Chapter XIV: Introduction: Bravery (8)

A private in the East Surreys, writing in the London _Evening News_, gave the following vivid word-picture of the battle:

“The fight on Hill 60 was awful. The Germans used every kind of explosive, from small bombs to shells that shook the ground like an earthquake.

“This went on from four o’clock in the afternoon to about four the next morning. Every German gun for miles around was trained on that hill.

“Some of the German shells were filled with a stinking acid, which blinded one. I would rather take my chance in half-a-dozen bayonet charges than face such an awful bombardment again. The enemy charged four times, but we beat them back each time, and kept the hill until we were relieved next morning.”

It was in these nerve-racking engagements that Second Lieutenant Geoffrey Harold Woolley and Corporal Edward Dwyer were awarded their honors for distinguished service.

FROM CURATE TO SOLDIER

Lieutenant Woolley is the youngest son of Rev. G. H. Woolley, Danbury, Essex. He was educated at St. John’s School and Queen’s College, Oxford. While at the University he joined the Officers’ Training Corps. He studied for Holy Orders, and is all but a curate, inasmuch as he was on the eve of being ordained when, at the age of twenty-three, he decided to give his first service to his country.

Lieutenant Woolley has been described as a typical specimen of muscular Christianity. He excels at cricket, tennis, and football, and played the greater game of war with all his heart and soul.

© _New York Herald._

Directing the Fire of a British Battery

In the foreground the officer in charge of the battery is receiving information from observers who are able to trace the course of each shot.]

He received his commission in the 9th Battalion London Regiment, popularly known as the Queen Victoria Rifles. With the experience of the Officers’ Training Corps to help him, the young lieutenant soon made himself very efficient, and when, in November, 1914, the Queen Victoria Rifles embarked at Southampton for the front, he had already become very popular with his men, and shown high promise as a leader. Soon after landing in France the regiment was at the front, near Ypres, where it was usefully employed, chiefly in trench work.

G. A. Leask in _Heroes of the Great War_ says:

“On the very first day that he went into the trenches, Lieutenant Woolley showed his mettle. A hand grenade was flung into his trench; without a moment’s hesitation the young officer picked it up, and before the fuse had burned to the charge, flung it out. His prompt and plucky act saved not only his own life, but the lives of at least six or seven of his men.

“On the night of April 20-21 the Germans made a desperate attack on the trench held by Lieutenant Woolley’s regiment. The Queen Victoria Rifles fought with dogged determination not to be excelled by the most seasoned Regulars. Every German gun for miles around was trained on the hill. Again and again the Germans charged with the ferocity of despair.

“One by one Lieutenant Woolley’s superior officers—a major, captain, and a lieutenant—had been killed.

“The force under Lieutenant Woolley numbered at the start 150, including some Regulars. As the German attack grew fiercer, he noted how his little company was being thinned. The young officer did not despair. He was in sole command of Hill 60, and he realized that a hard and terrible time awaited them before relief came, but he summoned up all his courage and made up his mind to hold on at all costs. He went up and down the line calling to his brave men to ‘stick it’ and he infused all with his dauntless spirit.

“A particularly fierce onslaught by the Germans commenced. Guns raked the trench with shells, enemy troops swarmed up, throwing bombs. Lieutenant Woolley moved among his men, giving orders as coolly as if on parade. The already diminished band of heroes dwindled more and more. Lieutenant Woolley knew that the situation was perilous, but he had no thought of giving in. The knowledge that so much depended upon him stirred his blood, and called forth every ounce of his fighting spirit and powers of leadership.”

A DETERMINED BOMBER

“He organized counter-attacks and led his men in throwing bombs at the vastly superior force of the enemy. Standing on the parapet of the trench, fully exposed to the enemy, Woolley hurled bomb after bomb. His men urged him to seek shelter, but he refused. For some time this amazing contest continued, a handful of British against thousands of Germans. But this little band of heroes by their superb bravery, led by a hero, kept the enemy at bay. When welcome relief eventually came, the company of 150 men had been thinned to 20-14 Territorials and 6 Regulars, a pathetic proof of the dauntless fight put up by those men.”

The second hero of Hill 60 is one of the most popular medal winners of the war. Lance-Corporal Edward Dwyer at the time he obtained the coveted decoration was only eighteen years old, and had been a green-grocer’s assistant before the war.

“This boy hero took the public imagination by storm, and with the possible exception of Sergeant O’Leary, no V.C. was more noticed on his return to England. He received enough hero-worship to last a lifetime. When home on leave Dwyer was bombarded by the attentions of admirers, kissed by women in the streets, and, as he confessed, subjected to greater trials than on the bomb-swept slopes of Hill 60.”

TOO MUCH FUSS FOR HIM

“There was something romantic about the slim boy of eighteen who proved himself so heroic in the field, and his handsome appearance and jolly ways captivated every one. As his father confessed, with no little humor, ‘They’re making such a fuss that Ted wants to get back to the battlefield for a rest.’”

Dwyer had been fighting in France for nine months when the struggle at Hill 60 provided his great opportunity.

“During a particularly fierce attack on the morning of the 20th, Lance-Corporal Dwyer was in a trench on the side of Hill 60, about fifteen yards distant from where the Germans had entrenched themselves. So close were they, in fact, that Dwyer says he could actually hear them ‘talking their lingo.’ His section had suffered severely, and Dwyer risked his life by tending many of them as best he could. Some he brought from the open to the side of the trench, leaving the comparative safety of his position in order to save their lives.

