horrors of
the vast conflagration—in the terrible, awe-inspiring strain of the
fighting on earth and on water, and underneath, and above—practically
all the millions involved proved themselves heroes. Many of them found
no chance to show their valor in lone ventures, and not all of them
lost the lives they were so ready to give up. But they were heroes—all
of them—though no papers heralded in brave headlines their deeds of
glory, and no medals shine forth the commendation of the superior
officers. All we need to see is the mud-stained uniform—and that look
in the eye. This book is really a dedication to the innumerable heroes
we do not name—heroes to be perhaps ever nameless in human documents.
It is hard even where men were given the opportunity for individual
bravery to pick them out. Official records are brief, and, in the
main, the men themselves refuse to tell. But _Scribner’s Magazine_ has
uncovered one of these hard-to-get heroes. He calls himself Lieutenant
“Z.,” and it is only between the lines that we read of his endless
sacrifice, courage, and death-defying accomplishments.
The story is taken from letters written by him in the trenches. At
the very beginning of the war he had enlisted as a trooper in a
newly-formed cavalry regiment. All winter they waited to be called
to action. Spring came—and yet no call or need for horsemen. They
therefore volunteered to dismount, and were sent to Flanders. He
himself joined the “Bombing Squad.”
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© _New York Herald._