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The Stars and Stripes
_The Official Newspaper of the A. E. F._
_By and For the Soldiers of the A. E. F._
VOL. 1--NO. 1.
FRANCE, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1918.
PRICE: 50 CENTIMES.
A MESSAGE FROM OUR CHIEF
[Illustration]
In this initial number of THE STARS AND STRIPES, published by the men of
the Overseas Command, the Commander-in-Chief of the American
Expeditionary Forces extends his greetings through the editing staff to
the readers from the first line trenches to the base ports.
These readers are mainly the men who have been honored by being the
first contingent of Americans to fight on European soil for the honor of
their country. It is an honor and privilege which makes them fortunate
above the millions of their fellow citizens at home. Commensurate with
their privilege in being here, is the duty which is laid before them,
and this duty will be performed by them as by Americans of the past,
eager, determined, and unyielding to the last.
The paper, written by the men in the service, should speak the thoughts
of the new American Army and the American people from whom the Army has
been drawn. It is your paper. Good luck to it.
(Signed) JOHN J. PERSHING,
Commander-in-Chief, A. E. F.
----
MEN ON LEAVE
NOT TO BE LED
ROUND BY HAND
----
Impression That They Will
Be Chaperoned Wholly
Erroneous.
----
SAVOY FOR FIRST GROUP
----
Zone System to Be Instituted and
Rotated to Give All Possible
Variety.
----
"PINK TICKETS" FOR PARIS.
----
Special Trains to Convey Soldiers
to Destinations--Rules Are
Explicit.
----
As a great deal of misapprehension regarding leaves, the conditions
under which they are to be granted, etc., has existed in the A.E.F. for
some time past, the complete and authoritative rulings on the subject
are given below.
A.E.F. men whose leaves fall due on or about February 15 will be allowed
to visit the department of Savoy, in the south-east of France, during
their week of leisure. That department constitutes their "leave zone"
for the present. When their next leaves come around four months hence it
is planned to give them a different leave zone, and to rotate such zones
in future, in order to give all an equal chance to see as much of France
as possible.
While the Y.M.C.A. has worked hard and perfected arrangements for
soldiers' accommodations and provided amusements at Aix-les-Baines, one
of the famous watering-places in Savoy, no man is bound in any way to
avail himself of those accommodations and amusements if he does not so
desire. In other words, there are no strings attached to a man's leave
time, provided he does not violate the obvious rules of military
deportment. The widespread idea that there will be official or
semi-official chaperonage of men on leave by the Y.M.C.A. or other
organizations is, therefore, incorrect.
Leaves Every Four Months.
The general order from Headquarters, A. E. F., on the subject of leaves
is both complete and explicit. Leaves will be available for soldiers
only after four months' service in France, and will be granted to
officers and men in good standing. The plan is to give every soldier one
leave of seven days every four months, excluding the time taken in
traveling to and from the place in France where he may spend his
holiday. As far as practicable, special trains will be run for men on
leave.
A man may not save up his seven days leave with the idea of taking one
of longer duration at a later date. He must take his leaves as they
come. Regular leave will not be granted within one month after return
from sick or convalescent leave.
In principle, leaves will be granted by roster, based on length of time
since last leave or furlough; length of service in France; length of
service as a whole lot. Officers authorized to grant leaves are required
to make the necessary adjustments of leave rosters so as to avoid
absence of too many non-coms, or specially qualified soldiers at any
time. Not more than ten per cent. of the soldiers of any command are to
be allowed away at the same time, nor, it is stipulated, is any
organization to be crippled for lack of officers.
Leave areas, as stated above, will be allotted to divisions, corps, or
other units or territorial commands, and rotated as far as practicable.
Allotments covering Paris, however, will be made separately from all
other areas, so as to limit the number of American soldiers visiting
Paris on leave. For this reason the leave tickets will be of different
color, those consigning a man to his unit's regular leave area being
white, and those permitting a visit to Paris being pink, dividing the
American permissionaires into white ticket men and pink ticket men.
Exceptional Cases.
In case a man has relatives in France, it is provided that he may, for
that reason or some other exceptional one, be granted leave for another
area than that allotted to his unit with the stipulation that the number
of men authorized to visit Paris shall not be increased in that way. For
the present, officers will not be restricted as to points to be visited
on leave, other than Paris. Any leaves which may be granted by
Headquarters to go to allied or neutral countries will be counted as
beginning on leaving France and terminating on arrival back in France.
The French Zone of the Armies, and the departments of Doubs, Jura, Ain,
Haute-Savoie, Seine Inferieure and Pyrenees Orientales, and the
arrondissements of Basses-Pyrenees touching on the Spanish frontier may
not, however, be visited without the concurrence of the Chief French
Military Mission.
Leave papers will specify the date of departure and the number of days'
leave authorized. The leave will begin to run at 12.01 a. m. (night)
following the man's arrival at the destination authorized in his leave
papers, and will end at midnight after the passing of the number of
days' leave granted him. After that, the next leave train must be taken
by that man back to his unit. Or if he is not near a railroad line over
which leave trains pass, he must take the quickest available
transportation back to connect with a leave train. Each man on leave
will carry his ticket as well as the identity card prescribed in G. O.
63, A. E. F.; and he will be required to wear his identification tag.
