done, straightened up, an' shook 'is 'ead. That bloke 'ad gone West
under our blinkin' noses. H'internal 'emorrhage, they called it. Must
a-tried to turn over an' started bleedin' on the inside.
"In about five minutes, two orderlies came in an 'oisted 'im onto a
stretcher, an' 'e took 'is lawst ride at the expense o' the Government.
"'Is death knocked the wind out o' our sails, an' there were a dead
calm in that ward.
"Near twenty minutes awfter the poor bloke 'ad been carried aw'y one o'
the R.A.M.C. men noticed a' open letter where the Irishman 'ad been.
It were all muddy an' a-covered with blood stains. 'E picked it up,
an' slowly turned it over an' over, an' then started to read, in a low
voice, with the water a-tricklin' down 'is fyce. I could just h'about
'ear 'im. It were from the Irishman's nipper, an' as well as I can
remember, went somethin' like this:
"_Dear Daddy_:
"'Urry up an' win the war an' come 'ome, 'cause me an' Mamma an'
Mary is lonesome. Mamma cries lots when she's alone by herself, but
sometimes I sees 'er, an' then she smiles an' says she wants me when
I grow up to be a man, to be brave like you is, Daddy.
"Day before yesterday I licked Mike Casey an' 'e's goin' on twelve,
too, 'cause 'e said 'is father was braver than you, just 'cause 'is
father won an old D.C.M. medal. After lickin' 'im, I told 'im you
could win a million D.C.M. medals, but that you didn't want none. Did
you, Daddy? But get one, anyway, just to show 'im.
"Last Sunday Mamma read out o' the newspapers that there was a big
battle against the dirty Germans, an' cried a lot. She said you were
in it, Daddy, an' I said then we won, because Daddy will win for us.
She 'as been crying a awful lot. 'Urry an' come 'ome, Daddy, an' make
Mamma smile again, an' bring a German prisoner to do the work so as
Mamma can rest from takin' in washin'. She says food is awful 'igh,
an' she 'as lost 'er h'appetite, but me an' Mary eats just as much,
so don't worry, Daddy.
"Mamma is out gettin' the wash, so I am writin' to surprise you, an'
she don't know. We will tell 'er some day, won't we, Daddy, an' make
'er smile again.
"Good-bye, Daddy, an' I always ask the Priest to say prayers fer you,
Daddy, an' I say them myself, an' so does Mamma an' Mary an' Jim, our
new dog.
"Much love an' kisses from me, an' Mamma, an' Mary an' Jim.
"Your lovin' son,
"Johnny.
"P.S.--Don't fergit to come 'ome."
"That letter from 'is little nipper made me 'eart ache, an' 'e a-lyin'
dead somewhere in Frawnce. The R.A.M.C. man left the ward with the
letter, a-leakin' from both eyes.
"The Sergeant-Major again entered. The R.A.M.C. men came to attention.
'E ordered:
"'Get the convoy for h'England ready. Look alive, the h'ambulances are
h'expected any minute.'
"The stretcher-bearers started knockin' about, an' the ship was in an
uproar. Then, outside, h'I could 'ear the chuggin' of the engines in
the waitin' ambulances.
"H'as each lucky bloke were carried out, the more unfortunate ones, who
were to be left be'ind in the Base 'Ospital, bravely wished 'im a 'Good
luck, myte; give my regards to Trafalgar Square. Be careful, an' don't
lose your blinkin' watch in Petticoat Lane.'
"H'as I were carried through the door the cold h'air sent a shiver
through me, an' my wounds began to pain. The h'effect o' the chloroform
were a-wearin' off, or it might 'a' been that letter. Lanterns were
a-flashin' to an' fro, an' long lines o' stretchers could be seen
movin' toward the waitin' h'ambulances.
"I were put aboard an ambulance with three others. A raspin' noise as
she got under w'y, an' I were 'omeward bound for Blighty."
When Sailor Bill had finished, no one broke the silence.
They were all thinking of Johnny.
ROUNDING UP SPIES
As Told by Curly
ROUNDING UP SPIES
No. 2 Gun's Crew had been relieved from the front line and were in rest
billets in the little French village of S----, about ten kilos from the
front line trench.