“Then, later on, he heard some one call out: ‘The Germans are coming!’

“He looked through a spy-hole in the parapet and saw a number of the enemy creeping silently and stealthily across the intervening space between the trenches.

“Like the methodical soldier he is, Dwyer had kept a number of hand grenades, some fifty, all ready to fire.

“Thus provided, he gallantly sprang on to the parapet of the trench. The Germans were creeping forward, thinking to surprise the British, but they had reckoned without Lance-Corporal Dwyer. He stood fully exposed to their fire, and threw his deadly missiles steadily and with excellent effect. For five minutes this eighteen-year-old hero stood all alone hurling grenade after grenade at the oncoming foe.

“The Germans, led by an officer, showed great stubbornness. Had they known that a lad of eighteen alone was guarding the trench, they would have doubtless redoubled their efforts to capture it. Young Dwyer kept throwing his grenades. He had now sent twenty into the ranks of the enemy; now he had used up thirty. At this juncture the officer who was leading the Germans was hit, and this loss seemed to damp the ardor of the attackers.

“Dwyer, however, began to show the first signs of uneasiness. His stock of grenades was fast running out. He had only half a dozen left, soon these had each found a target. Then in the nick of time reinforcements arrived, and the trench was saved. Dwyer alone had saved the situation.”

COLONEL FREYBERG, V.C.

A New Zealand Soldier with the Qualities of a Fenimore Cooper Hero

Colonel Freyberg is another winner of England’s highest military honor—the Victoria Cross. “For enduring courage and brilliant leadership his achievement,” writes the London _Times_, “was unsurpassed by any act for which the Cross was conferred.”

To begin with he carried an initial attack straight through the enemy’s front system of trenches, but after the capture of the first objective his command was much disorganized owing to mist and a heavy fire of all descriptions. The Colonel himself rallied and reformed his own men, as well as men from other units who had become intermixed. His own contempt of danger inspired the troops. He was finally able to lead them to the successful attack of the second objective. Colonel Freyberg had by this time been wounded twice, but he again rallied his men and reformed them, and, although under heavy artillery and machine-gun fire in a very advanced position and unsupported, still he held his ground for the rest of the day and throughout the night. On the following morning, having been reinforced, he organized an attack on a strongly fortified village, and such was his dash and enterprise that the village was captured and 500 prisoners were taken. For the third time the officer was wounded, and later in the afternoon he was again wounded, this time seriously, but he refused to leave the line until he had issued final instructions.

_Brown & Dawson._

Getting the Range

A range-finding station at a coast fortification. To the layman it is a combination of engineer’s office, telephone exchange, and telegraph office where soldiers work out the distance from the muzzle of their cannon to the enemy. In coast-defense work three range-finding stations usually coöperate in working out the distance.]

“The personality, valor, and utter contempt of danger on the part of this single officer enabled the lodgment in the most advanced objective of the Corps to be permanently held, and on this _point d’appui_ the line was eventually formed.” So closed the official version of the gallant colonel’s performance.

Colonel Freyberg was by birth a New Zealander. He was not yet twenty-eight years of age. Born in Wellington, he developed both the physique and resourcefulness that were essential for the success of some of the enterprises which he undertook in the war. He won fame throughout Australasia as an exceptionally fine swimmer; he grew to be six feet in height, and broad and powerful in proportion; he achieved renown as an oarsman, a footballer and a boxer, and his physique won for him the affectionate nickname of “Tiny.” Leaving New Zealand he went to America, and drifting to Mexico found full scope for his adventurous aspirations; he fought in Mexico’s Civil War.

In 1914, the London _Times_ says, Freyberg came home, joined the Royal Naval Division, and was wounded in the hand at Antwerp. With good service to his record he went to Gallipoli with his battalion, being already a lieutenant-commander. In Gallipoli he again distinguished himself. General Paris was in charge of a force which was to make a feint landing at Bulair, the narrow neck of the Peninsula. Freyberg was given charge of the party, but, while prizing the honor, he proposed an alternative scheme which, he believed, would protect the lives of the men. This idea was that he should take colored flares and swim ashore, that he should then light the flares, as if a landing was anticipated, and then swim out again to a waiting destroyer. This he did, stripping, and painting his face and shoulders a dark color, so that he should not be seen swimming. Freyberg landed on the beach, lit the flares, made a reconnaissance, and swam off again, but owing to the darkness and the current he missed the boat which was to pick him up, and it was almost two hours before he was hauled on to the deck of the destroyer, more dead than alive. This remarkable feat of endurance and resourcefulness, more suggestive of an adventure from Mayne Reid or Fenimore Cooper than a sober act of modern war, won for the young officer the D. S. O.

ONE OF THE D. S. C. MEN

An Act of Heroism and Martyrdom that Hardly May be Matched

A Distinguished Service Cross is a proud possession. It is at once a token of bravery and an evidence that bravery has been displayed in valiant service for the good or the saving of others. It implies a great risk taken, a danger faced, a sacrifice made—a something done that, however creditable to the man, is of special value because of its benefit or advantage to many besides the man. For that reason one Distinguished Service Cross differs from another in proud significance to the winner or to the relative to whom the cross comes as an after death testimony to the winner’s worth. The formal official paragraph that announces the award of the cross to this one or that one tells nothing or little of the service that gained the distinction, because the official estimate makes no discrimination between the sentimental values of the respective services, distinguished service being distinguished service.