Travel Regulations.
Before going on leave, a man must register his address, in his own
handwriting. He must satisfy his company or detachment commander that he
is neat and tidy in appearance. He must prove to that officer's
satisfaction that he has the required leave ticket, and so forth, and
sufficient funds for the trip.
All travel on leave by men of units situated within the French Zone of
the Armies will, as far as possible, be on the special leave trains.
Transportation on these trains will be furnished by the Government, and
rations will be provided for both going and returning journeys.
Commutation and rations while on leave will not be paid in any case.
Travel on regular trains will be at the expense of the officer or
soldier so traveling, at one-fourth the regular rate. Commissioned
officers and army nurses will be entitled to first class, field clerks
and non-commissioned officers to second class, and all others to third
class accommodations on regular trains.
Except on special leave trains, soldiers will be allowed to purchase
second-class seats, but if a shortage of such seats should occur, they
will not displace regular passengers.
Lodgings In Leave Zone
On their arrival at destination, all men will have their leave papers
stamped with the date of arrival, and will have noted on them the date
and hour of the train to be taken on expiration of their leave, by the
American Provost Marshal at the railroad station, or by the French
railroad officials. They will report to the Provost Marshal for
information, for the looking over of leave papers, and for the selection
of an assignment to lodgings and registry of address. If there is no
Provost Marshal in the place to which they go, they will register their
addresses and submit their leave papers for O. K.ing at the French
Bureau de la Place of a garrisoned town, or else at the Gendarmerie, or
police station. They will exhibit their leave papers to the French
authorities at any time upon request.
Lodgings will be paid for in advance. If they prove unsatisfactory, a
man may apply to the Provost Marshal for a change. Men who are unable to
pay, or who commit any serious breach of discipline, will be promptly
returned to their units. Misconduct will be reported by American Provost
Marshals direct to the man's regimental or other Commander for
disciplinary action--and for consideration at the next turn of leave.
In case of groups of men on leave traveling, the senior non-commissioned
officer will be responsible for the conduct of the men. No liquor and no
fire-arms or explosives of any sort may be carried by any soldier going
to or returning from leave.
----
OFF FOR THE TRENCHES.
----
When a certain regiment of American doughboys departed from its billets
in a little town back of the front and marched away to our trenches in
Lorraine, this poem was found tacked up on a billet door:--
By the rifle on my back,
By my old and well-worn pack,
By the bayonets we sharpened in the billets down below,
When we're holding to a sector,
By the howling, jumping hector,
Colonel, we'll be Gott-Strafed if the Blank-teenth lets it go.
And the Boches big and small,
Runty ones and Boches tall,
Won't keep your boys a-squatting in the ditches very long;
For we'll soon be busting through, sir,
God help Fritzie when we do, sir--
Let's get going, Colonel Blank, because we're feeling mighty strong.
----
TOOTH YANKING CAR
IS TOURING FRANCE
----
Red Cross Dentist's Office
----
Lacks Nothing but the
Lady Assistant
----
The latest American atrocity--a dentist's office on wheels!
Gwan, you say? Gwan, yourself! We've seen it; most of the chauffeurs
have seen it; the Colonel and everybody else who gets about at all has
seen it. That's what it is, a portable dentist's office--chair,
wall-buzzer and all, with meat-axes, bung-starters, pinwheels,
spittoons, gobs of cotton batting, tear gas, laughing gas, chloroform,
ether, _eau de vie_, gold, platinum and cement to match. Everything is
there but the lady assistant, and even she may be added in time.
If you wanted to be funny about the thing, you might call this motorized
dentist's parlor the crowning achievement of the Red Cross; for, strange
to say, it is the Red Cross, commonly supposed to be on the job of
alleviating human misery, that has put the movable torture chamber on
the road, to play one-tooth stands all along the countryside. But no one
wants to be funny about a dentist's office that, instead of lying in
wait for you, comes out on the road and chases you. It's too darn
serious a matter; you might almost say that it flies in the teeth of all
the conventions, Hague and otherwise.
It looks part like an ambulance, but it isn't. An ambulance carries you
somewhere so that you can get some rest; a traveling tooth-yankery
doesn't give you a chance to rest. It's white, is the outside of the
car, just like a baby's hearse, and just about as cheerful to
contemplate. On its side it says, "Dental Traveling Ambulance No.
1"--the No. 1 part gleefully promising, no doubt, that this isn't the
end of them by any means, but that there may be more to follow.
Useful As a Tank?
Somebody had a nerve to invent it, all right, as if we didn't have
troubles enough as it is, dodging the regimental dentist, and ducking
shells, and clapping on gas masks, and all the rest. It is designed,
according to one who professes to know about it, to kill the nerves of
anything that gets in front of it; so we one and all move that it,
instead of the tanks, be sent "over the top" and tried on the Boches.
The minute they see a fully-lighted, white-painted car, with the
dentist, arrayed with all his instruments of maltreatment, standing
ready for action by his electric chair, those Boches will just turn
around and run, and run, and run, and won't stop running till they get
smack up against their own old barbed wire on the Eastern front. The
crowned heads of Europe tremble before the advance of the crowned teeth
of America, as you might say if you were inclined to joke about it;
which we aren't.
