Chapter V: Part 5

Here were clanking water-carts, dozens of them waiting in their turn, stamping mules and snorting horses; here were motor-transport wagons with "W.D." in white on their gray sides; ambulance wagons jolting slowly back to their respective units, sometimes full of wounded, sometimes empty. Here all was bustle and noise. Sergeants shouting and corporals cursing; transport-officers giving directions; a party of New Zealand sharpshooters in scout hats and leggings laughing and yarning; a patrol of the R.E.'s Telegraph Section coming in after repairing the wires along the beach; or a new batch of men, just arrived, falling in with new-looking kit-bags.

It was through this throng of seething khaki and transport traffic that our water-cart jostled and pushed.

Often we had to pull up to let the Indian Pack-mule Corps pass, and it was at one of these halts that I happened to come close to one of these dusky soldiers waiting calmly by the side of his mules.

I wished I had some knowledge of Hindustani, and began to think over any words he might recognize.

"You ever hear of Rabindranarth Tagore, Johnnie?" I asked him. The name of the great writer came to mind.

He shook his head. "No, sergeant," he answered.

"Buddha, Johnnie?" His face gleamed and he showed his great white teeth.

"No, Buddie."

"Mahomet, Johnnie?"

"Yes--me, Mahommedie," he said proudly.

"Gunga, Johnnie?" I asked, remembering the name of the sacred river Ganges from Kipling's _Kim_.

"No Gunga, sa'b--Mahommedie, me."

"You go Benares, Johnnie?"

"No Benares."

"Mecca?"

"Mokka, yes; afterwards me go Mokka."

"After the war you going to Mokka, Johnnie?"

"Yes; Indee, France--here--Indee back again--then Mokka."

"You been to France, Johnnie?"

"Yes, sa'b."

"You know Kashmir, Johnnie?"

"Kashmir my house," he replied.

"You live in Kashmir?"

"Yes;--you go Indee, sergeant?"

"No, I've never been."

"No go Indee?"

"Not yet."

"Indee very good--English very good--Turk, finish!"

With a sudden jerk and a rattle of chains our water-cart mules pulled out on the trail again and the ghostly figure with its well-folded turban and gleaming white teeth was left behind.

II--HEROISM OF THE SILENT HINDUS

A beautifully calm race, the Hindus. They did wonderful work at Suvla Bay. Up and down, up and down, hour after hour they worked steadily on; taking up biscuits, bully-beef and ammunition to the firing-line, and returning for more and still more. Day and night these splendidly built Easterns kept up the supply.

I remember one man who had had his left leg blown off by shrapnel sitting on a rock smoking a cigarette and great tears rolling down his cheeks. But he said no word. Not a groan or a cry of pain.

They ate little, and said little. But they were always extraordinarily polite and courteous to each other. They never neglected their prayers, even under heavy shell fire.

Once, when we were moving from the Salt Lake to "C" Beach, Lala Baba, the Indians moved all our equipment in their little two-wheeled carts.

They were much amused and interested in our sergeant clerk, who stood 6 feet 8 inches. They were joking and pointing to him in a little bunch.

Going up to them, I pointed up to the sky, and then to the Sergeant, saying: "Himalayas, Johnnie!"

They roared with laughter, and ever afterwards called him "Himalayas."

THE INDIAN TRANSPORT TRAIN

(Across the bed of the Salt Lake every night from the Supply Depot at Kangaroo Beach to the firing-line beyond Chocolate Hill, September, 1915.)

The Indian whallahs go up to the hills;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"[10]
They pass by the spot where the gun-cotton kills;
They shiver and huddle--they feel the night chills;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"

With creaking and jingle of harness and pack;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
Where the moonlight is white and the shadows are black,
They are climbing the winding and rocky mule-track;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"

By the blessing of Allah he's more than one wife;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
He's forbidden the wine which encourages strife,
But you don't like the look of his dangerous knife;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"

The picturesque whallah is dusky and spare;
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
A turban he wears with magnificent air,
But he chucks down his pack when it's time for his prayer;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"

When his moment arrives he'll be dropped in a hole;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
'Tis Kismet, he says, and beyond his control;
But the dear little houris will comfort his soul;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"

The Indian whallahs go up to the hills;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"
They pass by the spot where the gun-cotton kills;
But those who come down carry something that chills;--
"Jhill-o! Johnnie, Jhill-o!"

FOOTNOTE:

[10] "Jhill-o!"--Hindustani for "Gee-up"; used by the drivers of the Indian Pack-mule Corps.

SEEING THE WAR THROUGH A WOMAN'S EYES

_Soul-Stirring Description of Scenes Among the Wounded in Paris_

_Told by (Name Suppressed)_

I--"THEY HAVE NOTHING LEFT--NOT EVEN TEARS"

What I have seen--can that be told? When will words be found simple enough and infinite enough to tell of so much heroism, so much sorrow, so much beauty, so much terror? All those sublimities: how can they be explained without losing their soul, without taking away their value, which is of mystery and miracle? All those hideous things, all those unnatural crimes; how can they be revealed with cold and ponderous reasoning, while one is still trembling, keeping back tears, smothering cries?