But there are varying qualities of bravery, different kinds of incitement to heroism, different elements in the acts of sacrifice; and one might like to know the varying values of the instant motives behind the acts—say, of a man who, in the heat and excitement of an engagement, rushes through a withering fire of shell and bullet to perform a serviceable act of desperate valor, with one chance in a thousand of coming safely off; or, of a man, without the stimulus of brain aflame and with the absolute certainty of death, who unhesitatingly, immediately lays down his life for his friends. Which is the higher courage?

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Private Harold J. Devereaux

_32nd Division, 125th Infantry, Company “M”_

While crossing the River Ourcq near Sergy, July 31, 1918, the corporal of his squad was wounded by machine-gun fire. The enemy continued to fire on the wounded man and Private Devereaux, alone, with the fire of his rifle, attacked the machine-gun and put it out of action.]

In the great list, the never fully-to-be-completed list of heroic deeds in the four years’ war, is there any deed more sublime in essential quality than that of Sergt. Willard D. Purdy, Company A, 127th Infantry, A. E. F.? You never heard of it? That’s the amazing thing—that this splendid exhibition of the highest character of devoted courage is hardly known at all! Really, it was so great a heroism that it seemed a commonplace in the telling. Here is the story. It reads very simply in the bald despatch of a newspaper man reporting the facts from Washington.

THE MARTYR HERO

“Washington, D. C., May 30.—[Special.]—The heroism of a Wisconsin sergeant, who deliberately sacrificed his own life to save those of his men in the fight at Hegenbach, Alsace, July 4, 1917, is told with official brevity and skeletonized simplicity in to-day’s war department report announcing the award of distinguished service crosses for bravery in action.

“The martyr hero was Sergt. Willard D. Purdy, a member of Company A, 127th Infantry. During the engagement at Hegenbach, Sergt. Purdy, after returning with his patrol from a reconnaissance of the enemy’s line, was engaged in calling the roll of his men and collecting their hand grenades when the pin of one of the grenades became disengaged.

“Seeing the grenade could not be thrown away without making certain the wounding of American troops—most probably some of his own men—Sergt. Purdy instantly commanded his men to run. Then he himself seized three of the grenades and, bending over, held them against his stomach. The grenades exploded, killing Sergt. Purdy instantly, but his presence of mind and self-sacrificing action had saved the lives of his companions.

“When the pin of a grenade becomes disengaged nothing can be done to prevent the bomb from exploding within six or eight seconds.

“Sergt. Purdy’s home address was Box 632, Marshfield, Wis., and his next of kin was given as Mrs. Esther Purdy, his mother.”

No grand adventure; no risk with cheering comrades in a mad assault; no thrill with the consciousness of perils to be met and with luck avoided; no taking of hazards with the hope of an achieved success. Not like a flight into the air to shoot down, after vivid combat, an enemy plane. Not much of a story for the press. But think about it. Match it.

COLORED TROOPS REACH THE RHINE

Though They Had More Than Their Share of Trouble to Get to France

Everybody knows what a record the 15th New York Colored Regiment made in the war, how splendidly it fought, the heroism it displayed and the honors it received, but not everyone knows what adversities it had to contend with before it could get to France. The Colonel of that remarkable regiment (which revived the memory of the Civil War military reports that “the colored troops fought nobly”), Col. William D. Hayward, has given a humorous account of those difficulties. This was in one of the many talks Hayward—who has put off the title of Colonel and returned to the civilian simplicity of “Mister”—has been compelled to make in response to public requests. He said, broadly smiling:

“The first thing I ever did in my life that anybody approved of was getting up that regiment. After I gathered my crowd of Harlem waiters, bellhops, indoor chauffeurs, and elevator boys I thought I’d never get them across. When the minute finally came for sailing I think every elevator on Riverside Drive stopped automatically.

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Second Lieutenant Carl C. Mayhew

_26th Division, 101st Infantry._

Cited for skill and courage displayed May 8, 1918, while making a daring patrol in the enemy’s front line trenches resulting in the death of 2 German officers and the gathering of valuable information. He participated in 44 raids, receiving 3 citations.]

“When our ship left in 1917 we sailed a little way, then broke down, came back, and tied up at Hoboken with our cargo of Thanksgiving turkeys and black troops. We got fixed up and started again. We didn’t get quite as far as before when the ship caught fire. I sneaked back and reported the mishap to General Shanks at the port of embarkation. Our ship was overhauled and a third time we set out full of hope, but the machinery broke down again. When I reported to General Shanks this time, he said: ‘Goodness gracious, Colonel, are you ever going to get those coons and turkeys to France?’

“When at last we reached the French front in the Argonne Forest I reported to the French officer in command that I had arrived with the 15th New York Infantry and would place myself and men at his disposal. ‘It is impossible!’ exclaimed the officer. ‘There’s no such American unit due here.’ Finally he said in surprise, ‘Are you the 369th Infantry Regiment of the United States?’ and I replied, ‘I are.’