For French Patients First
One of the Red Cross people, who was standing by ready for the command
"Clear guns for action!" told THE STARS AND STRIPES that the peripatetic
pain producer wasn't to be used so much for the American troops'
discomfort as to fix up the cavities and what-not of the civil
population of France. That was encouraging news, for while we don't bear
our allies any ill-will, we think they ought to have the honor of trying
out the experiment first "_Apres vous, mon chere Gaston,_" as the saying
goes.
After all the French people in need of dental treatment have been
treated, however, the Red Cross person went on to say that it might be
tried out on the Americans--yanks for the Yanks, as you might say, if
you were inclined to be funny about it, as you ought not to be; but we
prefer to think that the war will be over by that time. Anyhow, who ever
heard of an American who would own up to having anything the matter with
his jaw.
Be that as it may, when you see the cussed thing on the road, jump into
the ditch and lie low. It's real, and it means business.
----
ANZAC MAKES SAFE GUESS.
----
A company commander received an order from battalion headquarters to
send in a return giving the number of dead Huns in the front of his
sector of trench. He sent in the number as 2,001.
H. Q. rung up and asked him how he arrived at this unusual figure.
"Well," he replied. "I'm certain about the one, because I counted him
myself. He's hanging on the wire just in front of me. I estimated the
2000. I worked it out all by myself in my own head that it was healthier
to estimate 'em than to walk about in No Man's Land and count
'em!"--_Aussie_, the Australian Soldiers' Magazine.
----
HUNS STARVE
AND RIDICULE
U.S. CAPTIVES
----
A.E.F. Soldiers Compelled
to Clean Latrines of
Crown Prince.
----
GIVEN UNEATABLE BREAD.
----
Photographed Sandwiched Between
Negroes Wearing
Tall Hats.
----
EMBASSY HEARS THE FACTS.
----
Repatriate Smuggles Addresses of
Prisoners' Relatives Into
France.
----
Ridicule, degrading labor, insufficient food and inhumane treatment
generally are the lot of American soldiers taken prisoner by the Huns.
This is the experience of three Americans captured last Autumn by the
German Army at the Canal de la Marne au Rhin, in the forest of Parcy,
near Luneville. The deposition of M. L. Rollett, a repatriated Frenchman
who was quartered in the same town with the American prisoners, made
before First Secretary Arthur Hugh Frazier of the United States Embassy
in Paris, throws ample light on the methods of the Boche dealing with
his captives.
"How were the Americans treated?" M. Rollett was asked.
"They were obliged to clean the streets, and the latrines of the Crown
Prince [The heir to the German throne had his headquarters at that time
in Charleville, the captured French town to which the Americans were
taken.] This was done in order to make them appear ridiculous. They were
photographed standing between six negroes from Martinique; and when the
photograph was taken the negroes were ordered to wear tall hats."
"Did the Americans have sufficient food?" Secretary Frazier inquired.
"No," replied M. Rollett. "Their food was insufficient. They received a
loaf of bread every five days, which was as hard as leather and almost
uneatable. Occasionally they received a few dried vegetables."
Fed by French People.
"Could they subsist on this food?"
"No, but the inhabitants of Charleville formed a little committee to
supply the prisoners with food and with linen. The food had to be given
to them clandestinely."
M. Rollett, who left Charleville on December 19, 1917, to come into
France by way of Switzerland, visited the Embassy to forward to the
relatives of the three American prisoners messages saying that they were
still alive. The addresses they gave him were: Mrs. James Mulhull, 177
Fifth street, Jersey City, N. J.; Mrs. R. L. Dougal, 822 East First
street, Maryville, Miss.; and Mrs. O. M. Haines, Wood Ward, Oklahoma. On
the day the Americans were captured, he added, the American communique
(published later on by the Germans) had reported five men killed and
seven wounded.
"How did you bring these addresses away without being discovered?" the
Embassy Secretary asked M. Rollett.
"They were written," he replied, "on a piece of linen which a young girl
who speaks English had sewed under the lining of a cloak belonging to
one of my daughters."
"Black Misery" In Germany.
In conclusion, M. Rollett was asked if, from his journey from
Charleville through Germany to Switzerland, he could form any idea as to
conditions in Germany.
"No," he answered, "because we traveled through Alsace-Lorraine at
night; but the German soldiers talked very freely about conditions in
Germany, and they said that life in all parts of the Empire is black
misery. They all long for peace; and the soldiers are in dread of the
British and French heavy artillery."
M. Rollett's disposition was subscribed and sworn to before Secretary
Frazier on January 9, 1918, and a copy of it is in the archives of the
American Embassy.
----
MARINES ADVISE SWIGGING.
----
For Hikers They Say, It Is Better
Than Sipping.
----
Quantico, Va.--The drinking of water at frequent intervals while on long
hikes is not recommended by U. S. Marines, stationed here.
While the average man should consume, according to medical authorities,
from two to three quarts a day, troops on the march should drink this
amount at regular periods and not sip a mouthful at a time, say the
Marine officers.
In Haiti, the Philippines and other countries where the Marines have
been compelled to hike long and hard, men who constantly sipped at their
canteens were the first to become exhausted. On the contrary, the men
who drank their fill every two or three hours, and not between times,
proved to be the best hikers.
