Chapter XII: Part 12

I think I can say that I was one of the few persons who really saw a torpedo discharged at the _Lusitania_. Coming on deck from the dining saloon. I was leaning against the starboard rail of the ship when I saw the periscope of a submarine about two hundred yards away. Then I noticed a long white streak of foam. It gave me the impression of frothy fizzing in water. A woman came to me and said: "There's a torpedo coming." Before she had finished the explosion took place and tons of debris were blown up through the four decks. Almost immediately there was a terrific impact, followed by an explosion. The _Lusitania_ was going at fifteen knots at the time. The shot was perfectly aimed at the boat, and when it struck, debris, dust and water were thrown up in a dense column through the entire superstructure of the vessel about the bridge. A hundred must have been blown to atoms, including trimmers and stokers, to say nothing of men and women in the forward cabins, who were about to come on deck.

The _Lusitania_ fell over to starboard and then slowly righted part way. Nearly every one rushed below. I went to the flying deck and stood between the funnels, where I could see them making an awful mess of getting the boats out. They were cutting and hacking at them. The first boat floated away empty. The next three were smashed. The Marconi main room was put out of commission by the first torpedo; then the wireless operator rushed to the emergency room, and just as he got the first reply to the "S. O. S." the whole apparatus went out of action.

The first torpedo hit amidship by the grand entrance to the saloon and rear of the bridge. A Marconi man rushed to me and offered me a chair, and said I had better take that, as it might be useful and better than nothing.

A few moments after the explosion the vessel toppled over, as if she were in drydock and some of the underpinning on the starboard side had been knocked away. There was a frantic dash from the starboard entrances to the port side and from below women were shouting, "What shall we do?" They knew well what had happened, as the chance of being torpedoed was discussed every day. I heard nothing else on the voyage. When the _Lusitania_ listed still more I slid off the flying deck on to the boat deck, and from there fell into a boat lying alongside. As I got into the boat she was swept almost away by one of the funnels falling across her, and we only managed to push clear. I saw a minister's wife sucked right down one of the funnels and shot out again, looking like a piece of burned coal. We managed to save her. I rowed for some time with a woman between my knees before discovering that she was dead.

There was no great excitement, in the real sense of the word. Most of the women tried hard to keep cool, and except for occasional screams of "Where is my husband? Where is my child?" they acted bravely. I noticed more people going below than coming on deck after the explosion. The last person I spoke to before the vessel went down was Mrs. Mason, the young American daughter of William Lindsay, a manufacturer of Boston, who was on her honeymoon. She was asking for her husband.

Alfred Vanderbilt I saw standing outside the grand entrance of the saloon, looking quite happy and perfectly composed. He was holding a jewel case for a lady, for whom he was apparently waiting. I did not see Charles Frohman until I saw his body in a mortuary. His was the most peaceful face among all those I saw there. There was no trace of agony, and unlike others his features were not disfigured in any way. Frohman was none too well on the voyage, and was hardly able to walk, so he remained in his cabin most of the time, where, I believe, he was when the ship sank. Elbert Hubbard and his wife I also believe went down in their cabin.

The first two boats from the port side were manned principally by officers. The slow speed gave the Germans an absolutely pointblank shot. They couldn't miss. Only God's fair weather and daylight brought us ashore. If the _Lusitania_ had been convoyed or had put on speed she would have been here now.

The wireless operators were still sending out calls from their emergency apparatus, the main wireless room having been disorganized. The ship was now listing badly to starboard, and, taking a swivel chair which an operator offered to me, I slid down into the water and to a boat which was still attached to the davits and which was partly covered with water. We cleared the boat not a moment too soon, for we had hardly done so when the vessel went down on the starboard side, one of the funnels grazing our heads. In the twinkling of an eye the monster vessel disappeared amidst the cries of those who had been caught. It was one long indescribable scene of agony. There was floating debris on all sides and men and women and children clinging for dear life to deck chairs and rafts which littered the water. Many were entangled in wreckage, and one by one they seemed to fall off and give themselves up.

About the last thing I saw happen on the boat was the chief Marconi operator taking a photograph when the vessel was listed to 45 degrees, but the pictures were spoiled by the water. We rowed around for three and a half hours before we were picked up.

IV--STORY TOLD BY GEORGE A. KESSLER, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

I saw the wake of the first torpedo the moment before the _Lusitania_ was struck. I was on the upper deck. Looking out to sea, I saw all at once the wash of a torpedo, indicated by the snakelike churn on the surface of the water. It was about thirty feet away. Then came the thud as it struck the ship. Mr. Berth and his wife, of New York, first class passengers, were the last persons I spoke to on the ship. About this time all the passengers in the dining saloon had come up on deck. The upper deck was crowded, and the passengers were wondering what was the matter, few really believing that the ship had been torpedoed. They began to lower boats. I saw Berth help his wife into a boat. I fell into the same boat and we were shipped down into the water.

