Chapter V: Part 5

Most men agree that war is unnecessary, and before the German attack upon Belgium and upon the liberty of the world, many leaders of thought in other countries were sure a great war could never occur in modern times. One group argued that its cost in money would be so great that no nation could meet it for more than a few months. But the United States is, in 1918, spending nearly $50,000,000 a day for war, and she can continue to do so for some years, if necessary. The cost in dollars will never prevent war nor make a great war a very brief one.

But think of what the cost of the war for one year would accomplish if spent for the purposes of peace, for construction instead of destruction. Ten billion dollars, the approximate cost of the war for the United States for the year 1918, if put at interest at four per cent, would earn $400,000,000, or about the cost of the Panama Canal. This interest would send 500,000 young men and women to college each year, and pay all their necessary expenses. It would do away with all the slums and poverty of our great cities. If the cost to one nation for one year would, as a permanent fund, accomplish this, it is easy to realize that the world could almost be made an ideal one in which to live, if the money that all the nations spend upon the World War could have been saved and made a permanent fund for the betterment of world conditions.

Another group said, "Modern science has made war so terrible and so destructive that men will not take part in it, or if this is not true now, it soon will be." When we think of what has occurred and is occurring every day in the present war, this seems also unlikely.

When we read of guns that will carry a shell weighing a ton for over twenty-five miles which will, when it explodes, destroy everything within an eighth of a mile, and of guns less destructive that will carry over seventy-five miles, almost wholly destroying a church and killing sixty-five men, women, and children; when we read of bombs dropped from the sky, killing innocent women and children, hundreds of miles from the field of battle; of the terrible work of poison gases and of liquid fire; of battles above the clouds from which men fall to death in blazing air-planes, and of battles beneath the waves in which men sink in submarines to be suffocated to death; of an entire ridge being undermined and blown up by tons of dynamite, with an explosion heard nearly one hundred miles away and killing thousands: how can we believe that war is likely soon to become so terrible that men will not engage in it, if they are willing to do so now? Sir Gilbert Parker well says: "Guns have been invented before which the stoutest fortresses shrivel into fiery dust; shells destroy men in platoons, blow them to pieces, bury them alive; death pours from the clouds and spouts upward through the sea; motor-power hurls armies of men on points of attack in masses never hitherto employed; concealment is made well nigh impossible. These things, however, have but made war more difficult and dreadful; they have not made it impossible. They have only succeeded in plumbing profounder depths of human courage, and evoking higher qualities of endurance than have ever been seen before."

No, most people who are thinking about the subject to-day are agreed that wars will not end because of the destructive power of men, but through the constructive power of human feeling and intellect. When the great majority of men recognize, as so many do now, that as the world exists to-day, no nation can ever gain by a war of aggression, but that the nation at war loses her best, her young and strong, and has left only the old and defective who cannot fight, that she loses her industrial and commercial prosperity as well, and through these losses loses more than she can ever gain by conquest; when all nations realize that the destruction of great cathedrals like Rheims, of the beautiful town hall at Lille, of the unique Cloth Market at Ypres, and of a University like that of Louvain makes the whole world poorer beyond measure, then will men agree that no small group of men, and no single nation shall, in the future, be allowed to cause war; and then they will organize some power strong enough to prevent war.

Then will come the League of Nations to Enforce Peace, or the Parliament of Man of which Tennyson wrote in "Locksley Hall" seventy-five years ago. The poet seemed as in a vision to see the present World War with its terrors and its battles in the air. Perhaps his vision of the abolition of war and the federation of the world is equally true.

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew
From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thunder storm;

Till the war drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle flags were furled
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

WHEN GERMANY LOST THE WAR[4]

No man knows exactly when and where the three and twenty allies will win the war, but all men know when and where Germany lost it. It was four years ago this morning, at a point near Gemmenich, a village southwest of Aix-la-Chapelle. It was then and there that the first gray uniform crossed the frontier from Germany into Belgium.

An hour before and it was not too late for Germany to win the war, or at least to lose it with honor. An hour afterward, and Germany was doomed. What has befallen her since that 4th of August, what will befall her in the future, were predetermined from the fatal instant of that summer morning when the first German soldier trod where Prussia had promised he should never go. There is not a German killed to-day in the flight to the Vesle whose fate was not written at Gemmenich.

It was not merely that the invasion of a land guaranteed perpetual neutrality brought Great Britain into the fight and turned into a world war what Germany had hoped would be a small, swift, and easy campaign. It was the exposure of Germany herself. Know of her what we may to-day, we thought of her otherwise four years ago yesterday. She had thrown about herself a mantle which hid the sword and the thick, studded boots. She worked at science and played at art. She sang and thumped the piano. She cleaned her streets and washed her children's faces. Many persons in America and England believed that she was efficient and that her very _verboten_ signs were guides to the ideal life. Even as the Kaiser reviewed his armies he babbled of peace; peace, to believe him, was the first object of his life.