It must be done, though, and that French shyness that hates all that is bluff or bragging, and which fain would wait that our glory and suffering be understood, it too must be conquered. We must rise above that too delicate conscience which says: "Speak? What good will it do? Truth is luminous; it shines before all eyes." Yes, but it must be helped to shine, and without delay.

That is why, I have decided to address the American nation, to tell it that which I know, that which is evident, undeniable--to take it to the frightful and divine Calvary of truth.

For six months I have been living among our soldiers, our wounded. I live in my Paris. That Paris that every one visits and that no one knows. I have only left it for some brief excursions to the cathedrals in agony, to the villages in ashes, to the ambulances at the front, to the old peasants who have nothing left--not even tears! To the little orphans with tragic and stupefied eyes.

Sent to distribute woolens to the combatants, I have heard a language, haughty and superb. I have clasped the rude hands, sometimes deformed, of more than twenty-two thousand soldiers, some wounded, others well again, returning to the firing line, a flame in their eyes and in their hearts. I have bent over more than ten thousand beds of mutilated young men, many of them with gangrene. I have held hundreds in my arms on the operating tables--I who could not support the sight of blood, nor of illness--hundreds of poor things with atrocious wounds, and only felt during those minutes one care--a superhuman desire to discover in the surgeon's look or attitude the hope the poor boy would be saved.

II--"IF HE DIED, I SHOULD HAVE FELT GUILTY"

I remember, above all, a youth twenty years old, who had such a complicated wound in the chest that it is indescribable. I held the poor, inert body while the surgeon lay wide open the thorax. "Take him back," said the surgeon, "and be careful." I did so. Then from the deep, bleeding wound the whole chest emptied itself, as one empties a bucket of I don't know what unnamable liquid. The surgeon approached then, and leaning over the now visible palpitating lung murmured: "What can be done? It will only begin again." However, he did find out what could be done. He had him put back in his bed--he was still unconscious. Sitting near him, filled with anxiety I waited his awakening. I wanted him to be saved, that child! While he was being chloroformed a few minutes before, while he was holding my hand without saying a word, there was in his look, before his eyes closed, such a gentle desire to live, such a prayer for protection--such confidence in the infinite aid I gave him. If he died I should have felt myself guilty--I don't know of what.

He awoke--looked at me and smiled. He then murmured: "Why are you so good to us, madame? We are not near to you."

To this dying child, to give him back his life, it was necessary I should explain to him his glory. I said: "Not near, my boy? Why, understand then what I owe you! If the enemy has not entered our Paris--if Notre Dame is intact--if I, myself, am living--it is because you gave your blood for us. But that is not all. When you fight for France you do not only fight for your country, you do not only save your native land; you save an ideal, an ideal supreme, universal. In helping all that is pure and beautiful in the world you save the liberty of peoples, the liberty of the soul. You say to each one of us 'the yoke that weighs you down I shall help you to cast off.'

"You do not understand me well, my boy. But see--you must live. Later in the eternal books of history you will learn the meaning of the blood you have given. You must live! _You must live!_ Years from now your little children will look at you with eyes of love and admiration because you were a soldier in the great war. They will know the meaning of the medal shining on your chest, and for generations they will be proud of the honour of their name. You must live, my dear boy!"

As I spoke something wonderful illuminated the youth's eyes. "Oh, I shall live, madame. One only has to will it. I shall live."

He is saved!

I do not know why I stopped to recount the agony and resurrection of that child, because almost all of them are divinely alike--childlike, confident, smiling.

Another had had a whole leg amputated--a young man of twenty-two, with a charming face. Doubtless he had already been loved by some pretty girl. At last the day came when for the first time he was to get out of bed and try to walk with crutches. I dreaded that moment. I expected complaints. I already had made up my consoling arguments.

Ah, how little I knew the soul of our children of France. He arose, poor boy, so thin, on his one leg; and as he was also wounded in one arm, in spite of the crutches he couldn't balance himself. That made him laugh; _made him laugh_!

I turned him over to a nurse because tears were choking me. But they were not tears of sorrow; they were sobs of tenderness, respect, admiration.

Another had received nine wounds. He didn't want to have them spoken of. He only wanted to talk about his days of battle--to live them over again. "Those last days, madame, we were so near the enemy that they could not get to us to bring us our rations. We had to find our nourishment ourselves. When evening arrived some of us would steal out of the trenches and pick carrots--we lived eleven days like that. One day I brought down a pigeon. When I was able to get it we broiled it with matches. Ah, that was a royal feast! How glad we were!"

"Content" (glad, happy), that was the word he used most frequently. One morning when I got to the hospital, believing him still very ill, he greeted me with, "I go back to my depot in three days; in a fortnight I shall be under fire! Oh, how 'content' I am!"

Since then he has written me, "I received the tobacco. We had an awful fight at ----. I have a finger less and am still in the ambulance, but still 'content.'"

III--STORY OF THE DYING ALGERIAN

Ah, let me still tell of my country's smile in her sorrow--so sweet, and which is such a comfort to my heart. I have so much to tell that is horrible.

Another time I conducted a celebrated visitor to a "tirailleur" (a part of the colonial infantry who leave the ranks in action and fight individually). This "tirailleur" had had his right arm amputated. I said, "he is an Algerian." The wounded man looked at me reproachfully with his great soft eyes, saying: "Don't say Algerian, madame, me French, me give arm for France."

