Chapter XXIII: Introduction: Bravery (17)

“I saw three other women in the boat. They sat together, white and silent, in the stern, nor ever moved. They were French women. Some one noticed that the water was increasing and there was a wild hullabaloo of alarm. A Belgian—the man who had pulled into the boat the man whose knee I held—called for hats with which to bale, setting the example with his. But we were so tightly packed that no one could get at the water, whereupon the Belgian climbed overboard on to one of the gratings I have already mentioned, and a young Belgian soldier followed his example on the other side. They held on to our gunwale with their fingers. This somewhat relieved the congestion, enabling us to bail.

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Brigadier-General Leroy Eltinge

Deputy Chief of Staff, G. H. Q., A. E. F.]

“Sometimes the people in the boat bailed furiously, sometimes they stopped and stared stupidly about them. Some shouted ‘Ramez! Ramez!’ Others equally excited yelled ‘Mais non! Videz l’eau! Videz l’eau!’ I apologized to my immediate neighbors for that I had no hat to lend, and for that I was too hurt to stoop, but I put my hands on the erring oar the young Frenchman was feebly moving across my knees, and did my best to guide his efforts. As often as not he put it flat on the water, and sometimes he merely desisted altogether, and gazed vacantly in front of him. The Belgian asked for a handkerchief, and groping in the water at the bottom of the boat, found a hole and caulked it as best he could. Thereafter the bailers kept the water from increasing, but did little to reduce it.

THE _SUSSEX_ STILL AFLOAT

“Looking around I saw our steamer riding quite happily on the water with her bows clean gone. Afterwards I learned that the torpedo had cut off her fore-part, to within an inch or two of where I had been standing, and that it had sunk. I saw another full boat being rowed away from the ship, and an overturned one with two people sitting on her keel. I saw a man seated on a grating. All were convinced that help would be forthcoming speedily. And still the _Sussex_ floated. Four times I remarked—by way of a _ballon d’essai_—that it seemed as if she were not going to sink, and always there was an outcry to row, and get away from her. The Belgian and the Belgian soldier evidently thought as I did. They proposed that we should return before we were swamped ourselves. Once again a hysterical outburst. One man jumped to his feet and shrieked, and asked us if it were to hell that we intended returning? I began to be afraid that he and those who thought as he did would throw us others into the sea, but common-sense told me that to remain all night in that overcrowded half-swamped boat would be to court death.

“We saw at last that the other boat was returning. This was our chance. Example is a wonderful thing in dealing with mob hysteria. Tentatively the two Belgians and I proposed that we should go as close to the steamer as prudence permitted, and ask the Captain if she were going to sink. If his answer were favorable, those who desired should go on board, and any who liked could go off again in the boat. If his answer were unfavorable, we would stand off again. The maniac still shrieked his protests, but the rest of the boat was with us. But no one seemed to know how to turn the boat. As soon as we told one to backwater, the other two did likewise. It seemed hopeless. Finally, we let the other two oars pull, and I myself tried to induce my _vis-à-vis_ to ‘ramez au sens contraire,’ which was the nearest approach I could get to ‘backwater’ in French. He was too dazed to understand, so I simply set my teeth and pulled against him, and in about fifteen minutes the boat gradually came round in a wide circle. How I longed to be whole again so that I could take his oar right away and cox that mad boat! With my injured back and inside I could only just compass what I did. The pain kept me from collapsing, and the exertion from freezing.

“It looked as though we were to be swamped, after all, within ten yards of the _Sussex’s_ gaping bows, for our crew, in their excitement, had forgotten to bail for some minutes. As we floated in under her sides I made a final appeal, which a young Belgian put into more forcible French, for everybody to keep calm and not upset the boat at the last.

BACK TO THE SHIP

“The women now spoke for the first time—and it was to appeal to the excited boat’s load to let me be taken off first, since I was injured. I found I could not stand, so sat in the middle of the seat trying to trim the boat while the men scrambled out. I was left alone at last; and the water that came over the gunwale poured over my legs to my waist, some of it soaking through my thick great-coat and chilling me to the bone. The boat was floating away. Some one shouted to me to get up. I got on to my hands and knees on the seat and tried to crawl along the side, but the change of position nearly caused me to faint with pain. Then the Belgian managed to get hold of the boat and hold her, and some sailors leaned out of the hatchway in the _Sussex’s_ side and grasped me by the arms and pulled me up and in as though I had been a sack. There were many far worse hurt than I, and they left me propped against a wall. The Belgian again came to the rescue, and half dragged me to the top of the second saloon stairway. I got down by levering myself on my hands on the rails, while he supported me under the arms.

_Courtesy of Leslies._

Searching for U-Boats in the North Sea

A fleet of torpedo boats combing the seas for German raiders. The Allied Fleets maintained their vigil until the German Navy was surrendered at Scapa Flow.]

“Once in the saloon, he and the young Belgian soldier took off my loosely fixed lifebelt and laid me on a couch. One forced a glass of whisky down my throat, which burned and gave me back renewed consciousness, while the other ran for brandy. I was terribly cold, and the good Belgian took off my boots and puttees and stockings and chafed my feet till one was warm. The other had no sensation for over twelve hours, and five days later, when it was radiographed, proved to be sprained and fractured.