GAVE THEM BOLOS

“Then they took all our American ordnance away and gave us bolos, which are knives modeled after those used by the Cubans. I was glad afterward, although I think my boys would have done better with razors. When we were leaving France I was told that the regiment would be presented with three thousand razors by the French. When we received the gift we found they were safety-razors. The regiment was insulted.

“From March, 1918, until the following January we were with the Fourth French Army, under General Gouraud. On July 15 I wrote Governor Whitman that the German Army was licked. They were at maximum strength and we at minimum, but ten American divisions were arriving monthly.

“My boys had a sublime faith that they would win. The idea of defeat never entered their heads. No private or officer had any doubt about our ability to break through. One day I found a number of the men buying German money that had been taken from the dead. I asked why they wanted it, and they answered, ‘We’ll be needin’ this here money soon.’ In five months they were spending it in the Rhine towns and talking Harlem German with a Yiddish accent. They were the advance guard of the Allied armies. The French gave them the honor of carrying the Stars and Stripes to the Rhine. And I was the first man to scoop water from the river. Can you beat that for Allied generosity?

“The boys all had a keen sense of humor. When we docked at Hoboken they were eager to get ashore. One of them said to me: ‘Colonel, the Generals is goin’ over the gangplank and the rats is goin’ over the hawsers. We hope you’ll tell us when it’s time for the regiment to go ashore!’

“I remember one little negro on the other side who was carrying shells from an ammunition-dump to a train. He was so loaded down with 3-inch shells that he was sunk ankle-deep in the mud. He said to his officer, ‘How you got my name on dat sheet?’

“‘Your name is Simpson,’ replied the officer.

“‘Yas, sir, dass right; only I thought maybe you had “Sampson” by mistake.’”

He jested about them freely, did Colonel Hayward, but the jests were of a kind to betray the intense pride he felt in the soldierly character and spirited daring of the men under him. The Hun learned to regard with wholesome fear a charge of Hayward’s “bellhops and waiters,” as he styled them.

At the beginning of the war there were only 750 officers, 393 nurses, and 3,619 enlisted men belonging to the Medical Department of the American Army. In November, 1918, the corresponding figures were 39,363 officers, 21,344 nurses, and 245,652 enlisted men.

In the 19 months elapsing from the declaration of the war to the signing of the armistice the American Army created an embarkation service which succeeded in shipping overseas 2,075,834 men, and 5,153,000 tons of cargo.

During the whole period of active hostilities the American Army lost at sea only 200,000 deadweight tons of transports. Of this total, 142,000 tons were sunk by torpedoes. No American transport was lost on its eastward voyage.

GOOD OLD POTTS

One of the Men the British Took to Gallipoli to Show Their Grit

Private Frederick Potts did a V. C. bit at Gallipoli. An attack was being made on a very strongly fortified Turkish position, a sector stretching from Hill 70 to Hill 112. Potts was in the advance on Hill 70. It was a terrible day. The heat was intense. The country was uncommonly difficult, largely sand and scrub, the scrub being so parched that it took fire in many places from the shell fire, and in crossing these patches some of the men who fell wounded were burned to death. Potts’ section was ascending Hill 70 in short spurts, making occasional halts. After taking shelter in a little gulley, it was ordered to charge. Potts rushed forward with his comrades; but he had not gone more than twenty yards when he was shot down, a bullet having entered the left thigh. Potts was then about a quarter of a mile from the top of the hill. He was lucky enough to be lying in a little thicket formed of the scrub, and this gave him some sort of shelter and hid him from view. Not long after he fell there crawled towards him a fellow-townsman, who was badly wounded. Potts recognized him.

“Is that you, Andrews?” he said.

“Yes,” came the feeble answer.

“I’m jolly pleased you’ve come,” said Potts.

Then Andrews dragged himself as close as he could get—he had been shot through the groin—and the two lay perfectly still for some minutes fully expecting that the Turks would find and kill them.

Very soon a third trooper who had been wounded made his way to the thicket. With great difficulty, room was found for him. Andrews had hardly moved his position so that the newcomer could be accommodated when a bullet mortally wounded the stranger. He cried piteously for water, but there was not a drop to be had, and the three wounded soldiers endured the agonies of thirst that whole afternoon of intense heat. The night came bitterly cold, increasing the suffering of the three. Moreover, a full moon made the night as clear as day, and every movement in the thicket was followed by a bullet from the Turks. A bullet grazed Potts’ left ear as he lay flat on the ground, face down. The morning brought death to the stranger. He had kept on murmuring wearily, “Water! Water!”

The whole of the next day the two survivors lay hidden in the hot scrub, not daring to move, tortured by thirst, suffering from their wounds, and trying to get relief by sucking bits of stalks which they managed to pick from the shrubs. That night, as the only hope of salvation was to get away, they began to crawl off, Potts leading and Andrews following. They lay perfectly flat, and literally wriggled. From six at night—when darkness fell—till three in the morning they dragged themselves, dust-choked, a distance of about three hundred yards—as Potts calculated afterwards, thirty-three yards an hour. A bit of burnt scrub near at hand afforded slight protection; this was taken, and the troopers tried to sleep, but the extreme cold made rest impossible. When daylight came, some water was obtainable, but only by crawling to men who had been killed and whose bottles could be reached. This dreadful day passed, Potts doing his best to stanch his comrade’s bleeding wounds. The third night on the hill came.