About a minute after the boat struck the water, I looked up and cried out: "My God! The _Lusitania_ is gone!" We saw her entire bulk, which had been almost upright just a few seconds before, suddenly lurch over away from us. Then she seemed to stand upright in the water and the next instant the keel of the vessel caught the keel of our boat and we were thrown into the water. There were only about thirty people in the boat and I should say that all were stokers or third class passengers.

When the boat was overturned I sank fifteen or twenty feet and I thought I was a goner. However, I had my lifebelt around me and I managed to rise again to the surface. There I floated for possibly ten or fifteen minutes, when I made a grab at a collapsible lifeboat, to which other passengers were clinging. We managed to get it shipshape and clamber in. There were eight or nine in the boat. It was partly filled with water, and in the scramble which occurred the boat overturned, and once more we were pitched into the water. This occurred, I should say, eight times, the boat righting itself each time. Before we were picked up by the _Bluebell_ six of the party of eight or nine were lying drowned in the bilge water in the bottom of the boat. It was cold-blooded, deliberate murder and nothing else--the greatest murder the world has ever known.

V--STORY OF CHARLES T. JEFFREY, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

I was in the smoking room when the explosion took place. It shook the whole ship, just as a train would shake if the locomotive suddenly stopped and backed into it. I did not, of course, know what it was, and it did not occur to me that we had been torpedoed. I thought it might be a mine, or that we had run upon a rock, but it simply did not occur to my mind to imagine anything so horrible as that this defenseless ship with its helpless passengers would be torpedoed without warning.

I left the smoking room and went out on deck to look over the side at the spot where the ship was when the explosion took place. It was about 300 feet away. The ship began to take a list to starboard, but very slowly. There was no panic, either then or at any other time. Many other passengers came out and looked over the side, just as I did, but there were no signs of alarm or any rushing about.

I went down to "A" deck to see what was happening there, but there was no commotion, any more than there was on the upper one, to which I returned. But the ship was listing more and more. The lifeboats had been swung out the previous day, and I saw women and children being put into them by sailors. There was no rushing for the boats, no struggling for places; everything was being done with perfect calmness and orderliness. I went down to my cabin, meeting many people in the alleyways with lifebelts and others going for them.

I made my way aft, and seeing no one on the navigating bridge, scrambled up there, where I could observe everything that was happening along one side of the ship. The ship now heeled over so much that the passengers were clinging to the deck rail. It was a terrible sight; their helplessness, with the great ship steadily going down under us.

Suddenly there came a terrific rumbling, roaring noise; the huge ship trembled as her funnels went over, and she just slid under the waves by the head. Then she seemed to be suddenly checked, as though her bow had struck something, but it was only momentary, and in another moment she disappeared under the water. I went down with her, but came to the surface again very quickly. All around me I saw great numbers of persons struggling in the water. Presently there floated near me a rectangular sheet metal can, like the air tank of a lifeboat, and I clutched it. I waited for a rescuer, but there was none in sight. Then two men came along, hanging on to a barrel with handles on each end, so I brought my tank over and caught on to it for company. We were hanging on for some time, when a man of seventy-five and a boy of seventeen came along on a plank. The boy could not swim. We caught them and added them and their plank to our party.

After another twenty minutes or so we saw in the distance what looked like a raft, so we swam toward it, pushing our supports. It took us nearly half an hour to reach that raft, and it turned out to be a collapsible boat.

We were in this boat some time, and were taking in water steadily, when a man weighing perhaps 250 pounds floated by, without any life preserver. He was all in, but we got him aboard. Next a foreigner, who could speak no English, got in with us. Then a woman floated along with a deck chair and an oar, and we took her aboard, but it was doubtful how long we could remain afloat, so one man took the can I spoke of and pushed off on his own account.

At last, at 6.10, after four hours in the water, the trawler took us in. We were stiff and cold, and went down to the engine room to dry our clothes. We were tended with the greatest care by the crew. It was an experience no man would like to face again, and those who went through it will have a lasting memory of its horror. Why, I remember on the voyage over remarking that I never saw so many babies and young children on any ship.

VI--STORY TOLD BY DR. DANIEL V. MOORE, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

After the explosion quiet and order were soon accomplished by assurances from the stewards. I proceeded to the deck promenade for observation and saw only that the ship was fast leaning to starboard. I hurried toward my cabin below for a lifebelt and turned back because of the difficulty in keeping upright. I struggled to D deck and forward to the first-class cabin, where I saw a Catholic priest.

I could find no belts and returned again toward E deck and saw a stewardess struggling to dislodge a belt. I helped her with hers and secured one for myself. I then rushed to D deck and noticed one woman perched on the gunwale, watching a lowering lifeboat ten feet away. I pushed her down and into the boat, then jumped in. The stern of the lifeboat continued to lower, but the bow stuck fast. A stoker cut the bow ropes with a hatchet, and we dropped in a vertical position.