We do not know of any writer who has condensed the proof of Germany's falsehood and cowardice into so few words as Von Bethmann-Hollweg, who, as Chancellor of the Empire, spoke as follows to the Reichstag four years ago this afternoon:

Gentlemen, we are now acting in self-defence. Necessity knows no
law. Our troops have occupied Luxemburg and have possibly
already entered on Belgian soil. [The speaker knew that the
invasion had begun.]

Gentlemen, that is a breach of international law.

The French Government has notified Brussels that it would
respect Belgian neutrality as long as the adversary respected
it. But we know that France stood ready for an invasion. France
could wait, we could not. A French invasion on our flank and the
lower Rhine might have been disastrous. Thus we were forced to
ignore the rightful protests of the Governments of Luxemburg
and Belgium. The injustice--I speak openly--the injustice we
thereby commit we will try to make good as soon as our military
aims have been attained. He who is menaced as we are and is
fighting for his all, can only consider the one and best way to
strike.

There stood the German Empire, intensively trained in the arts of war for forty years, pleading cowardice in extenuation of her broken word. "France could wait, we could not!" A brave man, Bethmann-Hollweg, unless he knew before he spoke that the whole nation had sunk to the immoral level of the cowards who invaded Belgium because they feared that on a fair field France would have beaten them! It is curious that in the whole record of German state-craft in the war, the Chancellor's confession of his empire's degradations stands out almost like a clean thing.

The Chancellor did not deceive the people except in his implication that France would have struck through Belgium if Germany had not. He did not deceive himself, either. He knew the cowardice of Germany. It is probable that he believed, as the Junkers believed, that England, too, was a coward. Prince Lichnowsky had told them the truth about England, but they had not believed. In the years of Kultur, they had forgotten what honor was like. They chose to credit the stories that England was torn with dissensions, threatened with rebellion in Ireland and India, nervous from labor troubles, and not only physically unprepared for war but mentally and morally unfit for war. Even the telegram of Sir Edward Grey, communicated on the day of Belgium's invasion, to the German Government by the British Ambassador at Berlin, did not dispel the illusion about Great Britain:

In view of the fact that Germany declined to give the same
assurance respecting Belgium as France gave last week in reply
to our request made simultaneously at Berlin and Paris, we must
repeat that request and ask that a satisfactory reply to it and
to my telegram of this morning be received here by 12 o'clock
to-night. If not, you are instructed to ask for your passports
and to say that His Majesty's Government feels bound to take all
steps in their power to uphold the neutrality of Belgium and the
observance of a treaty to which Germany is as much a party as
ourselves.

Even that memorable document, we say, did not convince Germany that common honor still lived across the Channel. The Foreign Secretary, Von Jagow, a mere tool of the Kaiser, took it mechanically; but Von Bethmann-Hollweg added to the sum of German cowardice. Brave as he had been in the Reichstag, he whimpered to Sir Edward Goschen when he saw that "12 o'clock to-night" on paper. This account of the conversation is Goschen's, but the German Chancellor later confirmed the Englishman's version:

I found the Chancellor very agitated. His Excellency at once
began a harangue which lasted for about twenty minutes. He said
that the step taken by His Majesty's Government was terrible to
a degree; just for a word--"neutrality," a word which in war
time had so often been disregarded--just for a scrap of paper,
Great Britain was going to make war on a kindred nation who
desired nothing better than to be friends with her.

When he added that it was a matter of "life and death" to Germany to advance through Belgium, the British Ambassador replied that it was "a matter of life and death for the honor of Great Britain that she should keep her solid engagement to do her utmost to defend Belgium's neutrality if attacked." Her utmost! Aye, she has done it!

A last gasp from the German Chancellor: "But at what price will that compact have been kept? Has the British Government thought of that?" Sir Edward Goschen replied that "fear of consequences could hardly be regarded as an excuse for breaking solemn engagements," but these words were lost. The German Chancellor had abandoned himself to the contemplation of the truth: that morning Germany had been beaten when a soldier stepped across a line. How long the decision might be in dispute Bethmann-Hollweg could not know, but he must have known that, cheating, Germany had loaded the dice at the wrong side. If she had struck fairly at France, England would have had to stand by, neutral. The seas would be open to Germany. If France had violated Belgium's neutrality--as Germany professed to believe she intended to do--England would have attacked France, keeping the pledge made in the Treaty of London. But now, because England weighed a promise and not the price of keeping it, there could be no swift stroke at lone France, no dash eastward to subdue Russia. To-day, when Germany sees how ripe Russia was then for revolution, the remembrance of that 4th of August must be the bitterest drop in the deep cup of her regret.