A SHOVEL TO THE RESCUE

The two men tried once more to get away and reach the British lines. Potts attempted to carry Andrews, but he was too weak and the effort failed. Then, says the London _Times_, when hope itself seemed to be abandoned, an inspiration came, suggested by an ordinary entrenching shovel, one of many which were lying on the hill. Potts wriggled to the shovel, managed to support Andrews on it, stood up, and dragged desperately—all the more so because as soon as he rose the Turks opened fire. Famished and exhausted, he could not do more than pull his burden over the rough ground for about six yards; then he collapsed. Andrews, too, had suffered severely under the strain. But the next night Potts resumed his forlorn hope. He had his comrade on the shovel, lying flat; he supported him as best he could, and Andrews held grimly on to his rescuer’s wrists. For more than three hours, in the bright moonlight, down the scrub-infested, stony, dusty hillside, Private Potts dragged his helpless burden on the shovel; then came a sentry’s challenge, “Halt!” Inexpressibly joyful was the sound of the British voice to the two worn-out troopers; grimly humorous was the sentry’s question:

“What are you doing? Are you burying the dead?”

Potts explained: “I have a chap here wounded, and I’ve dragged him down the hill on a shovel. Could you not give me a hand?”

Give a hand! Many a willing hand was given that night at the foot of that fatal hill, the scene of much tragedy, yet relieved by the bravery and resource of the twenty-two year old trooper, who might easily have saved himself by abandoning his wounded fellow; but he was not of that breed.

IT WAS UP TO BILL

And in Spite of Regulations and Red Tape the Old Sergeant Got to France and Into the Front Lines

Let no one dare deny the heroism of Bill Davidson. His name may not be found among those cited for distinguished service, but that is because distinguished services are not enumerated in the military code. If there is an instance of more determined valor or of more successful triumph over the impossible it does not appear in the chronicles. Nevertheless it is necessary to introduce Bill Davidson, and the greatest distinction that can be conferred upon him in the estimation of Bill Davidson himself is to say he was orderly to Lieutenant Colonel John C. Greenway, First Division, A. E. F. He hailed from out Arizona way. In the days when the United States was engaged with Spain in the discussion of matters more or less serious, Jack Greenway was a Captain of Rough Riders, and Bill was his Sergeant, and by the testimony of that Captain, now Lieutenant-Colonel, Bill was the best first Sergeant in Cuba. There Bill took into his spiritual system an affection of devotion to Greenway that time and circumstances can never diminish.

Therefore, when the United States declared war against Germany, Bill, who was in the employ of the New Cornelia at Ajo, straightway thought of Jack Greenway. He said to himself, “All hell can’t keep Jack Greenway from going to the front, and it’s me for Jack Greenway.” He foresaw a great experience “over there,” the doing of extraordinary things, and he wanted to be with Greenway in the performance.

Greenway, of course, tendered his services to the Government at once and was given a commission as Major of Engineers. Now let the Bisbee _Review_ continue the story as it got it direct from Colonel Greenway in Bisbee town.

One day Bill walked into the Captain’s office in Warren just as he was preparing to close his desk and quit the office.

“Well, Captain, I’ve quit over yonder,” Bill remarked, after the salutations.

“What did you quit for, Bill?”

“I’m going into the army with you.”

“Have you enlisted?”

“Hell, no. I’m no fool. If I enlisted over here I might not go to France for months, perhaps not at all. I’m going with you, and shall enlist in your regiment after I get to France,” was the way Bill figured it out.

_Courtesy of Munseys._

Lieutenant Arthur McKeogh

He brought relief to a battalion by making a daring journey through the German lines with two other men. On the way to the American lines he killed one German officer, fell into a trench with two others and killed them, and was under fire all the time.]

Greenway couldn’t make Bill see the futility of the idea of getting over to France without enlisting in the service, so there was nothing to do but let Bill come along. They took the train together at Osborn, Bill carrying his bed rolled up in a slicker, and together they made the trip to New York.

Bill met some of his old comrades of the Cuban campaign and confided to them his plans. They told him how impossible it was, and that he could not even get on the dock at Hoboken without a pass. Bill’s urbane confidence may have been a little shaken but not his determination. He went to Washington to see Senator Ashurst, and the Senator tried to get Bill a passport but without success, as there was no way for the War Department to act in the circumstances. Bill came back to New York with more determination than ever.

“I got my sailing orders,” said Greenway, “and with my sister, sister-in-law and Bill went to the Hoboken pier and found that I was to sail on the _Agamemnon_, which was formerly the German steamship _Kaiser Wilhelm II_. I went aboard and found that I had a large and comfortable stateroom and came ashore and told Bill.

“Bill declared that he was going to get aboard of that boat, although I pointed out the guards to him and told him how impossible it was. Bill was not disconcerted in the least. After sizing up the situation to his own satisfaction he said:

“‘Just you get somebody to talk to that guard over there to distract his attention while you are going through the gate.’

“I got an officer friend of mine to talk to the guard, and Bill picked up my bags and followed me. To my surprise he got through the gate without being seen by the guard, and we proceeded to the gangplank. There we ran into a snag. The captain called out to stop that civilian, and Bill was held up. It was only momentarily, however. I stepped up and told the captain that he was a friend of mine, carrying my bags aboard for me, and the captain permitted him to pass.