A girl whom we had heard sing at a concert was struggling and I caught her by the ankle and pulled her in. A man I grasped by the shoulders and I landed him safe. He was the barber of the first-class cabin, and a more manly man I never met. He showed his courage and his will later on.

We pushed away hard to avoid the suck, but our boat was fast filling and we bailed fast with one bucket and the women's hats. The man with the bucket became exhausted and I relieved him. In a few minutes she was level full. Then a keg floated up and I pitched it about ten feet away and followed it. After reaching it I turned to see the fate of our boat. She had capsized and covered many. Now a young steward, Freeman, by name, had approached me, clinging to a deck chair. I urged him to grab the other side of the keg several times. He grew faint, but harsh speaking roused him. Once he said: "I am going to go," but I ridiculed this and it gave him strength. By stroking with our legs we succeeded in reaching a raft.

We were in the water about one hour and a half. At this time I suffered from violent vomiting. Then followed appalling chills, but by beating myself I restored my energy and was soon handling an oar. Freeman collapsed, but recovered after reaching the patrol boat _Brock_. There were about twenty-three persons on the raft. They worked nobly in picking five of us up after what seemed an eternity.

The good boat _Brock_ and her splendid officers and men took us aboard. I went to the engine room and stripped to the skin. Here and in the room above I cared for men and women as they were rescued. Little ten-year-old Frank Hook had his left thigh bone fractured. This I reduced and splinted, and in a short while Frank asked, "Is there a funny paper on the boat?"

At the scene of the catastrophe the surface of the water seemed dotted with bodies. Only a few of the lifeboats seemed to be doing any good. The cries of "My God!" "Save us!" and "Help!" gradually grew weaker from all sides and finally a low weeping, wailing, inarticulate sound, mingled with coughing and gurgling, made me heartsick. I saw many men die. Some appeared to be sleepy and worn out just before they went down, others grew gradually blue and an air of hunger gave their features a sardonic smile.

There was no suction when the ship settled. She went down steadily and at the best possible angle. The lifeboats were not in order and they were not manned. Most of the people rushed to the upper decks.

I did not hear a second explosion. There is no more horrible or pitiable sight possible than the sight of the faces of mothers and babies and girls here in the morgues.

Weighing all the facts soberly convinces me that it was only through the mercy of God that any one was saved. I sailed from America that I might offer my services as a surgeon. I have visited the Valley of Death and am heartsick.

VII--STORY OF FUNERAL OF "LUSITANIA'S" DEAD--TOLD BY AN EYE-WITNESS

Ninety-two passengers of the _Lusitania_ who formed part of that pitiful handful of maimed, dead and dying brought ashore with the survivors of the disaster that followed the attack on the vessel by a German submarine were buried with services that have no parallel in history. Under a sky in which not a single cloud floated and to the strains of hymns played by British soldiers they were laid to rest two miles behind Queenstown in a cemetery bursting with spring greenery and tucked between hills flaming with gorse. The services at the graves began at four o'clock, and at half-past four the sod of Ireland was being shovelled upon the coffins.

Queenstown sensed the full horror of the _Lusitania_ disaster. Up to the time that the long stream of coffins began to disappear over the hill behind the town there was about the affair, what with the continued searches for survivors and the bustle about the morgue, something of the unusual and theatric. But when the funeral started the realization came that each of these cheap coffins held a body and that in the Atlantic, less than twenty miles away, there were more than a thousand in addition, all victims of a German submarine.

The townsfolk stood hatless nearly all forenoon as the coffins were conveyed to the cemetery on carts. This process required hours, and it was not until three o'clock in the afternoon that the funeral procession proper left the Cunard offices at the waterfront. There were only three bodies, one each in a hearse, in this cortège, the other eighty-nine already having been placed in the graves.

With the British army band playing Chopin's "Funeral March" the funeral procession marched through the crooked streets past the cathedral, which stands on the highest point of the town, and then took its course along an undulating country road, now rising and now sinking between green hills. Along this road country folk were clustered for the most part, perched on stone fences behind the soldiers who guarded the road the entire two miles from the cathedral to the cemetery. Those waiting in the graveyard first heard, borne faintly on the soft breeze, the notes of the funeral march and then the sound of muffled drums. A moment later the sun flashed on the band instruments and the cortège took form in the distance. Not for more than an hour, however, did it reach the lane bordering the cemetery, which it entered in the following order:--

A major of the Royal Irish infantry on horseback, five members of the Irish Constabulary and a group of Protestant churchmen, then in black robes came thirteen priests, and behind them were the hearses, draped with British flags, to the rear of which trudged the mourners, among them several American survivors of the disaster.