The items at which we have glanced were not all or even the most important acts of Germany's dawning tragedy. It was not merely that she revealed herself to the world, but that she revealed herself to herself. The moving picture of Kultur, of fake idealism, of humaneness, which she had unreeled before our charitable eyes was stopped, and stopped forever. The film, exposed momentarily to the flame of truth, exploded and left on the screen the hideous picture of Germany as she was. No more sham for a naked nation. In went the unmasked Prussian to outrage and murder, to bind and burn. When a Government violated its word to the world, why should the individual check his passions? All the world, at first unbelieving, watched the procession of horror, and then, against its wishes, against all the ingrained faith that the long years had stored within the human breast, the world saw that it was dealing with nothing less than a monster.

England's day, this? Yes, and a glorious anniversary for her. She has indeed kept her "solid engagement to do her utmost." In a million graves are men of the British Empire who did not consider the price at which the compact would be kept. Their lives for a scrap of paper--and welcome! When we think that we are winning the war--and nobody denies that it is American men and food and ships and guns that are winning it now--let us look back to the 4th of August, 1914, and remember what nation it was that stood between the beast and his prey, scorning all his false offers of kindness to Belgium, his promises not to rob France, and his hypocritical cry of "kindred nation" to the England he really hated.

But it is not alone England's day. It is the day of the opening of the world's eyes to the criminality of Prussia. It is the anniversary of Germany's loss of the war. We--America, France, England, Italy, and the rest of us--will win it, but Germany lost it herself with the one stroke at Gemmenich. She believed it a masterpiece of cunning. It was the foul thrust of a coward and the deliberate mistake of a fool.

_The New York Sun_, August 4, 1918.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] COURTESY OF _THE NEW YORK SUN_

CARRY ON![5]

It's easy to fight when everything's right,
And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;
It's easy to cheer when victory's near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It's a different song when everything's wrong,
When you're feeling infernally mortal;
When it's ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little soldier, and chortle:

Carry on! Carry on!
There isn't much punch in your blow.
You're glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
You're muddy and bloody, but never you mind.
Carry on! Carry on!
You haven't the ghost of a show.
It's looking like death, but while you've a breath,
Carry on, my son! Carry on!

And so in the strife of the battle of life
It's easy to fight when you're winning;
It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat
With a cheer, there's the man of God's choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven's own height
Is the man who can fight when he's losing.

Carry on! Carry on!
Things never were looming so black.
But show that you haven't a cowardly streak,
And though you're unlucky you never are weak.
Carry on! Carry on!
Brace up for another attack.

* * * * *

Carry on, old man! Carry on!

There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt,
And some who in brutishness wallow;
There are others, I know, who in piety go
Because of a Heaven to follow.
But to labor with zest, and to give of your best,
For the sweetness and joy of the giving;
To help folks along with a hand and a song;
Why, there's the real sunshine of living.

Carry on! Carry on!
Fight the good fight and true;
Believe in your mission, greet life with a cheer;
There's big work to do, and that's why you are here.
Carry on! Carry on!
Let the world be the better for you;
And at last when you die, let this be your cry:
Carry on, my soul! Carry on!

ROBERT SERVICE.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] COPYRIGHT, BY BARSE AND HOPKINS

WAR DOGS

The story of "The Animals Going to War" tells how, one by one, the wild creatures, then the enemies of man, were made his friends and learned to be his helpers. In the World War, the horse has borne man into the thick of the conflict, the mule has drawn his big guns into place, and the dog has wonderfully come to his aid, so that now, whenever the "dogs of war" are let loose, the war dogs go with them.

The Battle of Verdun had been raging for months; Fort Douaumont had been taken, lost, and finally retaken by the French. The Germans still poured against it a terrific rain of shot and shell, and within the battered fortress the guns were disabled and the ammunition nearly exhausted. Help was needed and needed at once. Long ago the wireless had been shot to pieces, and the telephones had been destroyed. It was sure death for a man to venture outside, let alone trying to reach the lines behind, where he might secure help.

Still the defenders stood firm, and in their hearts, if not with their lips, over and over they repeated those magic words, "They shall not pass!" But the shells continued to fall in their very midst, and unless that battery could be silenced, the fort and all the men in it would be lost. What could be done when no messenger could reach the lines behind?

Suddenly, as the men were straining their eyes almost hopelessly in the direction of those lines, they saw a small, dark speck moving across the fields, stopping only here and there behind a rock to take shelter from the bursting shells. Now and then it dashed wildly over the open fields. But ever straight on toward the fort it came. Swiftly the entrance of the fort was flung open, and in dashed one of the faithful dogs, unhurt. In the wallet, fastened to his collar, was found a message telling that relief was coming. Strapped to his back was a tiny pannier, inside of which were two frightened carrier pigeons. On a slip of paper the commander quickly wrote his message: "Stop the German battery on our left." Then adding any necessary facts as to pointing the guns, he fastened the message to the trembling bird and let it loose. Straight to its home, above shot and shell, flew the pigeon. In a few moments the German battery was silenced, and Douaumont and the brave defenders were saved.