----
FREE SEEDS FOR
SOLDIER FARMERS
----
Congress Votes Us Packets
but Overlooks
Hoes and Spades
----
PRIZES FOR BIG PUMPKINS
----
A.E.F. Garden Enthusiasts Speculate
Upon Probability of Flower
Pots in Tin Derbies.
----
_Sergeant Carey, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
Tomato buds, and Kerry spuds,
And string beans all in a row?_
That's the song some of us will be singing when the ground gets a little
softer--oh yes, it will be much muddied before long--and the grass, what
there is left of it, gets a little greener, and the dickey-birds, begin
to sing sweet "Oui, oui," in the tree-tops.
For be it known that by and with the consent of the Congress of the
United States, that ancient and venerable and highly profitable body
which votes the money to buy us our grub has, out of the kindness of its
large and collective heart, extended its privilege of free seed
distribution to the United States Quartermaster Corps. So, if you
haven't received your little package of bean seed, pea seed, anise seed,
tomato seed, lettuce seed, pansy seed, begonia seed, and what not, trot
right up to the supply sergeant's diggings and ask him when it's coming
in.
Oui, Oui--Spuds and Beans!
No kidding; you know yourself you're grumbling now because all you get
in the line of vegetables is spuds, and beans, and tomatoes and beans,
and spuds, and spuds, and beans, and beans, and spuds and beans, and
beans, and beans, and beans, and beans, and beans and--what was that
other vegetable you gave us last night, Mess-Sergeant?--oh, yes, beans;
all of them canned, with now and then, on Christmas, St. Patrick's Day,
Yom Kippur and Hallowe'en, a few grains of canned corn. If you want
fresh vegetables, therefore, it's up to you to grow them. Unfortunate
people who live in big cities are able to grow them in cute little
window boxes, and thus cut down the high cost of living. Why shouldn't
you, with a steel helmet for a flower pot, be able to do the same?
Go to the French thou sluggard doughboy. Consider their ways. Get wise.
They're hard up for food, as you know; and at that, to judge from the
reports from back home, they're no blooming curiosities. But look at
what they do about it. Instead of folding their hands, saying, "C'est la
guerre," they go out and dig, and then plant, and then hoe, and finally
they have fresh vegetables--and backaches--to show for it. You can't go
anywhere along the roadsides or up the hillsides these days without
stumbling over their neat and well-kept-up little garden patches. And,
with butter selling at what it is, and eggs selling for what they do,
and everything else in the eats line skybooting in price, those little
garden patches come in mighty handy. It's worth trying.
No Favors for Lemon Squads
Although no official announcement has been made as yet, it is safe to
surmise that some company commanders will offer prizes for the squads
producing the biggest pumpkins, the best summer squashes, and the most
luscious watermelons. (Texas troops please heed.) Company commanders,
you know, have never been in the habit of awarding prizes for the squads
producing the most lemons, but, then, war changes every thing.
So keep your old campaign list for garden wear (if the Q.M. will let
you); make a pair of overalls out of the burlap the meat comes done up
in; use your trench pick and shovel, plus your bayonet, to do the
plowing, and scatter the tender seedlets. If a few acorns come along
with the rest of the plantables, plant them, too, for if we're going to
be over here a good long time the shade from these oaks will come in
mighty handy when we're old men and have time to sit down.
----
ARMY MEN BUILD AN
OVER-SEAS PITTSBURGH
----
Mammoth Warehouses and the World's Largest
Cold Storage Plant Spring Up in
Three Months.
----
FORESTERS AND ENGINEERS DOING THE WORK.
----
"Winter of Our Discontent" Sees Big Job of Preparation
Speeded "Somewhere" in France.
----
You, Mr. Infantryman, out there for heaven knows how many hours a day
jabbing at a straw-filled burlap bag and pretending it's old Rat-Face,
the Crown Prince--been doing that ever since you came over here, haven't
you?
You, Mr. Artilleryman, loading, unloading, standing clear, and all the
rest of it until your back aches and your ear-drums wellnigh cave in--
You, Mr. Machine-Gunner, going out every day and lugging about a ton of
assorted hardware and cutlery around a vacant lot--
You, Mr. Marine, land-logged, land-sick, trying out your web feet in
wading through the muddy depths of Europe instead of wading ashore
through the roaring surr-yip! hi-ho, and a bottla grape juice!--
You, all of you, own up now! Doesn't seem as though you weren't getting
anywhere at times, now does it? Doesn't seem as though you had made any
particular progress, eh, what? Doesn't seem to have made the beef any
tenderer, the supplies come up any quicker, the Q.M.'s clothing get
issued any quicker? As far as you can see, things have been pretty much
at a standstill, on account of the weather and what-not, for some time,
haven't they?
With Speed and Drive.
But that, Mr. Infantryman, Cannoneer, Machine-Gunner or whoever and
whatever you are, is where you are, for one, dead wrong. The old U. S.
is making all sorts of progress here in France--progress towards your
comfort, and upkeep, and safety, and toward that of the millions who are
coming along to play your game with you. Not in your particular section,
perhaps, but, in a certain spot in inland France, the old U. S. has been
engaged in big doings this winter, doing big things as only Americans
can do 'em and putting them through with the speed and drive that, as we
like to think, only the Yanks can put into an undertaking. And the work
which the old U. S. has been doing at that particular place in France,
has excited the outspoken admiration and surprise of every officer of
the Allied armies who has watched it grow.