The sailors from the steamship _Wayfarer_, which was recently torpedoed but was able to make port, came next, and behind them the members of the Corporation of Cork, headed by the Lord Mayor. A company of marines followed and then came sailors of the various British ships in harbor. The British officers, numbering a hundred odd, marched erect but slow. Next in line were captains Miller and Castle, Attachés of the American Embassy in London. Both were dressed in khaki uniforms. A party of British naval officers and Admiral Sir Charles Coke, of Queenstown, followed them. The Most Reverend Robert Browne, Bishop of Cloyne, rode in a carriage.

The procession was a full hour in passing into the cemetery. There soldiers guarded the walls as six other soldier pallbearers lifted the coffins from the hearses and set them beside the graves. The three coffins rested beside separate graves. The other eighty-nine had previously been placed in three great pits--sixty-five in one, in layers two deep, and twelve each in the other two. Conducted by Bishop Browne, the Catholic service was held first, the choir boys bearing incense, appearing from a cluster of elms and coming to the graveside. The Church of Ireland service, that is, the Protestant Episcopal, followed, and finally the non-conformist rites were performed. As the last words of this service were spoken the muffled drums rolled and the familiar hymn, "Abide with Me," swelled forth. Sailors who had replaced the soldier pallbearers then lowered the coffins into the small graves, and simultaneously the earth began to thud on the coffins in all the graves. The crowd, nearly all with eyes wet, slowly left, some to take jaunting cars, but most of them to trudge across the fields of the city. As they reached the crest of the hill immediately above the harbor flashed into view and in it the flag of every vessel fluttered at half mast.

Many children and little babies lie in the morgues like so many dolls. The townspeople covered them with flowers yesterday and it is probable these little ones will be placed in a grave together.

WITH THE AMERICAN SOLDIERS ON THE FIELDS OF FRANCE

_Personal Experiences Direct from the Front_

This is a series of personal narratives and letters from the
American soldiers with Pershing in France. This great American army
"captivated the French imagination." Our boys who have gone across
seas to fight with the Allies carried the American flag into new
glories and triumphs that will become epics of valor in the annals
of mankind. These letters have been collected by the _New York Sun_,
with whose permission they are given permanent historical record.
They give a clear insight into the American soldier's life in the
first days of Pershing's army in France.

I--STORY OF LIFE OF THE AMERICAN SOLDIER

(Told by Private Joseph A. Deegan, of the Eleventh Railway Engineers)

_The daily life of the American soldiers and their relations with those of other nations is an intimate and interesting phase of the war concerning which little has been published. Here is a description of them among the French, the Chinese laborers and Hindus and the German trenches:_

Fine is no name for the way I feel. The climate in the part of France we have finally settled in is just betwixt and between. It is lukewarm. Over in England it was rain, rain, rain. Everything was wet and muddy. We slept and ate in mud right up to our mustaches. However, the blooming little isle had its good points, so I ought not to knock it. London gave us a royal welcome, and I now have a few good friends there. A live time also awaits me if I ever go back to Exeter, Aldershot or Folkestone.

But turning the film back to La Belle France, here we have nice climate, an exciting war, excellent champagne and a set of girls that would make the boys back home green with envy. What more could a man ask? The only trouble with the French people is their unfailing habit of trying to overcharge us. However, we are getting on to their curves now and take discounts off every price they ask. For instance, when I go into a candy shop the proprietress will exclaim: "Ah, _bon Americain_." Then she will proceed to quote me one and one-half francs for a bar of five-cent chocolate. After a little hesitation and figuring on my part I slip her half a franc, and even at that she is making a 75 per cent profit. She accepts the slight reduction with a deprecating air, and probably mutters to herself: "Those Yankees are as stupid as foxes." Aside from our little monetary differences we and the French are the most affectionate of comrades.

Somewhere in France we camped next door to a Chinese labor camp. There was a small army of them. The Mongolians are the best pals we have run into yet. They were so honored by the attention paid to them by the whites that they broke their necks to please us. When I said to a Chink: "Gimme a cigarette, Charlie," he would run a quarter of a mile to his tent and come back with a fistful. Some of the Chinks even wanted to lend money to our boys. Unfortunately, however, our bunch got to selling them, at exorbitant prices, gold rings that after a rainstorm resembled the Irish flag, and wrist watches with the small item of works entirely missing. The English soldiers sort of wised up the Yellow Perils to our tricks and before we parted company with them they became noticeably cool toward us. Well, they were Coolies, anyhow. That's a cool joke.

Lower down in France we were camped directly opposite a tribe of Hindus--you know, the kind with knotted Turkish towels for hats. These birds bury and pick the pockets of all soldiers killed on the front, so you cannot sell them trinkets. They have carloads of them. The Hindus are surlier and dirtier than the Chinese gentlemen, and we did not mingle with them so freely. If you want to get them drawing knives just holler, "Buddha _no bon!_" They are fanatics on religion. About a week ago we visited their camp and they immediately challenged us to a tug of war. They had about twelve on one end of the rope and we had only seven. Evidently, however, they are not over strong, because we pulled them almost up to the firing line. They are hard losers, and might have drawn their bowies, but I think they suspected we were Irish, so they remained peaceable.