All along the lines, the dogs were busy bearing important messages back and forth from one commander to another, and from one fort to another. Zip, an English bulldog, ran two miles in heavy shell fire and afterward had to go about with his jaw in splints; but he delivered his message and seemed anxious to get well enough to carry another. One of the other messenger dogs, it is said, carried orders almost continuously for seventy-two hours, hardly stopping to eat or drink; for no war dog would eat or drink anything given him by strangers. The faithful animals were in danger of being taken prisoners, as well as of being struck. Indeed, in one instance a heavy cannon rolled over upon a big mastiff, pinning him there until help came.

When the battle ceased, the dogs sprang from the trenches and searched the fields and woods for wounded men. They could find them much more quickly and with less danger of being seen than any Red Cross man.

In former wars among civilized peoples, the firing has always been upon armed forces, and the guns were silent after each battle to allow both sides to find and care for the wounded soldiers in the field. The Germans, however, have used the Red Cross doctors and stretcher-bearers for targets, so that to send them out only means to add them to the number wounded. But the dogs, creeping among the men, can seldom be seen by the enemy, and besides are able to find the wounded quicker and more easily. As soon as a dog finds an injured soldier, he seizes his cap, a button, or a bit of his clothing, and runs back with it to the doctor or a Red Cross nurse, for he will give it to no one else. The stretcher-bearers then follow the dog and bring back the wounded man. Often the man may lie in a dense thicket where no one would think to look for him, but the dog, by his keen sense of smell or by hearing the deep breaths or some slight sound made by the injured man, creeps in and finds him.

Sometimes, to attract the attention of an ambulance driver, the dogs give several short, quick barks; but usually they do their work silently, for if they bark, the enemy will fire.

Many times a dog finds a man unable to get back to the lines, but not so seriously wounded but that he can help himself somewhat. In such a case, before running for help, the dog stands quiet, close to the soldier, and allows him to take the flasks and first-aid bandages from the wallet which is hung about the dog's neck or pinned to the blanket on his back.

Thus, by the help of these faithful friends, the lives of many hundreds of men have been saved. Over one hundred were rescued in one night after a battle. A big Newfoundland, named Napoleon, had the credit of saving as many as twenty. One of the men, in speaking of him, said, "Part of his tail has been blown away, and once he was left for dead in No Man's Land, but he is still on the job, working for civilization."

When not fighting or on watch, the men in the trenches enjoy the company of the dogs and teach them to perform all sorts of tricks, the fox terriers proving especially intelligent. They also do good work in keeping the trenches free from rats.

At night, a French sentinel sometimes crawls through the entanglements on his way to a "listening post" out in No Man's Land. With him goes a sentinel dog. The sentinel's purpose is to discover if the enemy are getting ready for a surprise attack. Lying flat on the earth, or crouching in a shell hole, he listens with bated breath for any telltale noises. The dog, listening too, creeps along beside him, or slinks silently out into the darkness. He can tell, when his master cannot, if an enemy is abroad. Making no sound, giving no betraying bark, as soon as he discovers the enemy the dog draws near to his master, stands at attention, his ears pricked up, his hair bristling, his tail wagging as he silently paws the ground or growls so low that only his master can hear him. If the German soldier attempts to fight, the dog springs at him and throws him to the ground.

A group of soldiers were on watch one night in one of the front trenches, when all of the dogs suddenly became uneasy, growling low, and growing more and more excited. The soldiers knew their dogs and trusted their warnings, so they telephoned back to the main trenches for help. In less than half an hour, an attack was made from the German trenches opposite. Meanwhile, however, reënforcements had arrived for the Allies, which sent the enemy back to his own lines again. How the dogs knew so long before that the attack was coming, whether they could have heard the first faint signs of preparation in the enemy trenches, the soldiers could not tell.

When a front line trench of the enemy is captured, it is the faithful dogs who draw up the many cartloads of ammunition and supplies, and some of the smaller guns. For this, the Belgian dogs are especially well fitted.

Happy as long as they can help in the fighting, restless and uneasy whenever sent back to the hospitals for treatment or rest, these dogs have shown the worth of all the training they have received, as well as a great amount of natural intelligence.

While Zip, Napoleon, Spot, Stop, Mignon, and Bouée have been doing their bit on the firing line, still others have been taking their training in readiness to go to the front. And very hard training it is. Sheep dogs, fox terriers, bulldogs, collies, St. Bernards, Newfoundlands, Alaskan wolf dogs, mongrels,--all must be carefully trained by expert dog trainers.

First they must learn to distinguish between the uniform of their country and that of the enemy. They must not bark, because then the enemy will be sure to shoot. In carrying letters from post to post, they must learn to recognize the posts by name.

About three months of training are necessary to teach the dogs to travel as far as three kilometres in this work. Two of the dogs are put into the care of two trainers, and taught to recognize both as their masters, and to carry dispatches from one to the other.