In three months this spot in France has been transformed from an
insignificant railroad station--such as White River Junction, New
Hampshire, or Princeton Junction, in New Jersey, say--surrounded by wild
woodland and rolling plains, into a regular young Pittsburgh of
industry. Fact! Not only a young Pittsburgh of industry, but a young St.
Louis of railway tracks, a young Chicago of meat refrigerators, a young
Boston of bean stowawayeries, a young New York water front of
warehouses. Just for example, the warehouses already put up at this
place will hold more stuff than the new Pennsylvania Railroad freight
terminal in Chicago, which is some monster of its kind.
Cold Storage Plants.
Wait! That's only a sample. The foundations are already on the ground
for--now, get this; it's straight dope, no bull--for what will be the
largest refrigerating cold storage plant in the world. Its construction,
by the time this article sees the light of print, will be well under
way. It will have a manufacturing capacity of 500 tons of ice, and will
be capable of handling 2,000 tons of fresh beef daily, besides having
storage space for 5,000 tons of beef additional, to say nothing of other
fresh food supplies whenever they may be awaiting shipment up forward to
the men in the Amexforce. Every detail of it is absodarnlutely the last
word in uptodateness.
Along with a refrigerating plant of that magnitude, there have also been
going up--going up all during the time you thought there was "nothing
doing" over here, too--a number of monster storage houses for ammunition
and other inflammable supplies. These are built of real old
honest-to-goodness hollow fireproof brick, brought all the way from the
United States. And if that were not enough to safeguard the bonbons for
the Boche contained in them, the storage depot has a waterworks system
all its own; to construct it, a pipe line had to be laid half a
mile--the distance of the plant from the nearest body of water. Hundreds
of miles of auxiliary piping have already been laid, and the water
supply will be more than adequate for mechanical purposes and for
protection against fire.
Regulars Lend a Hand.
The warehouses themselves are one story buildings, 50 by 30 feet in
dimension, constructed in rows of fours, with loading and unloading
tracks between them and with big doors in their sides, making easy the
quick handling of the supplies to be stowed therein. Goods for four
branches of the service are to be stored in them--machinery, ordinance
supplies, medical necessaries, and all the varied articles handled by
the Quartermaster's Corps. The construction of the buildings has been in
the hands of a regiment of railroad engineers and a forestry regiment,
assisted by companies detailed from regular regiments.
As if that were not enough in the line of construction, over in a corner
of the mammoth reservation is a gas plant, and buster, too. This plant
is already in operation and other plants of like size are busy in
repairing machinery and in other work. Everywhere about the place there
is incessant activity--regular "Hurry up Yost" speed-upativeness--in
road building, well driving (some deep ones have been plugged down,
too), in track laying, in hundreds of other ways.
Some plant, isn't it, to have been put up in the short time,
comparatively, that we have been over here in France? It even puts into
the shade the overnight growth of, say Hopewell, Va., the famous
munitions city that, unlike Rome, seemed almost to have been built in a
day.
Of course it has taken a tremendous force of workers to do all this, and
it is going to take more and more and more as time goes on, and as more
and more and more troops from the States keep pouring into the French
seaports. The size of the plant, with the provisions for making it
larger, prove, for one thing, that our Uncle Sam expects to send a lot
more troops--and, what is more, intends to keep them well supplied with
everything they need as long as they are here.
No Delay About Moving In.
Our Uncle Samuel, be it remembered, is a cautious old gent, and looks
well on both sides before getting into a scrap; but once he gets in--and
the canny old customer always picks the right side--he's in to stay
until the whole job is cleaned up, and he's in right up to his
shoulderblades. No more convincing proof of America's determination to
see the thing through could be had than a sight of Uncle Sam's big
storage depot and all-around tool shop. And, to clinch the argument even
further, as fast as the shops on the big reservation have been put up,
the machinery has been shoved into them and the work in them started as
soon as the machinery was in place and oiled up.
No, Mr. Infantryman, Mr. Artilleryman, Mr. Machine-Gun-toter,
Mr. Aviator, Mr. Wireless-buzzer, this has not been "the winter of our
discontent"--as footless and no-use-at-all as your own work may have
seemed to you sometimes. It has been the winter during which your old
uncle has been laying a firm foundation for your comfort and safety and
for that of the men who will follow you over--and believe us, he's done
an almighty big, an almightily far-sighted, an all-around almightily
creditable and thoroughly American, workmanlike job.
----
A NEWS STORY IN VERSE
----
(The incident this poem describes was told by a
British sergeant in a dug-out to the author--an
American serving at the time in the British
Army, but now fighting under the Stars and Stripes.)
----
Joe was me pal, and a likely lad, as gay as gay could be;
The worst I expected to happen was the leave that would set him free
To visit the wife and the kiddies; but they're waiting for him in vain.
All along of a Boche wot peppered our water and ration train.--
You see, w'd been pals from childhood; him and me chummed through
school,
And when we growed up and got married we put our spare kale in a pool,
And both made a comfortable living; 'twas just for our mates and the
kids,--
Now the Hun--damn his soul--has taken his toll, and me pal had to
cash in his bids.