The crew were sitting on the ground in a circle around their
machine-gun, while a Sergeant, newly returned from a special course at
St. Omer, was expounding the theory of scientific machine-gunnery. He
himself had never actually been under fire with a machine-gun, but,
from the theoretical point, he sure could throw out the book stuff. His
flow of eloquence passed over his listeners' heads like a Zeppelin, and
there was an uneasy squirming among them.
Happy, who was sitting next to Yank, leaned over, and with his eye on
the Sergeant, whispered in his ear:
"Blime me, Yank, isn't it arful the w'y 'e chucks 'is weight about?"
Yank agreed with Happy.
Across from Yank sat Ikey, with their mascot, a scrawny little cur,
in his lap. Every now and then the cur would take his hind leg and
furiously scratch at a spot behind his ear. Ikey, noticing this action,
would reach under his armpit, and also scratch.
Sailor Bill was intently watching the mascot and Ikey. He, too, started
scratching.
In a minute or so, Hungry started on a cootie hunt; and Yank had an
irresistible desire to lean his back against the barrel-casing of the
gun and scratch, too.
It was one of the chief indoor sports of the Western Front, especially
during a monotonous lecture by some officer or non-com, for one of the
fed-up listeners to start scratching himself. This generally caused
the whole gang to do the same, the instructor included. It was just
like a minister in the midst of a very dry sermon, suddenly stopping,
stretching himself, and yawning, this action causing the rest of the
congregation to do likewise.
As the whole circle scratched, the Sergeant-Instructor commenced to
shift his weight from one foot to the other in an uneasy manner. They
all gazed at him intently, and each began to scratch furiously. Sure
enough, the Sergeant gave in and started unbuttoning the front of his
tunic to get at some real or imaginary cootie. A nudge went the rounds
of the circle. They had accomplished their purpose. The Sergeant's
mind took an awful drop from the science of machine-gunnery to that of
catching that particular cootie.
The gun's crew glanced at their wrist watches. Fifteen minutes more and
the lesson would be over. The Sergeant was becoming confused, and was
trying to flounder through the rest of his talk. They had no mercy on
him, but kept up the scratching. At last, in desperation, he said:
"You men have actually been under fire with machine-guns several times.
Can't one of you relate some incident of how, through some ruse, you
put it over on the Boches?"
Ikey, grasping this golden opportunity to break up the lecture, and
slyly winking at us, started in and told how a certain gun's crew
located and put out of action a German machine-gunner by playing a tune
on their gun; the German tried to imitate it, thereby indicating to
them by sound the exact location of the German gun, which was later put
out of action by concentrated fire from their section.
Of course, the whole circle listened very intently, but it was an old
story to them; they were the gun's crew which had accomplished the feat
that Ikey was describing. Still, anything was better than listening to
that sing-song droning of book knowledge which the Sergeant had been
pumping into them for the last hour and a half.
The Sergeant glanced at his watch, and dismissed them. They dismounted
their gun, put it in its box and stored it away in their billet.
Then, reassembled under an apple-tree in the orchard, and while the
rest of them indulged in a shirt hunt, Hungry went after their ration
of tea. Hungry was sure on the job when it came to eating. Pretty soon
he returned with a dixie a quarter full of tea, two tins of jam, a loaf
of bread, a large piece of cheese, and a tin of apricots which he had
bought at a nearby French estaminet.
He dished out the rations, not forgetting a generous share for himself.
After they had finished, out came the inevitable fags, a few puffs from
each man, and the ball of conversation started rolling:
Curly cleared his throat and started in:
"Remember that village we passed through on our march up the line about
two weeks ago; you know, the one where that big church with all the
shell-holes in it was right on the corner where we turned to the left
to take the road to St. A----?"
They all remembered it, and turned inquiring glances in Curly's
direction. "Well, this morning, when I went down to the 'Quarter'
(Quartermaster-Sergeant), to draw coal, I met a fellow at Divisional
Headquarters who told me a mighty interesting story of how he and
another fellow rounded up a couple of spies.
"This bloke, I suppose, through modesty, and to cover up his own good
work, tried to make me believe that it was only through a lucky chance
that they stumbled over the clue which led to the spies' arrest, but
it's my opinion, and I know you'll all agree with me, that it was not
so much luck as it was clever thinking. I'm not much at telling a
story, but I'm going to try and give it, as far as I can remember, just
the way he handed it out to me.