“WHAT IS IT TO DIE?”

“After that, long hours of waiting. A woman shrieked incessantly up on deck. A man with a wounded head came and sat patiently in a corner. A girl, complaining of a pain in her chest, came down the stairs and lay down on a corner couch. She never moved nor spoke again. By midnight she was dead. None of us guessed, none of us knew. She died bravely and silently, quite alone. Another woman showed signs of approaching hysteria. A young Belgian officer, who had been attending her, suddenly ceased his gallantry, and standing sternly before her, said brusquely, ‘After all, if the very worst comes, you can only die. What is it to die?’ The words acted on her like a douche of cold water. She became herself again and never murmured. We others, perhaps, benefited too. It is nerve-racking work lying helpless in a damaged vessel, wondering whether the rescue ship or another enemy submarine will appear first on the scene. And no ship came. At intervals the Belgian boy soldiers came down to reassure us: ‘The wireless had been repaired. Forty vessels were searching for us. There was a light to starboard. We were drifting towards Boulogne. The “Phares” of the coast were in sight.’ But no ship came. The light to starboard faded. Another appeared, and faded too.

“Then we heard the regular boom of a cannon or a rocket. We all knew that something must have blocked our wireless, but no one said so. The Belgian came down to sleep, fixing his lifebelt first. With him came a good French-woman, who was very kind to me and washed the blood from my face and rinsed out my bleeding mouth. She was very hungry, and all I could do to help her was to hold her jewels while she went on deck to search for her hand baggage, and, later, to give her some soaked food out of my pocket. There was no food left anywhere. She said some brave words, too, about death coming to all, only coming once, and being soon over. How much one person’s courage can help others at such a time! Then she tied on a lifebelt and went to sleep beside me. The ship was rolling now, and the seas slapped noisily against her somewhere, jarring her all through her frame. But the Captain had said she would not sink for eighteen hours, and we all believed his word implicitly. Still, it was an ugly noise, and seemed to betoken her helplessness.

“WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST”

“And then at last the news of rescue! A French fishing-boat was coming! ‘Women and children first,’ the young Belgians cried. My Belgian succorer roused himself and fetched my stockings and boots. My right boot would not go on. My puttees he could not manage, and so he tied them round me. He was always cool and practical and matter-of-fact. ‘I have been in the Belgian Congo,’ he explained, ‘and in shipwrecks before. I know what to do, and I am not alarmed. You can trust entirely to me.’ And I did. There was a great bump as the fishing-boat came alongside, and a rush upstairs. Once more I was left alone, for my Belgian friend had gone up to see about getting me helped on board. He came back to say that the crush was so great that he would wait till it was over and then take me. It seemed a long time, but he came back at last, only to find he could not lift me. Then he went away calling for an ‘homme de bonne volonté’ to help. A young Chinese responded, and together they staggered up the heaving stairway with me. When they reached the ship’s rail it was to hear that the boat had gone! A British torpedo boat was coming, we were told, and so the fisherman had gone off with as many as he could safely carry to Boulogne. With her went my hope of reaching my own hospital in France. I had been sure the destroyer would take her load to England.

_Courtesy of Leslies._

Sinking of the _Falaba_

After torpedoing the ship, the U-boat came to the surface and gave the command “Abandon ship.” Shortly afterward the _Falaba_ broke into flames and was destroyed.]

“Perhaps half an hour passed, and then the destroyer came. This time one of the French sailors helped him to carry me, and I was placed on my back, across the ship’s rail, and when the roll brought her near enough to the destroyer, British sailors grasped my arms and pulled me over. For one sickening second my legs dangled between the two ships, but the sailors hauled me in just before the impact came. They carried me to the chart-house and laid me on the couch, and before long the Belgian joined me, and, utterly exhausted, lay down on the floor. From that moment I felt entirely safe. We English are brought up to feel complete confidence in the British Navy, much as they teach us to trust in Providence. And the Navy deserves our confidence.

“It took a long time to transfer all the remaining passengers of the _Sussex_ to H. M. S. ——, for the sea was becoming restless, and the two ships hammered and thumped at each other’s sides to such purpose that the rescuing destroyer had to go into dock for repairs when her labors were over and she had landed us all safely.”

THE VALLEYS OF THE BLUE SHROUDS

(_Where the Valiant Poilus Were Buried in Their Blue Uniforms_)

_By_

John Finley

O shards of walls that once held precious life,
Now scattered, like the bones the Prophet saw
Lying in visioned valleys of the slain
Ere One cried: “Son of Man, can these bones live?”

O images of heroes, saints, and Christs,
Pierced, broken, thrust in hurried sepulture
In selfsame tombs with tinsel, dross, and dreg,
And without time for either shrift or shroud!

O smold’ring embers of Love’s hearthstone fires,
Quenched by the fiercer fires of hellish hate,
That have not where to kindle flames again
To light succeeding generations on!

O ghost-gray ashes of cathedral towers
That toward the sky once raised appealing hands
To beg the God of all take residence
And hold communion with the kneeling souls!

O silent tongues of bells that once did ring
Matin and Angelus o’er peaceful fields,
Now shapeless slag that will to-morrow serve
To make new engines for still others’ woe!