The dogs must be trained to obey implicitly. If the master stops abruptly in his walk, the dog must do the same; if the trainer runs, the dog must keep in perfect step, ready at a given signal to lie down, or follow a scent, or find a wounded soldier. For many hours he must be trained in jumping, because of the great heights over which he must spring, carrying heavy weights in his mouth or upon his back or around his neck. He must learn to make no sound except when ordered to do so, to find objects which have been most skillfully hidden, to distinguish between a dead man and one wounded and breathing, to deliver the token of a wounded man only to the doctor or Red Cross nurse, to allow nothing to hinder him from carrying out any task, to refuse food and water from strangers, and to aid soldiers on the watch. These watch dogs must learn to give a signal when they scent poison gas or hear the enemy creeping up. And they must guard prisoners very carefully.

Some dogs cannot learn all of these duties, and so specialists examine every dog that is enlisted. There are tests for health, intelligence, speed, quick tempers, and even tempers. When a dog has been in training for several weeks, he is sometimes found in the end to be unfit for service, and the trainer has to admit a new recruit in his place and start all over again. Often a dog can do certain tasks much better than others, and so each one is assigned to the kind of service which he can do best.

It is marvelous what great services these dogs have rendered in the World War. The governments have recognized their worth, and societies have been formed to train and protect them. The French people, in 1912, organized the "Blue Cross." It is a Blue Cross officer who examines the dogs and a Blue Cross doctor who gives first aid and orders an injured dog to the hospital for further treatment. The Blue Cross also has been at work in Italy.

The American Red Cross Society has taken over the task of securing and protecting dogs on the American front, but instead of the red cross, the animals wear a red star, so that the field is blest with three red symbols of mercy--the red cross, the red triangle, and the red star. The number of dogs added to the war service during the first four years of the war was about ten thousand on all fronts.

Not only have dogs been provided by various societies, but many have been given by private families. One elderly French father wrote to the French War Department, "I already have three sons and a son-in-law with the Colors; now I give up my dog, and 'Vive la France!'"

The French government officials, as well as the various societies, have shown their gratitude by awarding honors to the canine heroes. Many have been mentioned in the orders for bravery and heroic conduct. Several have been presented with gold collars. The French government has even published a "Golden Book of Dogs," in which are recorded some of the heroic deeds of these brave and faithful friends of man. One of the dogs wearing a French medal of honor is a plucky fox terrier, who is said to have saved one hundred fifty lives after the Battle of the Marne. Bouée, a fuzzy-haired, dirty, yellow-and-black, tailless little fellow, is another hero, who has been cited three times for his bravery. During a heavy action, when all the telephone wires had been destroyed, Bouée carried communications between a commandant and his force, fulfilling his duty perfectly without allowing anything to distract him.

Shall we not change the old proverb from "As brave as a lion," to "As brave as a dog"?

THE _BELGIAN PRINCE_

The _Belgian Prince_ was a British cargo steamer. On a voyage from Liverpool to Philadelphia, with Captain Hassan in command, she was, on July 31, 1917, attacked and sunk by a German U-boat. For brutal savagery and barbarism, the drowning of the crew of the _Belgian Prince_ is one of the most astounding in the history of human warfare. Captain Hassan was taken aboard the U-boat, and no further knowledge of his fate has been received. The _Belgian Prince_ was a merchant ship, not a warship in any sense of the word.

The Germans evidently intended to sink her without a trace left behind to tell the story, as their Minister to Argentina advised his government to do with Argentine ships; but three members of her crew, the chief engineer and two seamen, escaped as by a miracle. Their stories are now among the records of the British Admiralty; they have also been published in many books which have a place in thousands of libraries, public and private, all over the world. How will the Hun, when peace comes again, face his fellow-men?

The story of the chief engineer, Thomas Bowman, is as follows:

At 7:50 P.M. on the night of July 31, the _Belgian Prince_ was
traveling along at ten knots, when she was struck. The weather
was fine and the sea smooth. It was a clear day and just
beginning to darken. I was on the after deck of the ship, off
watch, taking a stroll and having a smoke. The donkeyman shouted
out, "Here's a torpedo coming." I turned and saw the wake on the
port about a hundred yards away. I yelled a warning, but the
words were no more than out of my mouth when we were hit.

I was thrown on deck by a piece of spar, and when I recovered I
found the ship had a very heavy list to port and almost all the
crew had taken to the boats. I got into the starboard lifeboat,
which was my station. Until then I had seen no submarine, but
now heard it firing a machine gun at the other side of the ship.
With a larger gun it shot away the radio wires aloft so that we
could send out no S.O.S. messages. As soon as we had pulled away
from the ship I saw the U-boat, which promptly made toward our
own boats and hailed us in English, commanding us to come
alongside her. We were covered by their machine gun and
revolvers. We were in two lifeboats and the captain's dinghy.

The submarine commander then asked for our captain and told him
to come on board, which he did. He was taken down inside the
submarine and we saw him no more. The rest of us, forty-three in
number, were then ordered to board the submarine and to line up
on deck. A German officer and several sailors were very foul and
abusive in their language. They ordered us, in English, to strip
off our life belts and overcoats and throw them down on the
deck.