"It seems that this fellow, who told me the story, and another chap,
had been detailed to the Divisional Intelligence Department, and were
hanging around Division Headquarters waiting for something to happen.
"Now here's the story as he reeled it off to me: "'About three kilos
behind Divisional Headquarters was the old French village of B----. One
of our important roads ran through it. This road was greatly used by
our troops for bringing up supplies and ammunition for the front line.
It was also used by large numbers of troops when relieving batteries in
the fire sector.
"'Of course, on account of this road being in range of the German
guns, it could only be used at night; otherwise, the enemy airmen and
observation balloons would get wise and it would only be a short time
before the road would be shelled, causing many casualties.
"'For the last ten days, reports had been received at Divisional
Headquarters that every time troops passed a certain point on this
road, marked by an old church, they were sure to click heavy shell-fire
from the Boches. On nights when no troops passed through, on the other
hand, there would be very little shelling, if any.
"'Upon the first two or three of these reports, we put it down as a
strange coincidence, but when the fifth report of this nature reached
us, it was evident to us that a spy was at work, and that in some
mysterious way the information of the movement of our troops was
communicated by him to the enemy.
"'Myself and another fellow, who had been working with me for the last
two weeks, were assigned to the task of discovering and apprehending
this spy. To us it seemed an impossible job, as there were no clues to
work upon. As is usual, our General, Old Pepper, called us in, and said:
"'"There is a spy working in the village of B----; go get him."
"'Foolishly I butted in and asked for further information. I got it,
all right. With a lowering look which made me tremble, he roared:
"'"Go and dig up your own clues. What are you with the Intelligence
Department for? Intelligence Department! It ought to be called
Brainless Department, if you two are a sample of the rest."
"'Somehow or other we didn't stop to argue with Old Pepper.'"
At this point, Sailor Bill butted in:
"Blime me, he's just like an Admiral we had in our Navy, this old boy."
A chorus of, "Oh, shut up, you're in the Army now," cut off Bill's
story. They knew Sailor Bill. With an indignant glance around the
circle, he relapsed into silence.
Curly exclaimed, "To hell with your Admiral; do you want to hear this
story? If you do, shut up and let me tell it."
"Go on, Curly, never mind; he's harmless," ejaculated Happy.
Curly carried on with:
"'Getting our packs and drawing three days' rations, we started hiking
it for the village of B----. We arrived there about four in the
afternoon, and after putting our packs and rations in an old barn,
which we intended to use as our billet during our stay in the village,
we left on a general tour of inspection.
"'There were about three hundred civilians in the place who preferred
to brave the dangers of shell-fire, as there was a rich harvest to
be reaped from the sale of farm produce, beer and wine to the troops
billeted all around. Two estaminets were still open, and did a thriving
business.
"'Occasionally a shell would burst in the village, but the civilians
did not seem to mind it; just carried on with their farming and
business as usual.
"'We decided to make a thorough search of all houses, barns and
buildings for concealed wires. We did so, but with barren results.
Nothing suspicious was found. This search wasted five days, and we were
in desperation. Watch and wish as we would, not a single clue came to
light.
"'During this time two large bodies of troops had passed through and
each time they were heavily shelled with dire results.
"'On the sixth night of our assignment, utterly disgusted, I, being in
charge, had decided to chuck up the whole business and report back to
Old Pepper that we had made a mess out of the investigation. My partner
pleaded with me to stick it out a couple of days more, and after he
gave me a vivid description of what Old Pepper would hand out to us, I
decided to stick it out for six months, if necessary.
"'To celebrate this decision, my side-kicker offered to blow to several
rounds of drinks. Now, this fellow had never, during my acquaintance
with him, offered to spend a ha'penny, so I quickly accepted his offer
and we went to the nearest estaminet.
"'Sitting around a long table, drinking French beer and smoking
cigarettes, was a crowd of soldiers, laughing, joking, arguing and
telling stories.
"'We sat down at the end of the table, and in low tones, tried to work
impossible theories as to how the spy, if there was one, and by this
time we were getting doubtful, could get the information back to the
German batteries.
"'Right across from us were two soldiers arguing about farming.