O dust that flowered in finial and foil
And bright in many-petaled windows bloomed,
Now unto dust returned at cannon’s breath
To lay thy faded glories on the crypt!

O wounded cities that have been beloved
As Priam’s city was by Hecuba,—
Sad Hecuba, who ere in exile borne,
Beheld her Hector’s child Astyanax
Spitted on spears (as if a Belgian babe)
And saw the walls in smoke and flame ascend
To hover heav’nward with wide-brooding wings
Above the “vanished thing” that once was Troy!

O shards of sanctuaries and of homes!
O embers, ashes gray, and glinting dust!
Ye who were tile or tower in Laon or Ypres,
A village by the Somme, a church in Roye,
A bit of glass in Reims, a convent bell
In St. Dié, a lycée in Verdun,
A wayside crucifix in Mézières,
Again I hear a cry: “Can these bones live?”

Yes! As the bones, o’er which the Prophet cried
And called the breath from Heav’n’s four winds to breathe.
Sprang straightway, bone to bone, each to its place,
To frame in flesh the features and the forms
They still remembered and still loved to hold
Once more on earth—so shall ye rise again!

Out of their quarries, cumulus, the clouds
Will furnish back your flame in crystal stone;
The cirrus dawns in Parsee tapestries
With azure broiderings will clothe your walls;
The nimbus noons will shower golden rain
And sunset colors fill each Gothic arch;

For o’er thy stricken vales, O valiant France,
Our love for thee shall prophesy anew,
And Heav’n’s Four Winds of Liberty, allied,
Shall breathe unpoisoned in thy streets till they
Shall pulse again with life that laughs and sings,
And yet remembers, singing through its tears
The music of an everlasting song—
Remembers, proudly and undyingly,
_The hero dust that lies in shrouds of blue
But rises as thy soul, immortal France!_

Dr. Finley and _The Yale Review_.

RIZZO SINKS THE _WIEN_

An Italian Lieutenant Braves Batteries and Mines and Harbor Wire in Novel Feat

The Germans and Austrians, knowing that it would be folly for them to risk a naval battle, kept their navies cooped up in harbors and rivers to the intense disgust of real jackies, who thought it quite unbearable at times that while the Allied fleets were roaming about the high seas begging for a fight the enemy was shutting itself up. English and French and American sailors were so hungry for action that they occasionally took unwarranted chances for the sake of getting at the enemy, and more than once these daring leaders were at the same time rebuked for their recklessness and rewarded for their bravery and success.

One of the most brilliant and picturesque of naval adventures fell to the credit of a young Italian who achieved a plan that startled the Austrians and Germans as much as it delighted the Allies.

Lieut. Rizzo is really a Sicilian, strong and handsome. He is about thirty years old—young enough to go through with a daring feat, old enough to be careful. Moreover, there were two boats that carried out the plan, and the second boat was in charge of an elderly man, sixty-two years old, a fire-eater though.

The task was quite definite. In the Trieste harbor the Austrians kept several ships which were a source of great annoyance to the Italians. Especially hateful was the _Wien_ and her sister the _Monarch_. She carried four 10-inch guns and six 6-inch guns and a crew of 441 officers and men. A month before the _Wien_ had shelled the lower Piave line and Italian motor boats had tried their torpedoes on her. She had a narrow escape. Then she was stored at Trieste. She must have felt herself quite safe with her sister ship, the _Monarch_, drawing by her. They were behind steel nets fringed with mines. And all day and all night sentries watched.

Lieutenant’s Rizzo’s plans were all laid. But he had no false hopes. He knew of the Austrian combination of nets and mines, and knew that at best he had great chances of being blown to pieces. He started out, though, with his two little launches—really not much bigger than a ship’s lifeboat.

DUMBFOUNDED AUSTRIANS

There was a mist on the sea. It was after midnight when they crawled in toward the coast. It was in December, and they could just about make out the white city of Trieste. The two boats stole toward the harbor. One of the chief problems of Rizzo was that of the huge steel cables attached to the nets; but these he managed to cut apart, thus making his way through the nets.

They came nearer the harbor. It is an affair of three piers, making two channels. These channels were closed by booms and nets. Mines were linked to the piers by great steel hawsers.

The boats crept up to one pier. Rizzo climbed up and took in the situation. There was nobody on that pier. On the middle pier, however, was a guardroom. There could be heard the sound of voices in that room, and the barking of dogs, and the monotonous rhythms of the sentry patrolling the middle pier.

“Lieutenant Rizzo,” Percival Gibbon wrote to the New York _Times_, “crawled back and gave the order, and up came his men, crawling on hands and knees over the concrete, passing the big cutting tools from hand to hand, groping their way to the cables. Some set to work to cut them, while two men scanned the shore lest some sentry should arrive.

“The cutting instruments worked well. It needed only a strong jar to set the mines exploding, but the cutters bit their way through strand after strand of twisted steel wire. Three cables above water were severed without trouble; the five more below; water were grappled and hauled to the surface and cut in their turn.

“At last the weight of the net and its attachments tore the last steel strands asunder, the whole great cobweb of metal and explosives sank, and the harbor lay open. Rizzo and his men crawled back to their boats. Those boats moved like shadows toward the _Wien_ and the _Monarch_. Rizzo backed off till he had his enemy at 150 yards. His second boat, commanded by the old petty officer, shifted out upon his beam to get a line which cleared the _Wien’s_ bow and commanded the _Monarch’s_ great steel flank. Rizzo raised his arm in that gloom and saw the answering gesture of the petty officer. It was the moment to let her go. In a second four long steel devils were sliding through the water for the enemy.