Another time I was with another Algerian; this one was about to die; nothing could save him. I was trying to soften his agony. He let me go on awhile, then suddenly stopped me with the melancholy childish accent of the Arabs, saying: "Don't bother about me any more, madame. All over. Me dead in two hours. Me just as happy as if get well. Thee write my mother that." I wrote his mother. She replied: "He has served France well. Allah has taken him to his breast."

IV--"WHAT I HAVE SEEN IN PARIS"

What I have seen! I have seen Paris under the Teutonic shadow cast from the north. Three days, on opening my windows at dawn, I anxiously listened for the expected rumble of the cannonading. Nothing.... It will be soon, this evening, to-morrow, I said. Everything in my threatened city became sacred to me. For me to die, that was nothing. But for Paris to be destroyed; my Paris! the city that cannot be described; cannot be explained! I couldn't stand that. I burst out weeping in the deserted streets, leaning perchance against a humble and old house. This mere relic had feelings, regrets, like the most sublime monuments.

The gravest day dawned. Those who only stayed in Paris for the pleasure they receive from it, and those who have children to take care of, were hastening toward the stations or crowding into automobiles. I stayed there. My heart wrung with agony, I drifted through my ordinary occupations. Then the unbelievable happened. As I was crossing the Place de la Madeleine, in a semi-dazed condition, a little boy, about five or six years old, ran up to me and gave me a slip of paper. I saw distractedly that he was decently dressed and had large blue eyes. I automatically opened the paper. The following unheard of phrase was typewritten on it: "_France is invincible_."

I turned toward the child: "Who gave you that?"

"Madame," said the little one, raising his head with a look that was grand, immense, "We wrote them ourselves, all night." Tears filled my eyes; I had a presentiment they were tears of deliverance. So, while we knew the Uhlans were in Chantilly, while in the hearts of the grown-up people horror placed its claws on faith, on hope, there was a little child with immense blue eyes, who knew nothing, like the good shepherds, St. Genevieve and Joan of Arc, but who knew that "France was invincible" and who passed the night writing it.

Yes, the miracle that saved Paris was revealed to us. But there was another miracle, something imponderable, which was the soul of the little boy with his eyes of light--which is the soul of Paris.

Paris ... even during those hours did not lose its sweet disposition of smiling independence. And it was among the children that we found the most touching proofs. One day--at the hour when the German aviators were storming Paris with bombs--we called it our _five o'clock taube_--I went out with a friend near the Park Monceau. All the passers-by were walking with their noses in the air, as they already had got the habit of the visits of "the bad pigeons."

One little boy had his bicycle to follow the flight, another a pair of opera glasses. But look around in the sky as I might, I could see nothing. Then a little boy, this one about six or seven years old, pulled my coat. "Straight up, madame; straight up, over my head!" That's how they frightened our little kiddies!

The next day I was passing through a thickly populated neighbourhood over which they had been flying for an hour. Suddenly a child bolted out of a house as fast as it could go. But his mother caught him and administered two resounding slaps. "I told you to stay in the house." "Ah," protested the urchin, "ye don't only keep me from seein' de tobe, but cher lick me in der bargain."

These are trifles, will perhaps be said. Do you think so? Nothing is small that reveals the immortal soul of a people. And we found it so everywhere. Don't lose patience with me if I speak without order. My words resemble the days I am living. They have a unity, however, as from them always shines forth the trials, the smiles, the bravery of my country.

V--"THEY ARE ALL DEAD NOW"

What have I seen?... I saw a white glove stained with a gray spot and a brown spot. Here is its history. When war was declared all the young students of the Saint Cyr Army School were promoted second lieutenants. Their average age was about twenty years. How happy they were to fight for France. But to fight was not enough. They must do it with grace, with style, carelessly, according to French traditions. They all swore, those boys, to go to the first battle wearing white gloves. They kept their word. But the white gloves made them a mark for the ambushed sharpshooters. They are all dead. The glove I saw belonged to one of them. The gray spot is of brain--the brown spot is blood. Piously this relic was brought to the mother of the dead young man. This special one was only nineteen years old.

And let us not think that it was a useless sacrifice. It is well that in the beginning of this war of surprises, mud and shadow, some of our children died in the light, facing the enemy, and facing the sun, for the good renown of French allegiance.

What I have seen ... Yesterday I received a letter. It came from a sergeant in the Argonne, an uneducated workman. Here it is, with the spelling and punctuation corrected:

* * * * *

"Madame, thanks for letting me know that my wife has had a little girl. But do not think I am worried. We love our families, but our duty is to love our country first. And if I do, those at home will be taken care of, I know it, madame.

"I'm going to tell you something you'll be glad to hear, not at the beginning, but you'll see at the end. A couple of weeks ago we lost a trench and almost everybody was massacred, including our commander. I escaped with a few more of my men. From our new trench we could see the bodies of our comrades and officers down there. The worst of it was that the Germans would get behind them to shoot at us. Ah, that all those Frenchmen, dead for their country, were made to protect the enemy! I couldn't look at that. So here's what I did. I said to my men, 'I'm going for them, but if I stay there I don't want my body to be made a rampart. Tie a rope around my body and if you see I'm done for, pull me back by it.' At first things went all right. I got back three of our comrades' corpses. But the Germans began to see something was up. To mix them up I ordered a feint on the right--another on the left. I kept on.