Suddenly my side-kicker pinched me on the knee and whispered:
"'"Listen to what those two fellows across the table from us are
saying. It sounds good."
"'I listened for about a minute and then paid no further attention.
At that time farming in no way interested me. I wanted to catch that
spy, and started devising impossible theories as to the ways and
means of doing so. At last I gave up in disgust. My partner was still
attentively listening to the two across the table from us. Another poke
in the knee from my partner, and I was all attention.
"'One of the fellows across the way was talking.
"'"Well, I don't see why this French blighter should change horses in
his plow every afternoon. I've watched him for several days. Now, in
the morning he uses two greys, and then about two in the afternoon he
either hooks up two blacks or a grey and a black. French ways may be
different, but this frog-eater is very partial to the colors of his
team. Figure it out for yourself. He starts work with the two greys
about six o'clock in the morning; works the two beggars up till noon.
That's six hours straight. Then he sticks them in the stable, lays off
for two hours, and in the afternoon about two o'clock the new relay of
animals come on and work up till four. Now, anybody with any brains in
their nappers knows that that is no way to keep horses in condition,
working one team over six hours and the other team only two hours. I
know because we have been farmers in our family back in Blighty for
generations."
"'I was all excitement, and a great hope surged through me that at
last we had fallen on the clue that we were looking for. Restraining
my eagerness as much as possible, I addressed the fellow who had just
spoken:
"'"Well, mate, I don't like to intrude into your conversation, but I've
also been a farmer all my life, and I don't see anything so queer in
the actions of this French farmer."
"'He answered, "Well, blime me, there might be a reason for this
blighter doing this, but I can't figure it out at all. If you can
explain it, go ahead."
"'I answered, "Well, perhaps if you can give a little more details
about it, it would be easy enough to explain. Who is this farmer, and
where is his farm located?"
"'He swallowed the bait all right, and informed me that the farmer was
plowing a field on a hill about five hundred yards west of the church
at the point where our troops were being shelled.
"'Buying a round of drinks, I nudged my partner and he came in on the
conversation. The two of us, by adroit questioning, got the exact
location of the field, and a description of the farmer.
"'I pretended to be sleepy, and, yawning, got up from the table saying
that I was going to turn in, and left. My partner soon followed me.
Upon reaching our billet we outlined our plan. We decided that next
morning we would get up at daybreak, and scout around the field to see
if there was a hiding-place.
"'Sure enough, along one edge of the field ran a thick hedge. We
secreted ourselves in this, and waited for developments.
"'At about six in the morning, the farmer appeared, driving two greys,
which he hooked to the plow, and carried on with his work. To us there
appeared nothing suspicious in his actions. We watched him all morning.
At noon he unhooked the horses and went home. We remained in hiding,
afraid to leave, because we wanted to take no chances of being seen
by the farmer. We had forgotten to bring rations with us, so it was a
miserable wait until two o'clock, at which time the farmer reappeared,
driving two blacks, which he hitched to the plow, and carried on until
four o'clock, and then knocked off for the day. That night troops came
through as usual, and were shelled.
"'Next morning, at daybreak, we again took our stations in the hedge,
this time bringing rations with us. The farmer used the same greys in
the morning, but in the afternoon he appeared with a black and a grey,
and again knocked off around four o'clock. No troops came through that
night, and there was no shelling.
"'Next day, the farmer repeated the previous day's actions,--two greys
in the morning, and a black and a grey in the afternoon,--no troops, no
shelling.
"'We were pretty sure that we had him, but this arresting a spy on
slim evidence is a ticklish matter. We didn't want to make a mess
of the affair, or perhaps send an innocent man to his death, so the
following day we again took up our stations. Sure enough, it was two
greys in the morning, but in the afternoon he used two blacks. That
night troops came through and were shelled. We had solved the problem.
Two greys in the morning meant nothing. The actual signal to the enemy
was the change of horses in the afternoon; two blacks meaning "troops
coming through tonight, shell the road"; a grey and a black, "no troops
expected, do not shell."
"'When it got dark, and it was safe to leave the hedge, we immediately
reported the whole affair to the Town Major (an English officer
detailed in charge of a French village or town occupied by English
troops), who, accompanied by us and a detail of six men with fixed
bayonets, went to the farmer's house that night and arrested him.