The guns play a constant tattoo at night, and I am getting used to them now. The other day a few other fellows and myself made a tour of inspection among some recently deserted German trenches up near the line. In them we found feather beds, a box of cigars and, last but not least, a beautifully toned organ. The feather beds were wet and coated with mud, so we couldn't bother with them. You will say "Impossible" when I say I left the cigars there also. This I did, however, as the Germans have a playful habit of poisoning such dainties. The organ was badly warped and too far below the ground to attempt to salvage, but we stayed there for a while and I made the subterranean passages echo to the strains of "Ragging the Scale."

Another pet trick that the Germans employ is to leave a watch hanging on the wall of their abandoned trenches. Said watch connects with a high explosive bomb which explodes when the Ingersoll is removed from the wall. The other night I was talking with a couple of English soldiers, who told me that the English and Bavarians became so friendly at one stage of the war that a squad of the English soldiers crossed over to the German trenches one night, had a little souse party with the Bavarians and returned back to the allied trenches in the morning. For this they were court-martialled. They say that the Bavarians will frequently holler over to the English not to fire any shots so that they can eat their dinner in quiet, and they will reciprocate in like manner. The English apparently have no hard feelings against the Bavarians, but sure do hate the Prussians. Yesterday I saw a vicious air fight. The German aviator looped the loop with his machine fully a dozen times in order to escape the machine-gun fire from the Allies' planes, and escape he did, for I saw him shooting over the German lines leaving his pursuers far behind.

Any German prisoners I see I always give them a cheery, "_Wie gehts?_" and some of them answer "Good morning" in English. They are sick of the war and claim they are glad to be prisoners. Visited a large French city the other day which the Germans had occupied but which was recaptured by the French. No human being could imagine the destruction that has been wrought there. Among the thousands of houses there is not a single one that could be lived in. Most of them are beaten to dust, churches and everything else. An old Frenchman there told me with tears in his eyes how his daughter and the rest of the girls of the city had been forcibly taken away by the Germans when they were evacuating the city. I can now understand enough French to converse in a broken way. The slogan here now is, "Give the Germans hell and take no prisoners." From all stories and indications they have acted like barbarians and deserve the worst treatment possible. Their fire is becoming weaker and I think their days are numbered. The Americans will put the finishing touches on them, and don't be surprised if I send you a postcard from Berlin some day.

II--STORY OF A VOLUNTEER IN AMERICAN RED CROSS

(Told by Edward J. Doyle, with American Army)

_The experiences and the souvenirs--such as a piece of shell shot through an ambulance and buttons cut from the uniforms of German prisoners--of a volunteer in the American Red Cross service are recorded in this letter._

Sherman was right, but he knows nothing about it. I suppose by this time you know all about the attack, and needless to say I have been through it all. Haven't had my clothes off in over a week and my total sleep might average about three hours a day for that time, so you can imagine how I feel. We haven't been working all the time, but we get shelled out of every place we try to sleep, when we get a chance, and that's worse than working. We are quite a way to the left of where I wrote from last. We relieved a section that could not stand the work--that was before the attack--and you can imagine what it was during and since the attack.

We arrived at B---- a week ago this morning and started in. That night the Germans shelled that town, and imagine, it's about fifteen miles from the German lines. We were alone in a barn, and when the shells began to go over our heads and gas with it, you can see how much sleep we had. Next morning Bud and I started out, and the car is running rotten. The Germans are shelling the road all the way from here. This is our first post out of R----, about three miles from B----. Don't try to look up these towns; it's a useless task. Poste 4, a like distance from R----. We get in the middle of Hill ----, about a mile from Poste 2, when the car dies.

About 100 yards ahead of us is a crossroad and the Boche is shelling it. Bud and I didn't realize where we were, and all alone, mud over our shoe tops where we stopped. We worked on the car for one and a half hours, falling in the mud every time a German shell came through the air. We got eleven holes in our car from that morning, and a piece of shell went right through an inch rod on the front of the car. I'll show you a picture of that. We were the first in the section to get hit, and how we escaped alive is the wonder of every one who has seen the car, and we are always the center of attraction when we stop along the road or at the postes. I have a piece of shell that went through the car--a souvenir. We were in the most dangerous part of the whole woods--French guns on every side of us, but of course we didn't know--and those were what the Germans were after.

When we finally decided we couldn't get the car to run we made for a nearby dugout, and a Frenchman there told us we had our nerve. I left Bud there and walked back to this post--about three and one-half miles--got another car and towed our own back--that was our baptism of fire, and it was plenty. We got our car fixed up that day and worked all that night and the next day. That night we were dead, and the damn Germans shelled B---- again, and we had to get out twice during the night and run for a nearby quarry, and no one who has not been through it can imagine the feeling of being awakened by hearing a shell go over your head, and almost before you can get into your shoes and out of a place another drops near by. It's a thousand times worse than being on a shelled road because you can see a shell hit the road and invariably another follows--wait for the second one to land and then beat it--some sport.