"I was all right. Never would those people suspect that I would risk my life to save dead bodies. So I had the joy of getting them all back--there were sixty-seven. And can you believe it, madame, there were two men still living. They are in a good way to getting well, and they can indeed say they came back from pretty far off. We buried the others. They are now sleeping peacefully. But I couldn't resist letting those in the opposite trench know. Not a bad trick, was it, madame?"

VI--"THEY WILL PAY FOR THIS MISERY"

What have I seen.... The other morning among the men who came to the vestiaire (wardrobe), where I am occupied part of the time, and who are generally very gay and good-humoured, there was a young soldier with a sober, set, disagreeable face. I shook him up with, "Why, what's the matter that a French soldier makes such a face? Won't you look me in the face and make me a nice smile?" But he didn't change expression. I took him to one side. "What's the matter with you, my child? First of all, where are you from?"

"I am from the North, madame."

"Oh, then I understand why you are sad. You do not know where your dear ones are."

He looked at me with a fierce, wild expression and suddenly replied: "I do know, madame. My elder brother was killed beside me, struck by the same shell that wounded me. That is war. They have burned my home, killed my mother and my father. My sister, sixteen years old, has been violated and abused; my little sister, of nine years, has disappeared." A black flame burned in the sombre look of the boy and made it unbearable. I received that look straight in my eyes. "Tell me, madame, we will get to their country, won't we, won't we?"

"Why, certainly, my boy--nothing surer."

"Oh, madame, they will pay for all this misery. But do not fear, _their women and children will not be touched_."

"Their women and children will not be touched." That is what this martyr of barbarism and of the cruelty of the enemy found in his heart to say--this sombre, uncultivated child of a northern village. I shook his rough hand--I squeezed it--I kissed the poor cheeks of this orphan with maternal kisses, and I said: "I thank thee."

VII--"THE CHILDREN WHO ARE MUTILATED"

But they--what are they doing with our little children? Here's a letter from a lady friend--a great musician. "My son-in-law, Lieutenant ---- has been defending Verdun since August. He's all right. But when will these barbarians be entirely driven away? Lately my son-in-law had a German soldier who was very badly wounded picked up. When stripping him to give him aid they found a child's hand in his pocket. He was immediately shot."

Don't think it's a single case. The children who are mutilated, assassinated, burned, are counted by hundreds. At Blamont, in the presence of the Baroness de V----, the Germans killed a child in its mother's arms. "Why did you do that?" asked the Baroness. "We are obliged to, otherwise we are shot," replied the men.

Witnesses who have seen like things are too numerous to be counted. Everybody in France remembers the sad question of the little girl who asked her mother, "Will Santa Claus bring me back my hands for Christmas?"

Some time I shall go into the details of the arrival of the Belgian children in Paris, with their terrorized looks, their screams of fear if anyone approached them. I haven't yet the courage to go over it. The memory I am going to call up is almost as frightful, though. It was Sunday, August 30. All at once I got a telephone call from a hospital where I often assisted: "Come, quick; they're bringing a lot of wounded."

As I arrived they were carrying in a young woman, either dead or unconscious. Everybody was under the strain of deep emotion. We undressed her. Her body was horribly mutilated with hideous wounds. She was the victim of the first "taube," as the Parisiennes called the German aeroplanes. She was passing along the street, humble and inoffensive. Her husband was at the front. She had a child at home. From above death smote her. The French gave men wings, and that is how the barbarians use them.

I left the young woman dead. I went to see the child. He was playing at a table, laughing. The contrast was so sad I couldn't stand it. I took away his toys. "You mustn't play any more just now, baby. You will not see your mother again to-day." He looked up at me sadly as if he understood. I took him in my arms and wept over him.

There is a little--so little--of what I have seen and heard.

Just as I finished writing I received a photograph from the painter Guirand de Scévola, showing an old woman of sixty-five, who had been attacked--then slaughtered. With it was a part of the Belgium official report, not yet made public. I shall divulge the paragraph: "September 11th, Josephy Louis Buron, of the Twenty-fourth regiment of the line, declared that having been made prisoner by the Germans, near Aerschot, they made him plunge both hands into a kettle of boiling water. Dr. Thone, of the Twenty-fourth regiment of the line, declared he saw the wounds of the hero." (Told in the _New York American_.)

LOST ON A SEAPLANE AND SET ADRIFT IN A MINE-FIELD

_Adventures on the North Sea_

_Told by a Seaplane Observer_

The Great War has introduced new perils both on land and sea. Here
is the story of one of them--two men drifting through a mine-field
on a crippled seaplane, fending off mines with their bare hands,
and expecting every moment to be blown to pieces! Daring adventure
told in the _Wide World_.

I--"MY HUNDREDTH FLIGHT OVER THE NORTH SEA"

I completed my "century" of seaplane flights over the North Sea with an adventure the like of which, I trust, will never occur again.

Many varied experiences have gone to total up that number of ascents--some far from pleasant, others most interesting, and well repaying one for occasional hardships.

The sequel to my one-hundredth flight, however, will take a lot of effacing from my memory.

The atmosphere was a trifle thick when we started off from our base with the intention of flying an ordinary hundred-and-fifty-mile circular patrol.