When this was done they proceeded to search us, making us hold
up our hands and threatening us with revolvers. These sailors,
while they passed along the deck and were searching us,
deliberately kicked most of the life belts overboard from where
we had dropped them. Beyond making us take off our life belts
and coats there was no interference with our clothing. They
robbed me of my seaman's discharge book and certificate, which
they threw overboard, but kept four one-pound notes.

After searching us, the German sailors climbed into our
lifeboats and threw out the oars, gratings, thole-pins, and
baling tins. The provisions and compass they lugged aboard the
submarine. They then smashed our boats with axes so as to make
them useless, and cast them adrift. I saw all this done myself.
Several of the German sailors then got into our dinghy and rowed
to the _Belgian Prince_. These men must have been taken off
later, after they had ransacked the ship.

The submarine then moved ahead for a distance of several miles.
I could not reckon it accurately because it was hard to judge
her speed. She then stopped, and after a moment or two I heard a
rushing sound like water pouring into the ballast tanks of the
submarine.

"Look out for yourselves, boys," I shouted. "She is going down."

The submarine then submerged, leaving all our crew in the water,
barring the captain, who had been taken below. We had no means
of escape but for those who had managed to retain their life
belts. I tried to jump clear, but was carried down with the
submarine, and when I came to the surface I could see only about
a dozen of our men left afloat, including a young lad named
Barnes, who was shouting for help.

I swam toward him and found that he had a life belt on, but was
about paralyzed with cold and fear. I held him up during the
night. He became unconscious and died while I was holding him.
All this time I could hear no other men in the water. When dawn
broke I could see the _Belgian Prince_ about a mile and a half
away and still floating. I began to swim in her direction, but
had not gone far when I saw her blow up.

I then drifted about in the life belt for an hour or two longer
and saw smoke on the horizon. This steamer was laying a course
straight for me, having seen the explosion of the _Belgian
Prince_. She proved to be a British naval vessel, which also
found the two other survivors in the water. We were taken to
port and got back our strength after a while. None of us had
given the submarine commander and crew any reason for their
behavior toward us. And I make this solemn declaration
conscientiously, believing it to be true.

The two common sailors who survived were William Snell, a negro, of Norfolk, Virginia, and George Silenski, a Russian. William Snell's story is as follows:

Two men of the submarine's crew stayed on top of the conning
tower with rifles in their hands which they kept trained on us.
Seven other Germans stood abreast of our line on the starboard
side of the boat, armed with automatic pistols. The captain of
the submarine, a blond man with blue eyes, was also on deck and
stood near the forward gun, giving orders to his crew in German,
and telling them what to do. Pretty soon he walked along in
front of the men of the _Belgian Prince_, asking them if they
had arms on them. He ordered us to take off our life belts and
throw them on deck, which we did. As they dropped at our feet,
he helped his sailors pick them up and sling them overboard.

When I threw my belt down, I shoved it along on the deck with my
foot, and finally stood on it. As the commander walked along the
line, he huddled us together in a crowd and then went and pulled
the plugs out of our lifeboats, which were lying on the
starboard side of the submarine. When he went back to the
conning tower, I quickly picked up my belt and hid it under a
big, loose oilskin which I was wearing when I left the _Belgian
Prince_. The Germans did not make me take it off when they
searched me. I hugged the life belt close to my breast with one
arm.

When the commander returned to the conning tower, four German
sailors came on deck from below and got into our captain's small
boat, which was on the port side. The submarine then backed a
little, steamed ahead, and rammed and smashed one of our
lifeboats, which had been cast adrift.

The four men who had jumped into our captain's boat now pulled
alongside the _Belgian Prince_. The submarine then got under way
and moved ahead at about nine knots, as near as I could guess,
leaving her four men aboard the _Belgian Prince_, and all of us,
except our skipper, huddled together on the forward deck, which
was almost awash.

She steamed like this for some time, and then I noticed that the
water was rising slowly on the deck until it came up to my
ankles. I had also noticed, a little while before this, that the
conning tower was closed. The water kept on rising around my
legs, and when it got almost up to my knees I pulled out my life
belt, threw it over my shoulders, and jumped overboard. The
other men didn't seem to know what was going to happen. Some of
them were saying, "I wonder if they mean to drown us."

About ten seconds after I had jumped, I heard a suction as of a
vessel sinking and the submarine had submerged entirely, leaving
the crew of the _Belgian Prince_ to struggle in the water.

I began to swim toward our own ship which I could see faintly in
the distance, it being not very dark in that latitude until late
in the evening. The water was not cold, like the winter time,
and I was not badly chilled, but swam and floated all night, on
my back and in other positions. One of our crew, who had no
life belt, kept about five yards from me for half an hour after
the submarine submerged. Then he became exhausted and sank. I
could hear many other cries for help, but I could not see the
men.

When day came, there were lots of bodies of old shipmates
floating around me. Then about five o'clock, as near as I can
judge, I made out the _Belgian Prince_ and four men coming over
the side. They had been lowering some stuff into a boat. I cried
out, "Help, help!" but they paid no attention to me.