“A roar, a blast of flame, a waterspout raining on them, and a second roar as the _Monarch_, too, got her dose.

“A searchlight flashed out from the _Wien_ and sawed at the darkness. A scream sounded over the water: _Wer da?_ (Who’s there?) There were shoutings and stampings along the deck of the wounded ship, searchlights waking along the shore and on the breakwaters, and anti-aircraft guns arousing everywhere. No one in Trieste knew whence the attack had come, whether from air or sea. The sky was festooned with bursting shell, while the ships in the harbor opened with their guns toward the harbor mouth, shelling the mist of the Adriatic at random. By the light of that furious illumination the Italian sailors saw the great bulk of the _Wien_ listing toward them.

“By this time they were making for the harbor mouth. Shells spouted all around them, but not one hit them, and both boats saw before they left that last subsidence, that wriggle and resignation with which a great ship goes under.”

EDITH CAVELL

_By_

Laurence Binyon

She was binding the wounds of her enemies when they came—
The lint in her hand unrolled.
They battered the door with their rifle-butts, crashed it in:
She faced them gentle and bold.

They haled her before the judges where they sat
In their places, helmet on head.
With question and menace the judges assailed her, “Yes,
I have broken your law,” she said.

“I have tended the hurt and hidden the hunted, have done
As a sister does to a brother,
Because of a law that is greater than that you have made,
Because I could do none other.

“Deal as you will with me. This is my choice to the end,
To live in the life I vowed.”
“She is self-confessed,” they cried; “she is self-condemned.
She shall die, that the rest may be cowed.”

In the terrible hour of the dawn, when the veins are cold,
They led her forth to the wall.
“I have loved my land,” she said, “but it is not enough:
Love requires of me all.

“I will empty my heart of the bitterness, hating none.”
And sweetness filled her brave
With a vision of understanding beyond the hour
That knelled to the waiting grave.

They bound her eyes, but she stood as if she shone.
The rifles it was that shook
When the hoarse command rang out. They could not endure
That last, that defenseless look.

And the officer strode and pistoled her surely, ashamed
That men, seasoned in blood,
Should quail at a woman, only a woman,—
As a flower stamped in the mud.

And now that the deed was securely done, in the night
When none had known her fate,
They answered those that had striven for her, day by day:
“It is over, you come too late.”

And with many words and sorrowful-phrased excuse
Argued their German right
To kill, most legally; hard though the duty be,
The law must assert its might.

Only a woman! yet she had pity on them,
The victim offered slain
To the gods of fear that they worship. Leave them there,
Red hands, to clutch their gain!

She bewailed not herself, and we will bewail her not,
But with tears of pride rejoice
That an English soul was found so crystal-clear
To be triumphant voice

Of the human heart that dares adventure all
But live to itself untrue,
And beyond all laws sees love as the light in the night,
As the star it must answer to.

The hurt she healed, the thousands comforted—these
Make a fragrance of her fame.
But because she stept to her right on through death
It is Victory speaks her name.

From _The Cause_. Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company.

AS OF OLD

An Engagement When Pistol and Cutlass Revived Memories of Notable Sea Fights of the Past

A friendly ghost of the old grappling and boarding days at sea came to give the color of romance to one of the encounters between British and German ships in the latter part of April, 1917. And a touch of ancient charm is given to the experience in the fact that the hero of the engagement was a gallant and daring midshipman, for the honors really fall to Midshipman Donald Gyles of the good ship _Broke_—a British destroyer.

Appropriately too, it was a dark and calm night. The _Broke_ (whose commander was Capt. Evans, the antarctic explorer) and the sister destroyer _Swift_ were steaming leisurely in a westerly course on patrol duty. Suddenly, quite in the vein of romance, the lookout of the _Swift_ made out, not more than six hundred yards distant, a flotilla of six German destroyers. Here was a how-d’ye-do, when you consider that a distance of a thousand yards is a disagreeably close range in these days of far-speaking guns. The Germans were the first to fire, but the _Swift_ lost no time in making reply and also put on steam in an attempt to ram the foremost enemy destroyer. She failed of her purpose and ran beyond the enemy line, but turning about she sent a torpedo into one of the enemy ships and made a second dash at the leader, which again escaped a ramming and took to flight. The _Swift_ gave chase.

The _Broke_ was giving excellent account of herself meanwhile. She had torpedoed one of the enemy and then opened fire with every gun. The other enemy destroyers were frantically working for full speed. The _Broke_ swung around and rammed one of them square abreast the after funnel, so that the two boats were locked. Then began the desperate hand-to-hand conflict reminiscent of ancient days. The _Broke_ raked the enemy’s decks point blank with fire from big guns, maxims, rifle and pistol. Two other German destroyers came to the rescue and poured a furious fire on the _Broke_, killing twelve of the eighteen men of the gun crew.