The farther we progressed, the thicker grew the haze, till we at last were travelling through dense fog.

We left at 7.30 a.m., and climbed to two thousand five hundred feet to get above the heat-haze and fog over the water.

At eight-twenty-five, almost an hour later, the revolutions of the eight-foot tractor began slackening perceptibly, and presently, to our dismay, the engine stopped dead.

We were compelled to descend so quickly that there was no time to send a wireless signal; in fact, I just barely managed to cut the trailing aerial wire free before we struck the sea.

That I did so was a slice of luck, as, otherwise, the fuselage would probably have been ripped up, and the machine capsized.

When the floats smacked the water we got quite a bump, and a decided jar in the nape of our necks.

Fortunately, however, the under-carriage struts retained their rigidity and did not buckle, and the seaplane rode the water right way up.

I will not worry the reader with a technical explanation of the trouble which had befallen our engine. Sufficient to state that it was of so serious a nature as to preclude us from any attempt at "patching her up."

"Do you know where we are?" inquired the pilot, after we had heartily chorused a round of expletives appropriate to such an eventuality. I shook my head.

It must be remembered we had been travelling through fog most of the journey, and therefore could not spot the regular aids to maritime aerial pilotage, such as light-vessels, sandbanks, buoys, and coast contours. In addition to this there are always air currents about, to counteract a dead compass-reckoning alone.

By taking the mean of our calculations, however, we were eventually able to place a finger on the approximate area where we believed ourselves to be on the chart.

The result was anything but encouraging. We were at least fifty miles from the shores of England, and in a neighbourhood devoid of all shipping, even in times of peace. What was worse, it was gradually borne in upon us that we were perilously near, if not actually in, a most extensive mine-field!

Personally, I was feeling anything but buoyant, and the reason is not far to seek. I had had the middle watch (12-4 a.m.) in the wireless cabin ashore the previous night. A report then came through that there was "something buzzing"--hostile submarines scudding round, or Zeppelins or other aircraft--and I had the wireless of half-a-dozen machines to overhaul, and superintend their going off. Then my own turn came, and, minus breakfast or a bite of anything, off I went, having had no food since the previous afternoon at five. Worse still, I had not so much as a bite of "grub" about me, or even a smoke.

The pilot went through his pockets, and discovered one solitary cigarette resting in state in his case. Being a sportsman, as well as a companion in misfortune, he offered it to me, and, on my emphatic refusal, halved it. So we both lit up whilst we reviewed the situation.

I don't believe I ever treated a smoke with greater care than I did that half-cigarette. For aught I knew it might be my last.

When we had finished our cogitations the joint result of our thinking was by no means hopeful.

II--"S. O. S." MESSAGE ON MACHINE GUN

A strong sun was beginning to shine through the intense heat-haze, and the glare of the water was very trying.

At regular intervals I fired off a Very's light, with the idea of attracting attention. As the coloured projectiles curved high into the air and plunged downwards, so did our hopes seem to rise and fall.

When my Very's cartridges were exhausted, I commenced a series of "S.O.S." messages in the Morse code on the machine-gun. The nickel bullets of two trays of Mark VII. ammunition had winged through the heavy air before we realized the practical futility of it all.

We therefore kept the remainder of our gun magazines intact, as also a brace of heavy service revolvers, 455 calibre, fully loaded.

We were not to know what might crop up at any moment. A Taube might find us and swoop down for bombing practice, or to make an easy prey. We could not in any event be taken prisoners by hostile aircraft, as there would be no space for us in a machine already full.

At any moment, too, a U-boat might pop up and either make a target of us for their quick-firer or take us in tow for the Belgian coast, which was uncomfortably near at hand.

However, come what might, we were in a mood to fight to a finish.

Unfortunately, my wireless transmitter was worked from the engine direct, otherwise I might have rigged up an extempore aerial from the spare reel carried, and sent a "S.O.S." from accumulators.

It is doubtful if such a scheme would have proved effective, but it would have been worth trying. But in the circumstances I was helpless.

The heat was now simply awful, the sea dead calm. We had taken off our leather coats long since, and now rigged them up across the fuselage overhead, for shelter from the sun's rays.

Presently it became so hot and stuffy on the seats that both the pilot and myself took our boots and trousers off, climbed down on the floats, and stretched ourselves along them in the comparative shelter of the wings and fuselage body.

The stern part of the floats was, of course, submerged, so we lay with our lower limbs under water, and felt cooler. This we did for about three hours, each of which seemed an age.

What with the heat and the want of food, which caused a dull throbbing in my temples, by noon I was in such a state that I did not care what happened to us.

The pilot (poor chap) had only recently been married, and he rattled along continually about his young wife.

I have no wish to be in like straits again, but if such a misfortune _should_ happen, I earnestly trust I shall not have the misfortune to be beside a young fellow newly wedded! In the long weary time we spent together I had the whole of his history, from childhood to courtship, and I suppose he had mine!

What surprised us was the great number of logs floating about. Apparently a timber boat had foundered somewhere close by.

Every log that hove in sight through the haze we thought was a ship. It was a terrible time.

At intervals we either heard--or imagined we did--the engines of aircraft. Sometimes they seemed all around us; sometimes a long way off.