Then the submarine came to the surface and the four sailors
hoisted their stuff out of the rowboat and were taken aboard.
Ten minutes later the submarine submerged. Then there was a
great explosion as the _Belgian Prince_ broke in two and sank.
Soon I saw a vessel approaching and she passed me, but turned
and came back just in time. I was all in. It was a British
patrol steamer, and as soon as I came to, I made a full report
to the captain of the loss of the _Belgian Prince_ and the
drowning of her crew.

The Russian, in his story, tells of the taking away of the life belts and the smashing of the lifeboats; of the crew of the _Belgian Prince_ being left to sink or swim after the U-boat submerged--in all of these details agreeing with the stories of the other two. And he adds:

Then I swam toward the ship all night, although I had no life
belt or anything to support me. About five o'clock in the
morning I reached the _Belgian Prince_ and climbed on board. I
stayed there about an hour and got some dry clothes and put them
on.

I saw the submarine come near the ship and three or four of her
men climbed on board. I hid and they did not notice me. They
had come to put bombs in the ship, so I jumped overboard from
the poop with a life belt on. The submarine fired two shells
into the ship to make her hurry up and sink. Then the Germans
steamed away. I climbed into our little boat which had been left
adrift and stayed there until a British patrol ship came along
and picked me up.

Do you wonder that the members of the British Seamen's Union have taken a pledge, "No peace until the sea is free from Hun outrages"; and that they have declared a boycott on all German ships, cargoes, and sailors for seven years after the war? Sailors of other nations are joining with the British in this boycott.

* * * * *

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The thronèd monarch better than his crown:

* * * * *

It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.

SHAKESPEARE.

DARING THE UNDARABLE

We are thirty in the hands of Fate
And thirty-one with Death, our mate.

So sang the men who, with D'Annunzio, the Italian poet and hero, set out "to dare the undarable."

Little has yet been told of the deeds of the Italians in the World War, but as they become known, the people of other nations realize that Italy has really worked wonders in her almost superhuman attempts to conquer, not only men, but nature as well. When the complete story is written of her struggles with avalanches, snow, frost, and enemy soldiers in the mountain passes, it will be one continuous record of heroic deeds.

D'Annunzio, although well over fifty years of age, and in most countries judged too old for actual warfare, has been one of Italy's most daring fighters. He was known throughout his native land by his writings, and his fiery, passionate pleas published in all Italian cities before Italy entered the war, helped his countrymen see the right and decide to fight for it.

As soon as Italy decided to join the Allies, D'Annunzio sought and was granted a post of great danger. He became an aviator, in the same corps with his son.

Austria, whenever possible, sent aviators over Venice and other Italian cities to drop bombs, although this warfare upon non-combatant women and children was contrary to international law. The Austrians, like the Germans, seemed to believe that it was wise for them to use any means to win.

In August, 1918, D'Annunzio commanded a flight of eight bombing airplanes over Vienna. It was a long-distance record for a squadron of planes. Leaving the Italian lines at half past five in the morning, they flew to Vienna and back, over six hundred miles, reaching home in about sixteen hours. It was necessary for them to fly very high, at about fifteen thousand feet, to cross the Alps and to escape the Austrian barrage. All the machines returned but one, which was obliged to land on account of engine trouble.

More than a million printed declarations, or statements, were dropped on Vienna to inform the Austrians of the real state of affairs. In Germany and Austria, the people were allowed to know only what their rulers thought would be good for them to know. D'Annunzio wanted to show them that Italians could drop bombs on Vienna if they desired to do so, or thought it right to do so.

The manifestoes, as they are called, were in German, and read as follows:

We Italians do not war upon women, children, and old men--but
only upon your blind, obstinate, and cruel rulers, who cannot
give you either peace or food, but try to keep you quiet with
hatred and falsehood.

You are said to be intelligent. Why do you wear the uniform of
Prussia? It is suicide for you to continue the war. The victory
that would end the war promised to you by the Prussians is like
the wheat they promised you from Ukraine. You will all die while
waiting for it. People of Vienna, think for yourselves! Awake!

In February, 1918, D'Annunzio with twenty-nine companions set out on three small torpedo boats to destroy some Austrian warships discovered by an Italian aviator to be lying hidden in the Bay of Buccari. To get at them, it was necessary to steam past the Austrian fortifications. Discovery meant death.

It is not strange that D'Annunzio was the mastermind of this expedition, for he loves the sea, as he says, with all the strength of his soul. He was born on a yacht at sea and has written much about ships and the ocean. He has taken as his motto three Latin words, "Memento audere semper," which mean, "Remember always to dare."

As they steam away from the Italian shores, D'Annunzio talks to his brave companions. He says, "Sailors, companions, what we are about to do is a task for silent men. Silence is our trusty helmsman. For that reason I need not urge you with many words to be brave, for I know you are already eager to match your courage against the unknown danger. If I were to tell you where we are bound, you would hardly be able to keep from dancing for joy. We are only a handful of men on three small ships, but our hearts are stronger than the motors, and our wills can go further than the torpedoes.