“When Bill got into that stateroom of mine he was the happiest man I ever saw. ‘If you get me off this boat they will have to throw me and hog-tie me and carry me off,’ was the way Bill put it as he sank into a chair and wiped his forehead.

“We sailed that night at high tide, and Bill stayed secreted in my room. I would smuggle food from the dining-room to him, but after two days of this Bill rebelled at having to live on cold food and declared that he intended having regular meals like the others on board. I told him that if he were discovered the chances were that he would find himself in the brig, but he said he would risk it, and out of my stateroom he went.

ON THE WAY TO FRANCE

“Bill had just one chance. There were 150 civilians on board, going over for employment on government work in France. It was possible, but not at all probable, for Bill to mingle with them and get by. I went on to dinner in the first cabin, and after dinner concluded that I would look about for Bill. I expected to find him in the brig, but he was not there. I made my way to the dining-saloon where the civilian passengers had their meals and looked in.

“At the extreme end of a very long table I saw Bill. He was engrossed in a menu and was ordering the most delectable things to be found on it. Everybody on the vessel got to know Bill and he was in his element. He needed no further guidance by me while on board. Arguments were referred to Bill for settlement and he was looked to among the civilian passengers as a general source of information, being consulted as to when we would arrive in the submarine zone, when we would land, and about everything else that came up.

“How to get Bill ashore at Brest was a problem that loomed large before me, but it did not worry Bill to any great extent. Power Conway was on board and I enlisted his services, and between us we managed to smuggle Bill aboard the tug and get him ashore. Now the question was to get Bill to Paris, and in this I was assisted by General Harbord, U. S. M. C.

BILL ACCEPTED FOR SERVICE

“We arrived in Paris, where I was kept for several weeks at headquarters. One night I returned home in Paris and informed Bill that I had been assigned to the First Division and ordered up to the front. Bill was delighted and ready to put off at once, and, although it seemed impossible to me, it never feazed him.

“It never occurred to Bill that he was a civilian in France, with no military connection whatever, and that it would be impossible for a civilian to accompany me to the front. In this dilemma I placed the situation before Colonel Malin Craig. He is a general now, and it made a strong appeal to him. He wanted to make Bill a captain of military police, but Bill would have none of that. He wanted to get to the front, and to the front we started.

“Together we arrived within seven miles of the front line before Bill was finally held up. He had come 7,000 miles on his own responsibility, without one line of authority from any one, and was now actually at the front and in the face of the enemy, and was still a civilian. And it was there in the Toul sector that Bill enlisted and became officially what he had been at heart and in fact for many weeks—one of the American Expeditionary Force.

“From then on Bill and I were together without danger of being separated by army regulations. He became my orderly and remained so throughout. The only time we were separated was when Bill was in the hospital recovering from shell-wounds. We came back together and Bill went with me to Hot Springs, Ark., where we both took baths. We separated at Fort Worth, Bill going on to Ajo by another route, while I came on to Bisbee.”

And that is the story of Bill Davidson, whose devotion to his chief is unlimited. It causes him to “do the impossible” and to override all of the regulations of the War Department. It is a story in the telling of which Colonel Greenway takes the greatest pride and in which a spirit of affection is dominant.

Bill quit his job to go to war with Jack Greenway, and he did.

The original Selective Service Law of May 18, 1917, with its subsequent amendments, mobilized the man-power of the United States, between the ages of 18 and 45 inclusive. Under the original and later acts, approximately 23,709,000 men were registered and slightly over 2,800,000 were inducted into the military service.

THE RENDEZVOUS

One of America’s Young Poets Keeps a Tryst While Fighting for France

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

* * * * *

And I to my pledged word am true—
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

—_Alan Seeger._

The poem from which the above opening and closing lines are taken was read for the first time by the majority of those who knew it after the poet had kept the rendezvous—only a little late of the appointed time, like a traveler who has missed a train.

Alan Seeger loved France, and when he saw her in peril and his own America not likely to be brought into the conflict he went to France as a volunteer. Being an alien he was not eligible to the regular army, but the Foreign Legion welcomed him to fight for France under its flag. Among the men of the Legion was Rif Bear, a brilliant and traveled young Egyptian, and he became the close, the intimate friend of the poet with whom he found himself entirely in sympathy.

Seeger was under fire in a series of engagements without suffering hurt, but he seems to have foreboded the end that came in the Champagne campaign. He was a fatalist as well as a dreamer—and there are those who believe that we bring to ourselves the fruit of our thoughts.

After Seeger’s death Rif Bear wrote the facts and an appreciation in a personal letter to a lady in Boston. The letter was in French, but a translation of it has been published. There is a melancholy interest in the circumstances that a clerical error in the date of a temporary leave of absence cheated Seeger of one of the chief joys that could have come to him as a poet. The letter tells us that he ran one day to his friend in the triumph of happiness to show him a telegram which asked him to compose a poem to be read in public at a French-American demonstration—the memorial day ceremony. He was to have 48 hours leave in which to write the poem and attend the ceremony. But the promised leave did not come.

_Courtesy of Century Company._

Alan Seeger

The young and gifted American poet who fought in the Foreign Legion. He was killed in action in the Champagne campaign.]