"Our only chance is a relief seaplane being sent after us," said the pilot. "Otherwise we are done for!"

There was precious little chance of us ever being spotted, we reckoned, owing to the extremely low visibility.

At least a dozen times, as the day wore on, we heard the unmistakable roar of aircraft, and it was torture to listen to them.

"It's coming nearer. They will see us!" the pilot would cry, hopefully.

Then the sound would recede into the distance, and we would become despondent again.

III--"WE WERE FLOATING OVER DYNAMITE"

It was extremely irritating, whilst anxiously following these sounds with straining ears, to hear the swish, swish of the water across the floats, the ripple as it rejoined the ocean again, and the creak, creak of the great wings as we rose and fell with a squelch on the gentle undulations of a swell.

These sounds eventually developed into a perfect nightmare. Every swish and creak seemed to pierce our brains.

Eventually we climbed up into the seats again for a while and stared our eyes out scanning the horizon with our powerful glasses. Every piece of flotsam seen we dubbed a boat, till it drifted near enough to make out detail.

The wind got up a little and died down again, but it shifted the haze somewhat.

In the afternoon we saw a sight which gladdened our hearts.

High up to the nor'-west, and dropping towards us, was a bird-like machine. Nearer and nearer it came, till we could hear the engines clearly. Soon we identified her marks, which set our fears at rest. It was a British 'plane.

We sprang up, gesticulated wildly, and fired a few pistol-shots just to relieve our excitement.

She was a rescue seaplane from our own base, it appeared, and presently she dropped on the water beside us and "taxied" as close as she might.

Her pilot steered within twenty yards or so of us, and the observer heaved overboard in our direction a huge vacuum flask.

Then, without stopping their engine, and waving cheerily, they droned along the surface and tilted into the air again. We watched her until the machine became a mere speck and finally faded into the blue.

Then, and not till then, we remembered the flask. We were fated never to taste its contents, however, for it floated past out of reach, in the midst of a great school of giant jellyfish.

I have never been stung by one of these loathsome-looking creatures, and I had no desire to be on this occasion. Neither had the pilot, so the bottle floated out of sight without giving us anything but moral support.

After this interlude our long impatient wait recommenced. The episode had instilled hope into us, but the hours seemed to drag more heavily than ever. There was nothing but sea on every hand--a great circular expanse of glaring, shimmering water.

Presently schools of porpoises began to put in an appearance, sporting about in their own unmistakable style. There must have been hundreds of them. One group frolicked close around us, and several times a glossy black tail caught one or other of the floats a resounding smack.

The fabric of these floats is exceedingly frail, and we were rather concerned about them. It seemed a pity to shoot the playful creatures, particularly as their antics created a diversion, but we trembled for the safety of the floats every time they were struck.

As the tide went down, several dark, spheroidal objects commenced bobbing up by twos to the surface--on our starboard beam, as we were floating at that time.

Through our glasses we could spot scores more of them in the distance. No need to tell one another what they were. We _knew_--deadly contact mines!

The nearest pair were only a matter of half a cable's length away, and presently our worst ordeal commenced.

We were drifting towards them with the ebbing tide, and were now on the fringe of the great mine-field, perhaps the most extensive ever laid. Once in among those floating engines of death we should have a lively time.

It was with no very pleasant thoughts that we considered this new danger. I might have turned the machine gun on the mines, but there was the risk of exploding instead of sinking them, and if one went off it was fairly safe to assume that its mate, a couple of fathoms away, would detonate in sympathy. I presume that this is the underlying idea of distributing mines in this fashion.

During the next four hours these horrid death-traps gave us a terribly anxious time. We had some very narrow shaves, for at low-water hundreds were in sight, and as the seaplane drifted along we were powerless to avoid them.

The pilot got on one float and I got on the other, and once or twice we actually had to ward the mines off with our bare hands in order to keep them from knocking against the machine. Had one of them done so this story would never have been written. Fending off the mines was a ticklish operation, as you may suppose. Great care had to be observed in exerting our strength, and we had to place our hands on parts of the casing of the mine that were devoid of horns, or between two horns, if it was not floating high enough. While engaged in this delightful occupation I went overboard twice, but managed to scramble back safely without getting into trouble with the mines.

Once a mine went off. It was too far away, however, for us to see what caused the explosion. It is not improbable that a luckless porpoise might have bent a horn in one of its leaps.

At length, to our heartfelt relief, the tide turned, and the mines began to disappear under the water again.

By that time we were drifting nearly the opposite way again, carried along by the flood-tide.

IV--"AN AEROPLANE COMES TO RESCUE"

Six o'clock came, by our chronometer--seven p.m. summer time--and we were still intact, having for about ten hours been dependent on our frail seaplane floats for buoyancy. Had the sea risen at all, even to a decent cat's paw, we should have been below the surface long ere this.

It was shortly after six o'clock, when--burnt almost black by the sun, with parched throats and swollen tongues--we heard the sound of a propeller chugging away at no great distance. The haze had thickened again as the sun moved west, and at first we could see nothing. In fact, we both thought we were dreaming.

But there was no mistake. The chugging and throbbing grew louder and louder, and I fired three single pistol-shots into the air at intervals. Thereupon the sound intensified, and out of the haze ploughed a trim little armed motor-launch--officially known as an "M.L."