I'm at P. J. Left now, our most advanced post with the exception of one about a mile from here, which we make only at night, as the Germans can see the road from their first lines. They must have seen us on the road--some plane of theirs--as they have been shelling here ever since we arrived. We're in the dugout now and I don't expect to find my car when I come out at the rate the shells are landing around here.

Now for the attack. Sunday we were at Post 4--a piece of shell just landed on my helmet. I'm just at the entrance of the dugout--got to stop--it's getting too warm.

Friday, 1:50 P.M.--Just got out of P. J. Left. They shelled it from 12 o'clock yesterday until 9:30 last night. Blew up everything in sight but our dugout; killed a couple of the brancardiers; blew up the kitchen, and you should have seen what was left of our car--everything was hit on the darn thing but the air in the tires.

The French made another attack last night on Hill ---- and took it. You have undoubtedly read about it if you have followed the news. Back for the attack now--Sunday we were at Post 4, that is, my car--and we made a couple of trips from there, and all Sunday night the woods were just ablaze with guns firing and the boys went over the top at 4:40. All we carried that night had been gassed and there was a bunch of them. At 5:10 a car came to poste, saying they could not make Poste 2--the road was blocked--so the lieutenant telephoned and gave me a note to deliver to Poste 2--that meant get it there. Well, we started out, and such a sight! There was one whole ammunition train along the road that had been shelled and gassed--every horse dead--and not only horses. We got to Hill ----, where Bud and I were stuck, and such a sight!

Two trains had been gassed, and we cut the horses that were still alive from the carriages and then there was a stampede. I shall never forget that morning--the road blocked, shell holes, gas, dead horses, at least fifty of them, in less distance than a city block, and this awful racket. Well, we got the road cleared and made Poste 2, and there it was worse than ever. Our chief and sous-chief and about six of our boys had been there all night, gas masks on for nine hours. Two of them had shell shock, another hysterical, and the dead and wounded all around us. I'm poor at description, and you could never picture such a scene. Well, we got a load and started back. You could still cut the gas, and after we had gone a way one of the couchés rapped on the window. We stopped. The fellow on the top stretcher had died, his head had fallen off the edge of the stretcher and he was leaking from the mouth on the chap below. We took him out, fixed his head on the stretcher and started on, shells dropping all around us. How we ever got through no one knows, but we did, and that's just the way things went. Carried Boches and cut buttons off some of the prisoners--have a Boche helmet and gas mask--souvenirs.

III--STORY OF AN AMERICAN ENGINEER IN FRANCE

(Told by (name suppressed), 11th Regiment Railway Construction Engineers)

_This member of Company D, 11th Regiment Railway Construction Engineers, swings pick and axe and acts as chauffeur on a handcar, but he enjoys it heartily._

For several days we have been busy getting some new drills, but unfortunately I am not at liberty to tell you the nature of them.

All day yesterday was my own time, but I was too busy cleaning up to write. The sun was shining most of the day, for a change, so I was able to wash my clothes, air my blankets, etc., and take a real bath.

We made stoves out of some large oil cans, and as we have deep pans we boiled our clothes out and then scrubbed them well on our washboard. But the real treat was our bath. We walked about half a mile to a British camp, where they have some bath. They have rigged up a small room with live steam in it. We stood in the room for at least a half hour and just perspired. Then a cold shower and, believe me, for the first time since I left home I was real clean.

Do you remember how you laughed at my army shoes because they were so heavy? Well, you should see our shoes now. They are the same as the Tommies wear in the trenches. The soles are nearly as thick as the heels on our other shoes. Besides, the heels and soles are studded with iron plates and hobnails. Of course they are very heavy, but for all of that they are very fine shoes, as the wear in them surpasses the lighter American shoe and they are better protection from water. We have also discarded the canvas leggings and are now wearing the spiral cloth puttees.

We are still in a rest camp belonging to the British, but suppose we will be moving off to our own base in the near future. The powers that be know best.

In the Base Camp--Hurrah! Received your package yesterday in perfect condition, and maybe I wasn't happy, also the squad, for of course they have to have some of it. Best of all, the cigarettes and tobacco are real American products. I do not care for the English stuff. And the candy--well, "nuf sed!"

Last night a number of us walked around a very interesting battlefield. If I should give you its name you would remember it as one of the famous ones of the war. I have never seen so much junk lying round as there is on this old battleground. Bullets, old shells, helmets, guns and what not. There is so much stuff we did not bother to pick it up. We found a number of English rifles and shrapnel helmets, some with a lot of holes in them. I guess the men who wore them are dead. As for graves, well, in some spots they are as thick as daisies.