A HAND-TO-HAND FIGHT ON DECK

It might have been that at such a disadvantage the _Broke_ would fall speedy victim to superior numbers. But something more than numbers and preponderance of force enter into the audit of the militant; and the “something more” in this instance was the spirit and understanding of Midshipman Gyles. Although wounded in the eye he kept all the foremost guns in action, himself helping the sorely reduced crew to load. While he was occupied in this way Germans began swarming over the _Broke’s_ forecastle from the rammed destroyer, and to escape the blinding flashes of the forecastle guns began pushing aft, roaring and shouting like a frenzied mob. A graphic account of what happened was published right after the event:

“The midshipman, amid the dead and wounded of his own gun-crews, and half blinded himself by blood, met the onset single-handed with an automatic revolver. He was grappled by a German, who tried to wrest the revolver away. Cutlasses and bayonets being among the British equipment in anticipation of such an event, the German was promptly bayoneted by Seaman Ingleson. The remainder of the invaders, except two who feigned death, were driven over the side, the two being taken prisoner.

“Two minutes after ramming, the _Broke_ wrenched herself free from her sinking adversary and turned to ram the last of the three remaining German boats. She failed in this object but, in swinging around, succeeded in hitting the boat’s consort on the stem with a torpedo. Hotly engaged with the two fleeing destroyers, the _Broke_ attempted to follow the _Swift_ in the direction she was last seen, but a shell struck the _Broke’s_ boiler-room, disabling her main engines.”

_Courtesy of Hunter._

Through the North Sea

Night and day the Allied Fleets patrolled the North Sea, watching for U-boats and waiting for the German Navy to act.]

Thus freed from pursuit the enemy ships made off swiftly and disappeared in the darkness. In spite of her disability the _Broke_ made such headway as her crippled engines were capable of in quest of the _Swift_. Soon a burning German destroyer was sighted and immediately its crew saw the _Broke_ they rushed to the rails shouting for mercy and begging to be saved. Disregarding the danger and unsuspicious of treachery the _Broke_ steered slowly toward the burning ship. The German crew redoubled their plea, “Save, Save,” and then suddenly opened fire on the vessel coming to their rescue.

The _Broke_ in her crippled condition was not able to maneuver for safety, but she had her guns and happily they served her. She silenced the German with four shots and then, the desert of baseness, torpedoed the German amidships.

The _Swift_ had a somewhat different experience. She had, owing to impaired speed, abandoned the pursuit of the first destroyer, and began a search for other quarry. After a time she sighted a motionless destroyer from which came calls for help. She approached cautiously with guns ready for instant action and presently made out that it was the destroyer that the _Broke_ had rammed. The Germans were shouting, “We surrender,” but the _Swift_ was wary, suspecting treachery, and waited. In a little while the destroyer keeled and went down stem first, the crew jumping into the water.

The _Swift_ switched on her searchlights and there being no enemy ship visible, lowered her boats and rescued the Germans swimming toward her. Then the _Broke_ and the _Swift_ reported to each other on the details of the engagement and those who remained of the two crews cheered each other well nigh as long a time as the thrilling engagement itself had lasted.

And let not be forgotten, when quiet heroisms are remembered, the conduct of Seaman William Rowles, helmsman of the _Broke_. Though hit four times by shell fragments he stuck to the wheel during the entire action and only betrayed the fact that he was wounded by fainting as he reported to his captain, “I’m going off now, Sir.”

DEATH IN A SUBMARINE

One of a Crew That Was Saved Tells of the Thrilling Moments Just Before the Final Plunge

Many submarines, rammed or shot, were sent to the bottom with their crews, and for the most part the world has been left to imagine how the doomed men met their fate. There is always a desire, deeper than mere curiosity, to know how men behave in such circumstances; now and then the desire is gratified, and we have learned that brave men go down to death cooped in a submarine with the same resolute calm with which brave men meet death in any guise. That the spirit of man is a wondrous thing the war has given new proof in myriad ways.

A survivor tells the story of the crew of the _Monge_, a French submarine commanded by Lieutenant Morillot, rammed by an Austrian warship and sunk in the Adriatic, Dec. 29, 1915. It was more than a year after that date before any of the details became known. Then the letter of one of the crew released from an Austrian military prison was published, giving the thrilling particulars. After telling how the warship smashed into the submarine the letter continued:

“The water enters in torrents. The safety hatch is closed, but the _Monge_ descends very swiftly; it reaches a depth of 200 feet, and the plates crack under the pressure of the water. We give ourselves up as forever lost. Our vessel is being crushed; we feel it flattening in upon us. No one says a word, but everybody works. Orders are executed as in ordinary times; no panic, not a cry.

“We are facing the most certain and perhaps the most hideous death, yet our commander is superb in his coolness, and he has a crew that is worthy of him. The steel braces supporting the hull—bars as thick as my fist—are twisted like so many wires. The accumulators fall down on each other; the electric current is intensified, the fuses burn out, the acid decomposes—it is the second phase; after the crushing comes asphyxiation.

“‘Courage! Courage! We are rising!’ That is the cry of the second torpedo master, for to him belongs the most delicate and certain of all our remedies. In fact, we feel that we are rising, and in a minute or two we have gone from a depth of 200 feet to the surface. We are saved!