That night when we left the ration dump to face the dark ahead,
I can never forget the look on his face when he picked up his kit and
said
"Another trip to the front, old lad; we'll take 'em their bully and
tea;
We'll catch hell to-night, but we'll get there all right; take that
little tip from me."
And Joe swung up in his saddle; I crawled in the trailer behind;
The train moved off with a groan and a squeak, for the midnight work
and the grind
Then Joe looked 'round as we started off, I could see his face all
alight;
"I got a letter from home," he said; "I'll read it to you to-night."
We pulled along through Dick Busch, through Fairy Court and Dell.
When word came back from the blokes ahead to give the nags a spell.
Joe slid outen his saddle, with a chuckle deep down in his throat,
An' he walked back to me, as gay as could be, and pulled the kid's
note from his coat.
Says he, "Listen, lad, for a kid it ain't bad--it's her birthday--she's
five to-night--
It's a ripping note this--she sends you a kiss--" and Joe, poor old
pal, struck a light.
He held up the kiddie's letter--we were laughin' a bit at the scrawl,
All warm inside with a feeling--well, you know what I mean, damn it
all!
When along come a German bullet, and Joe, he wavered a mite,
Then without a word he wilted down. They carried him West that night:
A bullet hole in his temple, by God, but clutching that letter tight.
I've forgot all me bloomin' duties, for me blood is boilin' with hate;
And I'll get that sniping rotter what drilled me pal through the pate.
I'll teach the dirty beggar how an Englishman sticks to his friend:
I'm saving a foot of cold steel for the rat--so help me God to the end.
----
HE OUGHT TO BE GOOD.
----
"Jim, I see that old Bill Boozum, from home, has been drafted."
"Well, Hank, he ought to pass out some nifty hand salutes, all right."
"How's that?"
"Why, look at the practice he's had in bending his elbow!"
Don't Forget that War-Risk
Insurance. February 12 is
Your last chance at it.
----
ARMY'S MOTOR ARMADA
TO BE 50,000 STRONG
----
Uncle Sam's Garages and Assembling Shops Demand
the Services of 150,000 Chauffeurs
and Repair Men
----
FIRST AID AMBULANCES FOR BREAKDOWNS
----
Experts from American Factories to Take Charge of
Efficiency Problems
----
Uncle Samuel has gone into the garage business here in France. He has
gone into it feet first. He knows the importance of the automobile game
in modern warfare; he realizes that if Napoleon the Great had only had
one "Henry" at the battle of Waterloo, Marshal Blucher's famous advance
through the mud would have been in vain. So he is determined, by aid of
all the up-to-date motors, all the up-to-date mechanics and chauffeurs
and technical experts he can muster, to prevent any of Marshal Blucher's
Prussian successors from stealing a march on him.
Fifty thousand motor vehicles, roughly speaking, represent Uncle
Samuel's immediate needs for his charges in France. Of these, some
38,000 will be trucks, some 2,500 ambulances, some 3,000 "plain darn
autos," and some 6,500 motorcycles. To take care of this vast motor
fleet, to run it, keep it in repair, and so forth, our Uncle will need
about 150,000 men--a young army in itself.
When one stops to consider the factories, repair shops, rebuilding
stations and what not that will be required, one can see that Uncle
Sam's garage is going to be no five-and-ten affair. It is going to be a
real infant industry all by its lonesome; and already it is a pretty
husky infant, with a loud honk-honk instead of a teething cry. In fact,
in the few months since our collective arrival in France Uncle Sam has
built up such an organization to keep his cars on the roads as to
stagger the imagination of the men of big business, both of our own
country and of our allies who have come to look it over.
These Are Real Experts
The A. E. F.--and this is news to many of its members--has, right here
in France, a fully equipped automobile factory which is able not only to
rebuild from the ground up any of a dozen or more makes of motors, but
to turn out parts, tools, anything required from the vast stores of raw
materials which has been shipped overseas for the purpose, with the
special machinery which has been torn up in the States and replanted
here. The factory is going to employ thousands of expert mechanics, and
is going to have a capacity for general repair work unequalled by any
similar plant back home.
People who dwell within the desolate region bounded by the Rhine on the
west and the Russian frontier on the east have been in the habit of
considering our national Uncle as a superficial sort of an old geezer;
but the way he has taken hold of his automobile business proves that
they have another good think coming. He hasn't overlooked a thing. Hard
by his big new factory there is an "organization ground," a "salvage
ground," a supply depot, and what is perhaps most important of all, the
headquarters of a highly trained technical staff.
This is a staff of experts; not self-styled experts, but the real
thing--big men in the automobile business representing all the important
motor factories in the United States. Some of these experts inspect the
broken down machines and pieces of machines in the salvage grounds, and
report whether the wearing out process was due to a chauffeur's
mishandling of the car, to the use of poor material in its construction,
or to something wrong in its original designing.
Working "On the Ground"
If it is the chauffeur or mechanic who was responsible, he, wherever he
is, is hauled up on the carpet. If the fault is found to lie with the
factory in the States that turned out the machine, the representative of
that company on the board of experts reports the facts to the home
office himself, with recommendations for future betterment. In making
out his recommendations for a car of a new design, peculiarly fitted to
traffic and combat conditions in France, his co-workers on the board
lend him their assistance. In this way defects in cars are detected "on
the ground" and the responsibility placed at once, so that future errors
of the same sort will be avoided.