You wanted to know if I had taken any pictures. Unfortunately all cameras were confiscated, so nothing doing in that direction. As it is, there is very little scenery of interest where we are. The country is fairly well blasted and the tops of all the trees are gone; but you can see such pictures in the Sunday supplements.

I do not know, of course, if the newspapers say that we are being well fed or not, but we certainly do not feel the effects of the U-boat war. While we were in the rest camp we did not eat any too well, but now that we are in a permanent camp everything is changed. How does roast beef, tomatoes, brown gravy, butter, tea, jam and apple dumplings sound? Of course the apple dumplings were not hard to get, as we have the apples growing in our camp. The flour, however, came from the good old U. S. A.

For the last few days I have been swinging a heavy pick and axe and playing chauffeur (with some other fellows) on a handcar. Believe me, it is hard work pumping one of those cars heavily loaded against a head wind or on an up grade. However, the work is doing me worlds of good. I am feeling fine and getting stronger every day.

There is something doing on our front to-night. From all the banging noise Tommy must be strafing Fritz good and plenty.

We have had several issues of tobacco since we arrived in this part of the world. I do not know where the tobacco comes from, but imagine it is part of the money collected from our good citizens in New York. The only trouble is that it is English tobacco and not the good old American kind.

It would surprise many of our curio seeking friends to see what we do with those that we pick up. Our poker is an old French bayonet, something that many a person would put in a cabinet under lock and key.

On Leave.--Immediately after breakfast I started for a very famous city some nine or ten miles from our camp. I stopped in for a friend of mine, in one of the other companies. We started to walk to town in hopes of having a motor lorry (just plain motor truck in America) overtake us, but we had covered some five miles before we were overtaken by a horse-drawn wagon.

This particular city (censor forbids my giving name) was never reached by the Huns except at long range bombardment. One can hardly believe the amount of destruction the Huns are capable of doing when they start out on their career of hate.

In this town they seem to have centered their vengeance on a most beautiful church and one of the fine old cemeteries that France is noted for. The church was not entirely demolished, but I think it is beyond repair. As for the cemetery, many a poor Frenchman returned to the surface before the Angel Gabriel had blown his trumpet.

Just next to this old cemetery is a new one. Instead of old tombstones and marble crypts, this plot is marked with many small white wooden crosses. Here and there one can find a more pretentious cross, indicating an officer. One cannot realize the tug at the heartstrings until one has seen the hand marks of "Kultur." The only consolation, a brutal one, is that on the way to the town are many graves with German names on the crosses.

But let's get cheerful and talk of the main object of my trip, to get something to eat. The real fun of the day came while we were eating. Fritz paid us a visit by aeroplane and dropped a few visiting cards in the shape of bombs. A couple of Tommies were eating in the same room, and as they showed a great deal of _sang froid_ I was compelled to do the same. However, my real fear was that I wouldn't be able to finish my eggs, but would have to dive for a bomb-proof. Fortunately he was driven away before much damage was done and I finished my eggs in peace.

I forgot to tell you that our quarters are the most comfortable we have had. We are in a hut which is built like a tunnel. The outside is made of corrugated iron, but the inside is lined with wood. There are fourteen of us in my hut, but there is plenty of room. We sleep on cots for the first time since we left Fort Totten.

IV--STORY OF AN AMERICAN WITH A SIEGE BATTERY

(Told by Wallace Gibbs)

_Our guide in this trench is with a British siege gun battery shelling and being shelled by the Germans on the Flanders front. He tells of a stormy night under shell fire._

Aug. 13, 1917.

Your letter followed me all around Blighty and over half of France. And yet it got me. Got me in the middle of a tree-shattered, shell-pocked country field, in a wee hole in the ground. That's some postal service for you!

Guns are going merrily to-night. Fritz was putting up S. O. S. signals a bit ago. He dropped one on our cook house about a quarter of an hour ago. Poor "Ginger," our cook, got it badly. Head, back and leg.

You can't dodge 'em here; there's too much row. Besides, one don't hear the shell that's going to get one. Don't know whether that's a blessing or not. A vivid imagination is no good to any one out here. Some fellows are jumpy with expectation; others are always smelling gas, and so on.

Saw a boche plane brought down yesterday. He made a terrific attempt to get right, almost succeeded, then nose dived plumb!

Can you picture me in a little narrow, gravelike hole, writing this--and guns firing behind me and Hun shrapnel whining and bursting with a ping just outside? That's the doings just now. Fritz is being real nasty.

You just live on chance at this game. One gets callous--only thoughts of home annoy a bit. One fellow got killed early this morning. It was hard lines. Fritz was pushing the shell over; it was black and wet, only gun flashes giving light now and again, leaving it blacker than before. (Things are rotten in the night!) One came very near to where they were unloading shell. He made a dive for an old trench: just then another burst. He copped it when he had only a yard to go. Another second would have done it. It's all luck. I was at the cook house to-night; I left just a bit before. I said to a fellow, "Are you going up to the guns?" He said, "No." So I pushed off on my own.