“Alas! A third ordeal! The Austrians have seen us and begin shelling us at short range. A single shell pierces our hull. The commandant orders for the third time: ‘To your posts for the dive!’ This time all is indeed ended; the motors no longer act, none of the machinery runs, and the water keeps pouring in. Everybody goes to his post without a murmur, and yet we all know that this time death awaits us—and what a death! The commandant changes his mind. Our vessel is lost; why sacrifice the crew? He lets his arms drop, and two big tears roll down his cheeks, tears of pride and of impotence.

“In a calm voice, however, he tells us to save ourselves. The impossible had been attempted; we could give up with a light heart.

“Before rising to the surface the commandant asks us to cry three times, ‘_Vive la France!_’ and to sing the ‘_Marseillaise_.’ Such were the last words and orders of the man who was and remained the commandant of the _Monge_, for he chose not to leave his beloved boat. As soon as we reached the deck we complied with his request and thrice shouted ‘_Vive la France!_’ and sang the refrain of the ‘_Marseillaise_.’ When the water rose to our waists we had only time to throw ourselves into the sea. The _Monge_ sank on Dec. 29, 1915, at 2:30 in the morning. There were three deaths—the commandant and two mechanician quartermasters.”

Afterward the French Government honored Lieutenant Morillot by giving his name to a ship captured from the enemy; but one wonders why so gallant an officer should have been so unprofitably sacrificed to a naval tradition. Captains go down with their ships because tradition and court-martials have made it more honorable than living to serve their country in new duties and responsibilities.

A NOTABLE EXPLOIT

Two Italian Naval Officers Destroy an Austrian Dreadnought in a Novel Way

Lieut. Col. R. Rossetti of the Italian Naval Construction Corps and his friend, Dr. Paolucci, also of the Navy, on the night of October 31-Nov. 1, 1918, destroyed an Austrian dreadnought in circumstances as thrilling as they were exceptional. They struck an entirely new note in marine warfare.

The Austrian warship _Viribus Unitis_, having a displacement of 20,010 tons, and an armament of twelve 12-inch guns, and representing a cost of $13,000,000, was moored in the harbor of Pola, about as secure a place as she could possibly have been at rest in. The entrance of the harbor was formidably fortified; it was a most important naval base and was guarded accordingly. Obstacles and obstructions, however, did not dismay Col. Rossetti, who was of a mind to blow up the greatest and newest of Austrian dreadnoughts of the super variety. He was of an inventive faculty, this daring Genoese, and he devised an apparatus, a curious motor, the especial purpose of which was to enable a swimmer to get a mine safely over the obstructions that closed Pola harbor.

With this device supporting the necessary mine, Col. Rossetti and Dr. Paolucci swam into the harbor in the night. They had approached as near as was expedient in the chaser _M. A. S. 95_ which towed the apparatus. They left the chaser with the parting whisper “_Vive il Re!_” and steered their course between two lighthouses until they came to the obstruction at the extreme end of the jetty. The obstruction consisted of long beams bound together at the ends by wire rope. Buoys at intervals kept the obstruction in position. The apparatus was put in a line with the beams and dragged slowly forward for about a quarter of an hour. At a certain point the beams were submerged and the men could no longer guide themselves by them, so the motor was put into action to reach the inner edge of the obstruction. In his official report Col. Rossetti gave in detail by hours the incidents and events that followed. The report is quoted:

“On our left (that is, toward the open sea) I have noticed a submarine with one tower. She is on the surface, and passes, darkened and noiseless, between the harbor obstruction and the chaser which had brought us. I can see her like a shadow against the sky, and point her out to Dr. Paolucci.

“About 11.15 p.m.—We can distinctly see a red light shining at intervals and moving up and down along the jetty. Probably it is on a patrol boat stationed between the jetty and the outside obstructions. This will not affect us, however, for here we shall be keeping to the outer side of the obstructions.

PAOLUCCI EXPLORES

“About 11.45 p.m.—We are nearing the jetty and are about 100 meters from it after passing rapidly through the second diagonal. At my request Dr. Paolucci swims off to explore in the direction of the jetty, and returns in a few minutes to say that we can proceed. During this pause I notice that a rather strong current runs northward along the coast. We move on until we reach the jetty, and then work along parallel with it, placing ourselves between our apparatus and the jetty. We have a good hand hold, as the jetty is made of blocks of cement, piled one on another. The current, too, is in our favor. Everything is going smoothly, but we are losing far too much time, so I venture to start the motor once more. This is not really imprudent—notwithstanding the phosphorescence produced by increased speed—for the breakwater, with large intervals between the cement masses, surely cannot be patrolled at night by a sentry. We are in a dead sector as far as sentries are concerned.

“12.30 a.m.—Still clinging to the jetty, we reach a group of chains that are fastened to the top of the jetty and hang down toward the water. I judge this may be the end of the last diagonal of the first observation, and conclude, therefore, that we must be about 200 meters from the small opening of the jetty. Dr. Paolucci again goes alone to explore the opening. He soon returns with the report that we may advance. We are under way again by about 12.45. When the opening is clearly visible I silence the motor and we proceed hand-over-hand.

AVOIDS A SENTRY BOAT

“About 1 a.m.—We have reached the edge of the opening, always sticking close to the jetty, which now slopes down to the opening and is guarded by a small gun (of about fifty millimeters), which is silhouetted against the sky as we pass under it at a distance of about five meters.