This is, in brief, the journey that lies before an American made auto
shipper, say "F.O.B. Detroit." Knocked down, or unassembled, it is
packed and put aboard a transport at "an American port." It makes the
same voyage that we all made to "a French port," gracefully thumbing its
nose at any passing submarines. At the port it is assembled, painted,
duly catalogued and numbered, and given a severe once-over and several
finishing touches by the experts of the technical staff and their
assistants.
For Emergency Calls
Having passed this examination, it is loaded with supplies--for even a
car has to carry a pack while traveling--and headed towards the interior
under charge of a picked crew of mechanics, who try it out under actual
traffic conditions and adjust it. On the way it is held over at the
"organization grounds," where it is given its supplementary equipment of
tools, water cask, and the necessary picks, shovels and tow cables to
get it out of the mud. This done, it is turned over to a new crew of
men, and, as one of the component parts of a train of cars in charge of
a truck company, it is sent "up front" if the need is urgent, or, in
case there are cars aplenty in that interesting locality, it is run to a
reserve station to await call.
When the car, after days or months at the front, begins to show, by its
coughing or wheezing or other signs, that it is about due for a new
lease of life, the journey is reversed. If the car is able to get back
under its own power, it goes back that way; if it is not, a hurry call
is sent for the auto-doctoring-train, which is nothing more nor less
than a repair shop on wheels. There the blue-jeaned doctors of the train
do their best for the car, and if it doesn't come around in a day or so,
it is towed back to be overhauled from A to Izzard.
For the supplying of this auto armada, Uncle Sam, who seems to have
overlooked nothing, has dotted the main routes from the Atlantic coast
of France up to the fighting lines with gasoline stations. At the ports
of entry themselves he has erected immense storage tanks, each capable
of holding 25,000 barrels of the precious juice. At a number of inland
bases on the way up are other tanks with a capacity of 5,000 gallons
each. Near the front are many smaller tanks, while at the front itself
the regular gas drums, small in size and readily transported, are
available for the cars that have run out.
Just to make sure, Uncle Sam has brought over a flying squadron of some
five hundred tank cars, which again has caused the natives to sit up and
take notice. These cars are loaded from the tank ships at the ports of
entry, and then sent inland to fill up the various depots. All in all,
this same Uncle Sam who, by the way, is now supplying his allies with
practically all their gasoline and lubricants, is doing a pretty good
and speedy job as a distributing agent.
One more sample of how this lean and canny old unk of ours uses his
head, and this story will be over. All the motor trucks are being
distributed about France in definite areas, according to their make; for
example, a certain area will be served by Packard trucks exclusively,
while another will have G.M.C.'s, and G.M.C.'s only. This system does
away with the need for repair men carrying many kinds of parts, and
makes it possible for one trouble-expert knowing all about one kind of
car, to serve a whole district. In that way harmony of operation and
speed in mending broken-down cars is secured.
----
THE SUPREME SACRIFICE.
----
(Corset makers all over the United States are
forsaking that line of business in order to devote
their factories to the turning out of gas
masks for the Army.--News item from the States.)
----
Heaven bless the women! They are giving up their corsets
So that we, in snowy France, may 'scape the Teuton's ire;
Sacrificing form divine so factories may more sets
Make of gas protectors and of shields 'gainst liquid fire!
Heaven bless the women! They are losing lines each minute
So that we may hold the line from Belfort to the sea;
Giving up their whalebones so that, after we get in it,
We may whale the daylightes outer men from Germanee!
Heaven bless the women! They are wearing middy blouses
As a sort of camouflage, the while we spite the Hun;
Donning Mother Hubbards, too, and keeping to the houses
While we Yanks gas-helmeted, put Fritzie on the run!
Heaven bless the women and their perfect thirty-sixes!
Waists we clasped a-waltzing they some other way now drape.
Disregarding fashion so that every Yank may fix his
Breathing tube at "Gas--alert!" and thus preserve _his_ shape!
Heaven bless the women! They are doing without dancing,
Knitting, packing, helping in a hundred thousand ways;
But they help the most by this while the foe's advancing--
Giving us the staying power by going without their stays!
----
THE ANZAC DICTIONARY.
----
ARCHIE.--A person who aims high and is not discouraged by daily
failures.
A.W.L.--An expensive form of amusement entailing loss to the
Commonwealth and extra work for one's pals.
BARRAGE.--That which shelters or protects, often in an offensive sense,
i.e., loud music forms a barrage against the activity of a bore; a
barrage of young brothers and sisters interfere with the object of a
visit; and an orchard is said to be barraged by a large dog or an active
owner.
BEER.--A much appreciated form of nectar now replaced by a colored
liquor of a light yellow taste.
CAMOUFLAGE.--A thin screen disguising or concealing the main thing,
i.e., a camouflage of sauce covers the iniquity of stale fish; a suitor
camouflages his true love by paying attention to another girl; ladies in
evening dress may or may not adequately camouflage their charms; and men
resort to a light camouflage of drink to conceal a sorrow or joy.
CIVILIAN.--A male person of tender or great age, or else of weak
intellect and faint heart.