Still that's only stray shooting, nothing to what we give Fritz. He must have hell in his lines. He's getting what the British once got, only more so. He didn't have to fight then, he merely walked over. Now he gets as good as he gives, and he don't like it. You never saw such a weary, scared-looking crowd in your natural as the mob that came in from the latest push. I was sorry for the boys--some looked only 15 years old. They were mixed with big, sour, dour, square-head swine. We are looking forward to giving them another dig soon.

The men are not commenting much on the U. S. A. coming in. They don't comment much on anything, now everybody is in; but it will make a big difference.

It's a very nice war in "Blighty," with nice time, polished buttons and a pair of swanky boots and heaps of glory reflected from the lads out here. But out here--well, a fellow might fight a Hun, but damned if he can fight a shell!

Still, it's marvelous how little notice one can take of them when they're somewhere else, but it don't half buck up one's ideas when they get personal. The soulful Huns usually open up at night time when fellows are trying to forget--shells and guns, lice and biscuits. (Oh, those army biscuits!)

Well, George, this has got to finish. Gas is coming over now in shells, dozens of them; I must put on my mask. The air is growing sweet and sickly. Isn't he a rotter?... All clear again. Jove, he dropped them close! Some experience between those two lines, eh? Hope this finds you in the Pink. Best regards to everybody.

V--STORY OF AN AMERICAN AMBULANCE DRIVER AT BATTLEFRONT

(Told by James M. White--"Somewhere in France")

_The thrilling experiences through which drivers for the American Ambulance in France pass are narrated in this letter. Mr. White has been decorated with the Croix de Guerre._

So many things have happened ... that I hardly know where to begin. Also, I am pretty tired out, so please excuse this letter if it is rather incoherent. We have been working our present posts now for three weeks and often it has meant forty-eight hours steady. Not only has it been hard work but it has been most exciting. One of the boys who has been always with the section says that never has he seen such all round hard and exciting work. It is practically over now and we will all be very glad to go _en repos_.

You have seen by the papers of around this date what a successful attack the French have made. Out of the numerous sections of the ambulance we had the honor of doing the hardest work, and it has been well appreciated, for letters have been written to the General about it. That probably will mean a citation for us.

When I write you about what we have gone through I do it, not for personal reasons, but because I want you to know that this work is no play, and far from being an occupation of the "semi-heroic rich." I have seen more of war in five minutes in this sector than in months in the other places we have been. Nine of our twelve cars have been hit, but luckily only one chap has been wounded, and that not very seriously. I really think there is a divine Providence watching over us, for you would hardly believe some miraculous escapes that have taken place.

I have seen demonstrated something which I had heard but never believed, namely that a shell can land so close that its proximity saves one, the eclats going over one's head. Shells play queer tricks at times. Three cars were standing in a row, one with two wounded. A shell landed near and the concussion blew whole panels out of each car and killed the two men. The remarkable part is that neither the cars nor men were actually hit by anything but dirt.

Nowadays the Germans seldom send over waves of gas. They seem to prefer to send in hundreds of gas shells. These have the same whistle as the high explosives but do not explode with a loud noise. It is more like the opening of a gigantic ginger ale bottle. They do a lot of damage, for they often catch one unawares. They will pick out a hollow and just drench it with gas shells; some smell like garlic and others like mustard. We have found it impossible to drive at night with masks on, especially those of us who wear glasses, for they immediately fog up. All of us dread these shells, much preferring to take our chance with the high explosive. A soldier was telling me of a new gas that they send in by shells. Wherever there is a perspiration on the body it forms an acid which gives a very bad burn. The men suffer most around the necks, under the arms and on the hands.

Altogether, this has been a tremendously interesting period. The aerial activity has been intense, there being lots of fights and numerous captive balloons brought down. The Germans have a nasty habit of coming over at night, flying low and turning their mitrailleuse on the roads which they know are crowded with wagons carrying material.

By a lucky shot the other day the Germans started a fire in a small munitions depot quite close to us. I have seen displays of fireworks, but this had them all beaten with a four hours' display. Some of the abris up front are perfect marvels of safety and comfort and I shall try and give you an idea of one. One side of a solid stone hill had been used before the war as a quarry. This particular side happened to be away from the Boche. It has been so tunnelled that one walks through cave after cave with plenty of head room and spacious rooms. Everywhere there is plenty of light supplied by an electric generator and one finds a wonderfully complete and clean operating room. Remember this is all within a mile and a half of the front-line trenches, which in modern warfare is a short distance.

The wounded get splendid treatment; but of course stretchers take the place of beds, for it is by no means a hospital. They can comfortably take care of 200 men and, mind you, all of this has been cut out of solid rock. At such a post we get the men and take them back to the field hospital, where they may again be sorted for transport to the hospitals further back.