“A strong current coming from the interior of the roadstead meets the current flowing along the coast and drives us—despite all our efforts—out to sea in the direction of the northern extremity of the jetty. The motor is started into full action and we manage to make a wide loop toward the left, returning to the small opening.

“Here, too, we find an obstruction formed by several sections of floating beams, joined with wire ropes. Here and there points project above the water. Having satisfied ourselves that the obstruction has no submerged nets, we decide to climb over it while passing our apparatus underneath, and the plan is carried out without accident. We follow the inner side of this obstruction back to the jetty—easily recognized by the cannon and sentry-post which we had already seen from the other side. Still creeping along the jetty for a few meters, we find ourselves near the bow of a tug, moored there, and can hear the hissing noise of a jet of steam. A little further off, stern toward the jetty, is a large boat that guards the port. This is indicated on our chart, so we decide to turn toward the inner harbor.

“About 2 a.m.—We reach the third obstruction, which runs parallel to the jetty, without encountering that running from the jetty on the right of the guard boat to the large opening of the port. The obstruction now to be overcome is made up of a row of metal cylinders, with tops projecting about twenty centimeters above the water, supporting, about sixty centimeters below the water level, a metal cable to which a net is attached. Given the distance between buoys, and the depth at which the net begins, it is easy to pass this barrier. About ten meters behind it is a second, and then a third, all parallel and of the same type. These are passed without real difficulty, though we have lost time between the second and third series. A boat was moored not more than thirty meters from us, and we had to move with extreme caution and very slowly.

“It is easy to know where we are. Ahead and to our left, I can recognize Valmaggiore and the rocky mass near the curve toward the interior of the port. We consult the pocket compass, but it is full of water and will not work. Once past the third section of this obstruction, I steer in an oblique line to the right, the direction in which I believe we shall find the last series of obstructions—those projecting from the north coast and running perpendicular to the jetty.

“The first big ships—dark, shadowy forms—are barely visible on our right. Going forward, we can see three other ships, further in, that show lighted cabins and portholes, and that have white deck-lights.

NEARING THE SHIP

“About 3 a.m.—We reach and pass, without trouble, a triple series of obstructions similar to the preceding ones. Sure of our position, I steer so as to pass between the north coast and the line of big ships, along which we move for about 200 meters, now always fighting against the current.

“It is late, and we fear that the air pressure of 120 atmospheres will not be sufficient to insure our return to the chaser. After consultation, we agree to continue as far as the flagship, which had been pointed out to us as of special importance. After sinking this we will endeavor to land on the north coast, sink our apparatus and dispose of our waterproof suits. Then, in the uniform of Italian naval officers, which we wear underneath the waterproof, we will try to reach a place called Fontaine, near Rovigno, where it has been agreed that a motor boat will wait for us each night from the 2d to the 7th of November.

“As we move toward the ship I detach a small device that had been added at the last moment. It is supposed to insure an easy mooring for the propelling apparatus, but fails to work. To rid ourselves of this incumbrance I unsheathe my knife, lose the sheath, and am obliged to stick the knife into the wooden cover of the apparatus. (I mention this merely because it will explain why, later, I was so long under the _Viribus Unitis_.)

“At this time an incident occurs that very nearly puts an end to the whole business. We find that, with no apparent cause, our apparatus is gradually, unmistakably, sinking—especially at the stern, where I am. Greatly disturbed, I endeavor to counteract this sinking by crossing my legs beneath the stern, and by accelerating the motor, at the same time working to open the little valve that lets air into the balance tank at the stern. After a hurried examination, I find that the valve for flooding the afterpart is open; how it happened I cannot imagine. The valve is finally closed, and when air is readmitted the apparatus returns to its normal condition. Without doubt these were the most exciting moments of the trip.

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Corporal F. H. McKaig

_2nd Division, 6th Marines, 83rd Company_

He was acting as battalion runner. The Germans were counter-attacking around Jaulny; but Corporal McKaig with truest heroism carried the messages through the most dense enemy artillery and machine-gun fire.]

“We continue slowly and cautiously until 4.30 when we find ourselves at the bow of the _Viribus Unitis_, the last of the six ships that are drawn up in line. At about 100 meters from the ship’s bow the motor is stopped, and I move to the head of our apparatus and prepare the first weapon of offense. The time for the explosion must be calculated from 4.30 a.m., and the mine is so regulated that it will go off four hours from that time. This, however, is changed before finally sinking the mine.

“It takes from 4.30 until 4.45 to detach the mine from our propelling apparatus. Meanwhile the current carries us along parallel to the right side of the ship at a distance of sixty meters. We have drifted too far toward the stern so, by using our arms as in swimming, and by putting the propeller very gently into action, we succeed in turning our apparatus and in getting back toward the bow of the ship near the lower boom, at a distance of about twenty-five meters from the right side. After another slight change of position toward the rear, on account of the current, I detach the mine, and, swimming, push it before me until it touches the hull.

ALL LIGHTED UP

“The ship is lighted up and shows all the movement that is usual during the night. Some one speaks on the bridge (also lighted); some one is walking the deck. The spot toward which I am swimming is between the second and third of the 150-millimeter guns—counting from the stern—which corresponds roughly to the position of the principal motors. It is a convenient position for the sure sinking of the ship.