She crept alongside very gingerly, lowered her dinghy, and took us off. Then she made fast a line to the seaplane, and took her in tow at a good seven or eight knots.

We were heartily welcomed by the bluff sailormen aboard.

Curiously enough, I did not feel thirst so badly as hunger. I am not of a thirsty nature at any time, and perhaps that accounted for it.

The first mouthful of food was torture; it seemed to rasp the skin off my throat. After that I ate ravenously. It was the first touch of real hunger I had known, and after the experience, I vowed that if it lay in my power I would never again see a poor beggar go hungry.

When our bodily wants had been attended to we settled down to a comfortable smoke in the ward-room. The skipper, a Lieutenant R.N.R., told us he had just made up his mind he was not going to venture another fathom farther when he heard our shots. Owing to the proximity of the mine-field he had been very anxious.

After our smoke we turned in for a sleep which only terminated when the "M.L." reached the shores of Old England and her Diesel oil-engines ceased throbbing! This was long after midnight.

They say our little experience has left its mark on us, but personally I feel as fit as ever.

HOW I HELPED TO TAKE THE TURKISH TRENCHES AT GALLIPOLI

_An American Boy's War Adventures_

_Told by Wilfred Raymond Doyle, on His Majesty's Ship "The Queen Elizabeth"_

This is the first-hand narrative of an American boy's extraordinary
yet characteristic exploits, told from his own viewpoint and in
his own language. Young Doyle's noticeable aptitude at telling
his story may be accounted for by the fact that he is a born
journalist. His parents, who reside in Yonkers, are people of
education and refinement. The father is a blind poet of some local
repute, and at one time published a little newspaper in the Harlem
district of New York City. The special causes which led to the
enterprising lad's departure from home, and how he came to enlist
in the British Navy, are best detailed by himself in the _New York
World_.

I--STORY OF AN AMERICAN RUN-AWAY

At the age of nineteen I was employed in the shipping department of a large publishing house at a salary of six dollars a week, with small prospect of advancement. My family were in need of all the help I could give. I grew restless, and one day February (1916) suddenly decided to make a change. Instead of taking a car for home I boarded a steamer for Boston, expecting to do better in that city, and then to surprise my parents with my success. I could get nothing better than a place as a "bus boy" in a lunch room. After working there for three days I saw a chance of getting a better position, but unfortunately was too late. I was delayed two hours and that cost me my first job.

I could find nothing else to do, and the next day I signed on an ocean steamer, _Etonin_, bound for Liverpool with a cargo of horses. My job was working the donkey engine for getting the feed up out of the hold; it was an easy job--two hours a day. The rest of the time we played cards, and when we reached Liverpool I had one penny in my pocket. The ship was not to return to Boston before fourteen days, and I had either to secure some work or starve. There was many a job I might have gotten but for the fact that I was an American. At least that was the excuse given for refusing me employment.

I had no choice but to go to the Naval Recruiting Office. I said I was born in Dublin and was at once accepted. I received a half crown, which was one shilling from the King, another from the Queen, and six pence from the Prince of Wales. I signed for the period of hostilities only, and that night had a good supper at the Government's expense.

II--"HOW I REACHED THE DARDANELLES"

The next day I was sent to the training depot at Portsmouth, where I received my uniform and kit. I was two weeks training with the rifle and bayonet and one week at target practice. On April 16, after physical examination, I was declared fit for service on His Majesty's ships. That afternoon I was drafted to the torpedo boat destroyer _Lynx_, which reached the Dardanelles in safety at noon of April 19. There I was assigned for service on the _Queen Elizabeth_, which I boarded two days later when she came out from the firing line for ammunition.

In the distance the _Queen Elizabeth_ appeared like a huge island, with four trees in the centre, but on a closer view was seen to be an immense floating fortress with huge guns, ready for action.

The complement of the _Queen Elizabeth_ is twelve hundred men, including all ratings. I was assigned to No. 4 boiler room, which to my surprise, was not a grimy place but scrupulously clean, and everything in it polished as bright as a mirror. The ship uses oil fuel exclusively. My duties were: To keep the oil sprayers and steel combs clean, to take the density of the water every four hours, to regulate the supply of water and the fan engine for supplying the air pressure to the fires, and lastly to test the different safety valves. All orders are given by means of two telegraphs, an engine room telegraph and an oil supply telegraph.

The _Queen Elizabeth_ went into action from midnight April 21 to midnight April 24. I was on duty without relief. During that time I had four times a day biscuits and water, with a half pint of rum. At noon I was allowed two hours' rest, but could not sleep on account of the noise. Our ship was hit every few minutes.

During action the fire pumps are pounding tons of water over the deck to prevent fire in case of a shell exploding on the wooden deck. It was our duty to keep the pipes and connections clear, for the water sucked up from the sea often contains foreign substances. One occasion we were subjected to a heavy rapid-fire gun bombardment. The structure shielding us was punctured like a piece of Swiss cheese and the deck about us was splintered before the guns on our ship found the range and destroyed the enemy's battery of guns that were turned upon us. It was a miracle that the seven of us escaped.