COMMUNIQUE.--An amusing game played by two or more people with paper and
pencil in which the other side is always losing and your own side is
always winning.
DIGGER.--A friend, pal, or comrade, synonymous with cobber; a white man
who runs straight.
DUD.--A negative term signifying useless, ineffective or worthless,
e.g., a "dud" egg; a "dud of a girl" is one who is unattractive; and a
dud joke falls flat.
DUGOUT.--A deep recess in the earth usually too small. As an adjective
it is used to denote that such a one avoids hopping over the bags, or,
indeed, venturing out into the open air in a trench. At times the word
is used to denote antiquated relics employed temporarily.
HOME.--The place or places where Billzac would fain be when the job is
done. Also known as "Our Land" and "Happyland."
HOPOVER.--A departure from a fixed point into the Unknown, also the
first step in a serious undertaking.
IMSHI.--Means "go," "get out quickly." Used by the speaker, the word
implies quick and noiseless movement in the opposite direction to the
advance.
LEAVE.--A state or condition of ease, comfort and pleasure, involving
the cessation of work: not to be confounded with sick leave. Time is
measured by leaves denoting intervals of from three months to three
years. Leave on the other hand is measured by time, usually too short.
MUD.--Unpleasantness, generally connected with delay, danger or extreme
discomfort. Hence a special meaning of baseness in "his name is mud."
OVER THE BAGS.--The intensive form of danger: denoting a test of fitness
and experience for Billzac and his brethren.
RELIEF.--A slow process of changing places; occurs in Shakespeare: "for
this relief many thanks."
REST.--A mythical period between being relieved and relieving in the
trenches, which is usually spent in walking away from the line and
returning straight back in poor weather and at short notice.
SALVAGE.--To rescue unused property and make use of it. The word is also
used of the property rescued. Property salvaged in the presence of the
owner leads to trouble and is not done by an expert.
SOUVENIR.--Is generally used in the same sense as salvage but of small,
easily portable articles. Coal or firewood for instance, is salvaged at
night, but an electric torch would be souvenired.
STUNT.--A successful enterprise or undertaking usually involving
surprise. A large scale stunt lacks the latter and is termed a "push",
and the element of success is not essential.
TRENCHES.--Long narrow excavations in earth or chalk, sometimes filled
with mud containing soldiers, bits of soldiers, salvage and alleged
shelters.
WIND UP.--An aerated condition of mind due to apprehension as to what
may happen next, in some cases amounting to an incurable disease closely
allied to "cold feet."
ZERO.--A convenient way of expressing an indefinite time or date, i.e.,
will meet you at zero; call me at zero plus 30; or, to a debt collector,
pay day at zero.--_Aussie_, the Australian Soldiers' Magazine.
----
OUR OWN HORSE MARINES.
----
Horace Lovett, U. S. Marine Corps, on duty "somewhere over here," has
just been appointed a horseshoer of Marines with the rank of corporal.
In the same company Sergeant John Ochsner is stable sergeant and
Corporal Stanley A. Smith is saddler. No, you have guessed wrong. The
captain's name is not Jinks but Drum--Captain Drum of the horse and
other marines.
----
HIS MORNING'S MAIL
IS 8,000 LETTERS
----
Base Censor Reads Them
All, Including 600 Not
in English
----
"Now, how the devil did he pick mine out of the pile?"
Shuddering, a young American in France gazed at the envelope before him,
addressed in his own handwriting, to be sure, but with its end cut open
and a stout sticker partially closing the cut. Stamped upon the face of
the envelope were the fatal words "Examined by Base Censor." And the
words, because of the gloom they brought the young man, were properly
framed within a deep black border.
It was this way: The young man in question had been carrying on, for
some time, a more or less hectic correspondence with a _mademoiselle
tres charmante_ in a not far distant town. That in itself would be
harmless enough if he had sent his letters through the regular military
channels--that is, submitted them to his own company officers to be
censored. But dreading the "kidding" he might receive at the hands of
his platoon commander--which he needn't have dreaded at all, for
American officers are gentlemen and gentlemen respect confidence--he had
been using the French postal service for his intimate and clandestine
lovemaking. That, as everyone knows or ought to know, is strictly
forbidden but the young man being "wise," thought he could put one over
on the army. Result: That much dreaded bogey-man, the Base Censor knew
just how many crosses he had made at the bottom of his note to Mlle. X.
But he needn't have worried a bit, for the bogey-man isn't a likely
rival of any one. In fact, he isn't a man at all, but a System--just as
impersonal as if he wrote his name, "Base Censor, Inc." Also, he is
pretty well-nigh fool-proof and puncture-proof--which again removes him
from consideration as "a human."
Remembers No Secrets
All delusions to the contrary, the censorship, though it learns an awful
lot, doesn't care a tinker's hoot about nine-tenths of the stuff it
learns. It isn't concerned with Private Jones's morals, with Corporal
Brown's unpaid grocery bills, with Sergeant Smith's mother-in-law, with
Lieutenant Johnson's fraternity symbols. It is, however, actively
concerned in keeping out of correspondence all matters relating to the
location and movement of troops, all items which pieced together might
furnish the common enemy with information which would be valuable to him
in the conduct of his nefarious enterprises.