“The eve of the ceremony arrived—I can not recall the date—but no leave came. We were in the trenches and chance had placed me near Seeger in _petit poste_ (the small outlook-post, some yards in advance of the first line trench). He confessed that he had lost all hope of going, and I tried to find all sorts of arguments to encourage him, that his leave might come at dawn, and that by taking the train at Ressons at 7 a. m. he could still reach Paris by noon and would have plenty of time, as the ceremony was at two.

“The morning came, and instead of bringing the much-desired permission to leave, it brought a terrible downpour of rain, and the day passed sadly. He found consolation in the thought that it was only a postponement and that July 4 would soon arrive, when the Americans with the Foreign Legion might hope for forty-eight hours’ leave, as last year.”

The explanation came later. It was a clerical error that cheated him; the forty-eight hours’ leave granted for the event was made out for June 30, instead of for May 30. Continuing the letter:

A MARCHING ORDEAL

“On June 21, we left the sector of the Thiescourt Woods for an unknown destination, which proved to be the Somme. We took the train at Estrées St. Denis, and on June 22 about 10 a. m. reached Boves. Under a blazing sun, in heat that seemed to have escaped from the furnace of hell, we started for Bayonviller. We had undergone no such march since the war began.

“Weighed down by their sacks, prostrated by the heat, men fell by hundreds along the road. Hardly twenty of the two hundred forming the company arrived without having left the column. Seeger was one of these few. He told me afterward of the terrible effort that he had to make not to give up. At every halt he drank a drop of _tafia_ (rum and coffee) to ‘give himself heart,’ and when he reached the end of the march he was worn out, but proud—he had not left the ranks.

“We passed the eight days of repose at Bayonviller, almost always together, seeking the greatest possible enjoyment in our life at the moment and making dreams for the future after the war. Alan confided to me that ‘after the war’ caused him fear—that he could not tell what destiny reserved for him, but that if the fates smiled on him it was toward the Orient that he would make. He loved the Orient—Constantinople, Cairo, Damascus, Beirut had a powerful fascination for him; their names would plunge him into profound reverie.

“‘It is in the mysterious frame of the Orient,’ he used to say, ‘in its dazzling light, in its blue, blue nights, among the perfumes of incense and hashish, that I would live, love, and die.’

“And then the talk would turn again on the war and he would say: ‘My only wish now is to make a bayonet charge. After that I shall see. Death may surprise me, but it shall not frighten me. It is my destiny. “_Mektoub_”’ (it is written). He was a real fatalist and drew courage and resignation from his fatalism.

“During the night of June 30-July 1 we left Bayonviller to move nearer the firing-line. We went to Proyart as reserves.

“At 8 o’clock on the morning of July 1 there was roll-call for the day’s orders and we were told that the general offensive would begin at nine without us, as we were in reserve, and that we would be notified of the day and hour that we were to go into action.

“When this report was finished we were ordered to shell fatigue, unloading 8-inch shells from automobile-trucks which brought them up to our position.

“All was hustle and bustle. The Colonial regiments had carried the first German lines and thousands and thousands of prisoners kept arriving and leaving. Ambulances filed along the roads continuously. As news began to arrive we left our work to seek more details, everything we could learn seemed to augur well.

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Private Charles Cameron

_1st Division, 3rd Machine Gun Battalion, Company “B”_

Decorated for extraordinary heroism in action near Soissons, France, July 19, 1918. When the infantry was held up by a trench occupied by Germans he voluntarily circled the trench and from the rear shot and killed one of the enemy and captured the others.]

“About 4 p.m. we left Proyart for Fontaine-les-Capy and in the first line. Alan was beaming with joy and full of impatience for the order to join in the action. Everywhere delirious joy reigned at having driven the enemy back without loss for us. We believed that no further resistance would be met and that our shock attack would finish the Germans. After passing the night at Fontaine-les-Capy we moved in the morning toward what had been the German first lines. I passed almost all the day with Alan. He was perfectly happy.

“‘My dream is coming true,’ he said to me, ‘and perhaps this evening or to-morrow we shall attack. I am more than satisfied, but it’s too bad about our July 4 leave. I can not hope to see Paris again now before the 6th or 7th, but if this leave is not granted me _“Mektoub! Mektoub”!’_ he finished with a smile.

“The field of battle was relatively calm, a few shells fell, fired by the enemy in retreat, and our troops were advancing on all sides. The Colonials had taken Assevillers and the next day we were to take their place in first line.”

WHEN THE HOUR CAME

“On July 3, about noon, we moved toward Assevillers to relieve the Colonials at nightfall. Alan and I visited Assevillers, picking up souvenirs, post-cards, letters, soldiers’ notebooks, and chattering all the time, when suddenly a voice called out, ‘The company will fall in to go to the first line.’

“Before leaving one another we made each other the same promise as we had made before the Champagne battle (September 25, 1915), that if one of us fell so severely wounded that there was no hope of escape the other would finish him off with a bullet in the heart, rather than let him await death in lingering torture. He showed me his revolver, saying, ‘I have more luck than you. If I can still use one arm I shall have no need of any one,’ and then we rejoined our different sections.”