“On the weapon of offense is a contrivance for fixing the machine to the hull of the ship. It is connected by a small rope that must be loosened or cut. I set to work, but the knot is intricate and my knife is sticking in the wooden cover of the apparatus. Consequently, as the rope is wet and my hands numb with cold, it takes a long time to untie that knot. Finally, after about twenty minutes, the knot yields. I then attach the device to the hull, and also fasten it to a rope that I find secured to the ship at this point. During the operation (it is about 5.15) I hear the morning bugle—it is sounded repeatedly—soon followed by the noise of all hands on board awake and moving. Ashes are thrown out close to me, and more steps sound on the deck. I must hasten and complete the work. I change the clockwork regulating the explosion from 4 to 2; consequently the explosion should take place at 6.30. I detach the bandage of linen and cork that has floated the mine, and sink it. It is now 5.30.

“I swim away from the ship as quickly as possible; the sky is cloudy, but in the east are signs of dawn. It is a question whether I can succeed in reaching our apparatus or whether I must swim ashore and try to make my way to the point where they will be waiting for us. Happily, on my right I soon see Dr. Paolucci and the apparatus about fifty meters from the ship, and I soon reach them.

“Again taking command, I send the apparatus as rapidly as possible toward the bow of the ship, and parallel to it, hoping to get away from her and to gain the north coast as we had planned. The ship’s crew is now awake, and they must have discovered us by the excessive natural phosphorescence, which was increased by the more rapid movement of our apparatus. Suddenly a searchlight is operated upon the bridge and the light is thrown on us. We remain breathlessly still for a few moments, hoping against hope that we may not be seen. The light remains stationary on us and we move very slowly, for, although no shot has been fired, we understand that we have been discovered and that a boat will now be sent out to us.

“Dr. Paolucci, at the bow, now prepares the second mine, while I open the valves that will sink the apparatus. In this way, while a motor boat is leaving the ship and approaching, we abandon our apparatus which drifts slowly forward—sinking—with the mine that will destroy it. Our mission is ended.

TAKEN ON BOARD

“The motor boat reaches us, paying no attention to our apparatus, and they take us on board. It is 5.45. We are recognized as Italians and they take us to the ladder on the port side of the ship. A crowd of sailors receives us at the top of the ladder. We feel it our duty to shout ‘_Viva l’Italia!_’ This demonstration, contrary to what might be expected, is received in a spirit rather more cordial than hostile. To our surprise we notice the new Jugoslav insignia on the caps. We are asked, in Venetian dialect, how we come to be here. We answer (as Commander Ciano had suggested) that we lighted on the water in a hydroplane which we had afterward sunk. In the meantime they are escorting us aft. The friendly reception and the changed nationality of the fleet cause us to hesitate a bit; we consult and come to a decision, asking to speak with the Captain on a very important and urgent matter. The Captain is called, and it is 6 o’clock when he receives me in his cabin. I give him Dr. Paolucci’s knife, which I find myself still holding, and inform him that his ship is in immediate and very serious danger. The Captain inquires the nature of the serious danger and asks if other ships are in the same peril. I answer that I cannot disclose the nature of the danger and that no other ship is involved.

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Sergeant Stacy A. Lewis

_1st Division, 2nd Machine-Gun Battalion, Company “A”_

On July 22, 1918, near Soissons, with great daring Sergeant Lewis killed an entire machine-gun crew and captured their guns. He voluntarily organized a machine-gun crew, with which in the hottest shell fire he advanced and gave battle to the enemy.]

“The Captain picks up his lifebelt and leaves the cabin at once, giving loud orders in German that all should leave the ship. We follow him up on deck, where he repeats the order—obeyed, scatteringly, by all. I ask the Captain to permit Dr. Paolucci and myself to leave the ship. He consents, and we go down the ladder at the right and swim off toward the ship’s stern with the current, but impeded by the great weight of our clothing. Numbers of swimming sailors pass us, as well as boats loaded with members of the crew. Searchlight signals are flashed to the nearest ship, _Tegethoff_, which sends boats to our assistance.

“About 6.20 a boat picks us up and takes us back to the ladder on the right of the _Viribus Unitis_, where a large boat is waiting for the remainder of the crew. When we reach the deck we are received with threats, though the men are not especially violent. I lose sight of Dr. Paolucci in the crowd. It seems that they no longer believe in our warning or in the danger. A sailor begins to rip up my waterproof suit with his knife; others go through my pockets.

“There is a short, smothered thunderclap; the ship shivers violently, while a crest of foam is thrown up all along her starboard side. External damage is very slight, but the ship heels over to the right, at first very rapidly, then more slowly, but steadily. Most of the crowd has left us; a few, however, now close in, threatening to shut us up on board. The Captain, who stands a few meters off, shows no interest in our fate. I appeal to him, reminding him that we are prisoners of war; that what we have done, as belligerents, gives us the right to have our persons respected; that the threatened treatment is contrary to rules of war. The Captain acknowledges the justice of my protest, again gives permission for us to leave, and gives orders in German for a boat within hailing distance on the left of the stern to return and take us off the ship. I succeed meanwhile, with the help of Dr. Paolucci, in ridding myself of my waterproof suit, which had hampered me in swimming and which the sailors had ripped open.