Once I was sent to the store room for tools. I had to pass the six-inch guns and neglected to get a piece of India rubber to place between my teeth; the result was a dislocated jaw from the shock of the firing. I hastened to the doctor and pointed to my jaw. He put his left hand on my head, and with his right gave me a couple of "Jim Jeffries" punches, and, while I saw stars, reset my jaw.

On April 26 the _Queen Elizabeth_ was ordered out from the firing line to bring up troops to the Gallipoli Peninsula. The Royal Scots were taken aboard from a transport in the Aegean Sea. We returned at once and landed the Royal Scots safely under heavy fire.

We withdrew at once about ten miles from the enemy's range, and, borrowing a telescope, I watched the Royal Scots, 1,100 strong, make their heroic charge, which began at 2 P. M.

They advanced on the double and took the three rows of Turkish trenches at the point of the bayonet without firing a shot. Then, without waiting for reinforcements, they advanced two and a half miles into the enemy's country. Their lines were gradually getting thinner, and realizing that they were in a tight place, they began to retreat. That is all that I saw. Corporal Joseph Nicolson was the only survivor of that ill-fated regiment.

On May 8 the news of the sinking of the _Lusitania_ reached us by wireless, and the bombardment by the _Queen Elizabeth_ became doubly terrific. I think more damage was done to the enemy that day than ordinarily in a week.

The next day there was a call for 1,000 men, 200 from each of the five largest ships, to support the soldiers on land on May 9. I was one of the number from the _Queen Elizabeth_, told off to go as landing parties at 6 A. M. Every man received a rifle, bayonet, two hundred rounds of ammunition, and two days' supply of food.

III--"TAKE THOSE TRENCHES OR DON'T COME BACK!"

On leaving the ship the commander's order was: "My boys, take those trenches or don't come back." Six hours later we landed on the Gallipoli Peninsula, and reached the trenches safely though under heavy firing of the enemy. I was for twelve hours in the third line of trenches, knee deep in mud and water. Our time there was spent in sharpening our bayonets like razors.

At midnight we advanced to the first line trenches. All around us were the dead and wounded of both sides. Four unsuccessful attempts were made by the Turks to take our trenches, but each time they were beaten back, with a heavy loss. Our side also suffered heavily. Before we landed the British troops had lost 3,000 men in six attempts to take the Turkish trenches. The enemy's fire had been so severe that the transports could not land reinforcements without being sunk.

We navy men were told that the Turkish trenches must be taken at all costs. They were only fifty yards in front of ours. At 10.15 A. M. our rifles were loaded with fifteen rounds, the magazine safety catch was put on and the respirators were adjusted over our faces. Not a shot was to be fired in our charge.

Meanwhile our ships were firing on the enemy's trenches. At 10.25 the order rang out, "Cold steel!" We fixed our bayonets. At 10.30 the bugles sounded the charge. Fifty men fell while getting out; but in ten minutes we took the Turkish trenches. Our losses were 250 killed and 200 wounded.

It is almost impossible to describe a bayonet charge. On the instant of the order you spring out, jump or crawl from the trenches, with bayonet fixed, and charge on the double. Sometimes you have to creep to make an attack. You become like a raving maniac; your senses seem to leave you. All around comrades are dropping, but you do not think of them. Reaching the enemy's trench, a terrific hand-to-hand struggle takes place. Strategy is the main point. Our bayonets were eighteen inches in length, while those of the Turks were all lengths from 12 to 15 inches. We wore the gas respirators in our charge, as our commander thought that our appearance would frighten the enemy. It did. We looked like black devils.

At 10.45 the Turkish trench was taken. After the victory our captain made a brief address. Facing the dead and wounded with the tears streaming from his eyes, he said:

"I am proud of my boys who fought so splendidly and did what seven thousand soldiers failed to do in six attempts, losing three thousand. You, a mere handful, one thousand strong, succeeded in the first attempt. The army has much to thank the navy for."

The last was uttered loud enough to be heard by the soldiers in the neighboring trenches. They were so sore about it that they would not speak to us navy men for several days.

IV--THE TURKISH GIRL BEFORE THE FIRING SQUAD

One day we were allowed a few hours' leave to go where we pleased. In our wanderings we came to a farm where women were working in the fields. In one field was a huge haystack. Approaching it, one of my comrades said that he would show how he killed six Turks. He fixed his bayonet to his rifle and made a charge at the haystack. There was blood on his bayonet when he withdrew it. We ripped open the haystack and in the hollow found a young Turkish girl trying to bandage her arm where my chum's bayonet had wounded her. There were a cot, table and chair in the stack, and the girl had a rifle with a telescopic sight, and a box of cartridges. We were about to let her go, when she dropped a package which broke, and thirty-one identification disks, such as are worn by every soldier and sailor in the British Army and Navy, fell on the ground!

She was a sniper. We had to turn her over to our superior officer. She was court martialed and ordered to be shot in a half hour. We could not bear to see a woman face the firing squad, so we left the place and went back to our trench. We stayed there until the troops were landed and relieved us.

While in the trenches we went through many an ordeal, the chief of which was the vermin that, combined with the heat and filthy water, made life almost unbearable. When we returned to our ship all our clothing was taken from us and burned. We were then subjected to a bath of hot water containing some powerful disinfectant which took away a part of our skin. New uniforms were given us and we put them on our raw hides with a sense of unspeakable delight.