"We carry with us, to leave for a souvenir for the enemy, three bottles sealed and crowned with the flaming tricolor of Italy. We will leave them to-night floating on the smooth surface of the bay amid the wreckage of the vessels we have struck."

Then D'Annunzio reads to them the letter which he has written and inclosed in each bottle, ridiculing the Austrians because they have hidden their ships safely behind the guns of the forts, and do not have courage to come out in the open sea. He says the Italians are always ready "to dare the undarable," and that they have come to make the enemy whom they hate most of all, the laughingstock of the world.

He goes on speaking to the sailors: "Because this thing that we attempt is so dangerous, we have already conquered Fate. To-morrow your names will be honored in all Italy, and will shine as golden as the torpedo. Therefore, every one to-day must give all of himself and more than all of himself, all of his strength and courage, and even more. Do you swear it? Answer me."

The sailors cry, "We swear it! Viva l'Italia!"

And D'Annunzio answers, "Memento audere semper."

They have been steaming for twenty-four hours and are now very near the enemy's guns guarding the entrance to the bay. The very audacity of the Italians seems to save them, for they steam on unchallenged, and when near enough, discharge a torpedo at the giant Austrian dreadnought. The ship is struck and all is excitement and confusion. Rockets are sent up to alarm and inform the forts. The Italian torpedo boats turn for home. D'Annunzio says, "The sky is starry, the sea is starry, and our hearts are starry, too."

One of their three ships is soon disabled and falls behind. The other two turn back to help her, and this is what probably saves them all; for the Austrian forts, seeing them sailing into the harbor, think they are Austrian vessels and do not fire upon them. When they steam out of the harbor, the forts think they are Austrian torpedo boats in pursuit of the Italians who must have escaped in the darkness. As D'Annunzio says, "Our very audacity has conquered Fate."

They sank one of the largest of the Austrian dreadnoughts, and then returned in safety to Italy.

It remained, however, for another Italian naval officer to outdo those who "dared the undarable" at Buccari. Lieutenant Luigi Rizzo, with two small motor patrol boats, succeeded in sinking two huge dreadnoughts protected by an escort of fast destroyers. His story of the encounter is as follows:

We were returning to our base just before dawn on July 10, 1918,
after a night of dull, monotonous work along the enemy's coast,
when I saw smoke coming from ships nearly two miles away. I
thought we had been discovered and were being pursued. The only
way I could know what we had to contend with was to get nearer
the enemy, so I turned the two boats in my command toward the
distant smoke.

Soon I discovered that it was two of Austria's largest
dreadnoughts protected by a great convoy of destroyers.
Evidently because we were so small, we had not been seen in the
darkness; and although we were poorly armed, with only two large
torpedoes for each of our two boats and eight smaller ones to
throw by hand, we crept ahead until we were inside the line of
the destroyers, and slowly and quietly approaching the
dreadnoughts. I headed for one of them which proved to be the
_St. Stephen_, and Lieutenant Aonzo, in charge of the other
boat, made for the other, the _Prince Eugene_.

Then the watch on the dreadnoughts discovered us and began to
fire at us with their small guns. How we escaped destruction is
a miracle. Lieutenant Aonzo sent his first torpedo, and missed;
but the second struck the giant fairly. Both of my torpedoes
struck the _St. Stephen_.

After that all was confusion and excitement. We were fired upon
and encircled by a muddled crowd of destroyers. I turned my boat
to escape. A destroyer stood directly in my way and I veered off
and almost touched the bow of the sinking _St. Stephen_ in
passing. The destroyers gave their attention to me and this
allowed Lieutenant Aonzo to escape.

I saw that I would soon be overtaken, so I sent two torpedoes at
the nearest destroyer. The first missed, but the second hit the
mark. There was a tremendous explosion. The destroyer wobbled
and began to turn over. I put on all power and escaped in the
darkness.

The whole thing did not take over fifteen minutes. When we were
sure of our escape, the five boys of my crew went nearly mad
with joy, hugging, cheering, kissing, and crying in their
excitement at what we had done. They hoisted our largest flag
and trimmed our boat with bunting. A short way from us we could
see that Lieutenant Aonzo was doing the same.

We knew the reception we would have when those at home learned
the story, but we did not expect so much. The King decorated and
honored us, the Admiralty gave us prize money, and the people
added their contributions to it, for they declared we doubtless
saved the city of Ancona from bombardment.

Lieutenant Rizzo was promoted to the rank of Commandant although not yet thirty years of age.

The _St. Stephen_ sank where she was torpedoed. The _Prince Eugene_ was able to make for home, but sank before she reached there, a short way from the Austrian coast. At the beginning of 1918, Austria had four of these giant dreadnoughts; on July 11, she had but one still floating.

KILLING THE SOUL