He protested his innocence, but we took him to Military Police
Headquarters, where, after a gruelling questioning, he confessed.
"'It was a mystery to us how this farmer knew that troops were coming
through, because he never made a mistake in his schedule. After
further questioning, he explained to us that if we searched in his
cellar and raised up an old flag-stone with a ring in it, we would
find a telephone set. The other end of this set was established
in an estaminet in a little French village eleven kilos distant.
His confederate was the proprietor of this estaminet, which was so
situated on the road that troops coming into the village had to pass
the door. As troops only march at night while in the fire sector, his
confederate could safely figure out that the passing troops would be
quartered in his village until the next night, when, under cover of
darkness, they would start for the next village, and would have to
pass the point in the road by the old church. He would immediately
telephone this information to the farmer, who would change his horses
accordingly. The hill on which he did his plowing could be easily
observed from an observation balloon in the German lines, and thus the
signal was given to the German artillery.
"'We still carried on with our third degree, and got further valuable
information from him.
"'If, in the plowing, two grey horses were used on two consecutive
afternoons, it meant that the use of the road had been indefinitely
discontinued for troops and supplies.
"'Under a strong guard, which concealed itself in the hedge, the farmer
was made to use two greys for two afternoons. The scheme worked. For
weeks afterwards that road was only occasionally shelled, and our
troops and supply trains used it at will. The spy at the other end was
rounded up and both were taken to the base and shot.
"'We reported back to Old Pepper, expecting to be highly commended for
our work, and we were--I don't think. All the blooming blighter said
was:
"'"Well, you certainly took long enough to do it. I have a damn good
mind to send you back to your units for incompetency and inefficiency."
"'We saluted and left.
"'You see, we didn't deserve any great credit because it was only
through a lucky chance that we stumbled over the clue. So I guess Old
Pepper was right after all.'"
After Curly had finished, everyone agreed with Happy's comment:
"Pretty nifty work, I call it, pretty nifty!"
"HORSES FOR FRANCE"
As Told by Yank
"HORSES FOR FRANCE"
"Just lend me your ear and I'll spin you a yarn about a trip I made on
a horse ship back in 1914," said Yank, as he took a deep breath from
his Woodbine and settled back against the wall of the dugout.
"Well, Yank, let's have the story," chimed in the rest.
"All right, heels together and eyes front. Here goes," answered Yank.
"It was in 1914, and the Great World's War was on, and there was I,
in the United States and--_neutral_. For thirteen years I had been
soldiering but had never been under fire. In my imagination I could
hear the guns booming on the Western Front. I admit I was a trifle
afraid; nevertheless, I had a great desire to get into the mix-up. How
could I get over? I planned out many ways, but not one of them was
practical.
"One day, while walking down Greenwich Avenue, New York, I passed an
employment agency. Staring me in the face was a great flaring sign,
'Horses for France.' Under this was 'Men Wanted.' Here was my chance.
"Upon returning to my office I immediately got in touch, over the
telephone, with two prominent men in New York who I knew were
distinctly pro-Ally. After I had outlined my desire, an appointment
was made for me to meet a certain gentleman at the Hotel Astor at four
o'clock that afternoon. I met him. He was a Frenchman. At that time,
in my eyes, a Frenchman was a hero, a man to be looked up to, a man
fighting in the Great Cause. But now a Frenchman to me is more than a
hero. After being introduced I went up into the Frenchman's room and
talked over the matter of horses for France for about twenty minutes.
"Upon leaving the Frenchman I was told to report to him three
days later, at the same time and place. I left, bubbling over with
enthusiasm and anticipation.
"During that interval of three days I mapped out a story of my life
to present to him upon our second interview. The eventful day at last
came, and once more I was closeted with him.
"I started in to tell him my history. He interrupted me by waving his
right hand to the right and left. It reminded me of the 'butts' on a
target range during rifle practice, when the soldier marking the target
wigwags a miss to the firing-line. My heart sank. Then he spoke, and
I was carried from despondency to the greatest height of expectation.
He said: 'Pardon me, Monsieur, I already know your life,' and in an
amazingly short time he told me more about myself than I ever knew. I
had been carefully investigated.
"My instructions received from him were confidential, so I will not go
into them. Anyway, he handed me an envelope and told me to carefully
follow all instructions as contained therein.