The order for attack came at 4 o’clock and the troops went forward, the flash and glitter of bayonets above the tall corn through which the men pressed making a curious spectacle against the going down of wave after wave of men under the terrific gun fire.

“The losses were heavy and the enemy made a desperate resistance. The company of reserves was ordered to advance with the second wave of assault. ‘Forward!’ cried the captain, and the company deployed ‘in files of squadron,’ advancing slowly but surely under the enemy’s intense and murderous fire.

“The first section (Alan’s section) formed the right and vanguard of the company, and mine formed the left wing. After the first bound forward, we lay flat on the ground, and I saw the first section advancing beyond us and making toward the extreme right of the village of Belloy-en-Santerre. I caught sight of Seeger and called to him, making a sign with my hand.

“He answered with a smile. How pale he was! His tall silhouette stood out on the green of the corn-field. He was the tallest man in his section. His head erect and pride in his eye, I saw him running forward, with bayonet fixed. Soon he disappeared and that was the last time I saw my friend.

“‘Forward!’ And we made a second bound, right to the wave of assault, which we left behind a little, and down we threw ourselves again. The fusillade became more and more intense, reaching a paroxysm. The mitrailleuses mow men down and the cannons thunder in desperation. Bodies are crushed and torn to fragments by the shells, and the wounded groan as they await death, for all hope of escaping alive from such a hell has fled.

“The air is saturated with the smell of powder and blood, everywhere the din is deafening; men are torn with impatience at having to remain without moving under such a fire. We struggle even for breath and cries resound from every side. Suddenly a word of command, an order of deliverance, passes from mouth to mouth. ‘Forward! With bayonets!’—the command that Seeger had awaited so long.

“In an irresistible sublime dash we hurl ourselves to the assault, offering our bodies as a target. It was at this moment that Alan Seeger fell heavily wounded in the stomach. His comrades saw him fall and crawl into the shelter of a shell-hole. Since that minute nobody saw him alive.

“I will spare you an account of the rest of the battle. As soon as the enemy was driven back and Belloy-en-Santerre won I searched for news of Seeger. I was told of his wound and was glad of it, for I thought he had been carried away and henceforth would be far from the dangers of bullets and shells.

“Thus ended this Fourth of July that Seeger had hoped to celebrate in Paris. On the next day we were relieved from the first lines and went into reserve lines. A fatigue party was left to identify the dead.

“Seeger was found dead. His body was naked, his shirt and tunic being beside him and his rifle planted in the ground with the butt in the air. He had tied a handkerchief to the butt to attract the attention of the stretcher-bearers. He was lying on his side with his legs bent.

“It was at night by the light of a pocket electric lamp that he was hastily recognized. Stretcher-bearers took the body and buried it next day in the one big grave made for the regiment, where lie 3 hundred bodies. This tomb is situated at the Hill 76 to the south of Belloy-en-Santerre.

“As I think of the circumstances of his death I am convinced that after undressing to bandage himself he must have risen and been struck by a second bullet.”

STAYING TO THE END

How a Handful of Russian “Madmen” Held the Fort Until They Were Wiped Out

Here is a weird story of unavailing heroism on the part of a Russian officer and the remaining few of his company who held one of the forts in the siege of the Novogeorgievsk fortress. It is laconically told by the reporter but it needs no flourish:

Several forts pass through the last hours of their life. All the fortifications are swept away; most of the guns are silent; the men are nowhere in sight. German infantry floods the plain. Columns of soldiers advance from the right and from the left. Their front seems impenetrable.

In one of the forts, however, are still a few men. It is one limb of the stricken animal, with claws unsheathed, still throbbing with life. For these men there is a road of escape behind the fort, making their return to the fortress possible, but the “brave ones’ madness” asserts itself. The commanding officer gathers his men together and says:

“Boys, it’s for you to say. If you speak the word, we’ll all go back, though I’m for staying here.... Remember if we stay, the chances are that not one of us will escape. Which shall it be?”

“Of course, we’ll stay. What difference does it make? It’s just the same in the fortress.... We’ll stay and have our fun here.”

They bared their heads, made the sign of the cross, and kissed each other like brothers. The officer informed the fortress, through underground telephone, of the decision of his men.

“We stay here to the end. And maybe you’ll come and get us out.”

A few moments later, the struggle between this handful of men and several German columns began. The Germans, encircling the silent fort, never expected to find amid its ruins a handful of “madmen.” The advancing columns were rolling on. Suddenly the ruins burst into life. Machine guns splashed their hail of lead, and a shell or two fell into the midst of the German columns.

The Germans became furious. They rushed to the remains of the fort, and turned back, met by a living wall of lead and fire. The heavy German guns began their booming.... Clouds of dust and broken stone surround the fort, which still speaks its language of fire. The officer reports the operations to the fortress through the telephone:

“We are surrounded. Firing incessantly. They’re falling fast. They’ve turned back. They are hammering our covers with heavy guns. The Germans are beginning their attack. Firing, firing, firing. We’re mowing them down. How are things with you? We are waiting for you....”

A half-hour later, the officer reports again: “They’re hammering hard. The arches seem to hold out. Attacking us again. We’ve lots of ammunition. We are waiting for you....”

Another hour goes by. “Everything around is strewn with bodies of Germans. They are all mad. Throw themselves on us like starved rats, and we shoot. Every shot tells.”