Chapter IX: Part 9

He fought in the battles of the Aisne, Pepereign, Festubert, Hooge, St. Eloi, Neuve Chapelle, Loos and Pommier. He was wounded at Neuve Chapelle, sent to England, recovered and insisted on going back. He was wounded again at Pommier last February, two miles back of the line, when a stray shell fragment struck him in the back. The force of it hurled him to the ground in the midst of some barbed wire entanglements that caught in his forehead and tore back his scalp to the crown. A comrade clapped a cap upon his head to hold the scalp in place while he was carried to the hospital. His recovery amazed the surgeons.

Once he broke military rules by staying away from his billet all night. That night a shell struck the billet and killed his partner with whom he had been sleeping for months.

At another time, a shell split a house in which he was installing signal apparatus and killed half a dozen telegraph clerks with whom he had just been talking. He was uninjured.

III--"EVERYBODY IS A HERO"

"Heroes," he mused. "I suppose everybody is a hero after he has got on to the knack of heroism. You don't call a man a hero because he rushes fearlessly across Fifth Avenue; but to a person who has never seen anything busier than a country road, the act looks heroic. It's something the same with No Man's Land. I have a friend, a doctor, who got a D.S.O. for going out on No Man's Land to bandage up some wounded comrades. He didn't know he was doing anything heroic. They needed care; they couldn't come in, so he went out--that's all.

"It was different with O'Leary. He went out for the fun of the thing and got eighteen Germans."

The captain spoke of Private Michael O'Leary, V. C., who won the coveted decorations for this particular joke. It happened in the sector where Capt. Corcoran was stationed and he was well acquainted with the details.

"O'Leary had been betting on the 'sausages' for several days," he said, "and he was bored. He wanted some real fun and let everybody know he was in the mood.

"Betcha can't go across and bring back a Boche," somebody suggested. O'Leary sprung from the trench and went. In a second he was lost in the darkness and in half a minute the boys heard him yelling like a demon for help. Nobody could ever figure out how he did it--he must have brained the sentinel and disarmed the others while they were asleep. But there he was, with the arms of eighteen of them piled up before him, yelling back to the British trenches to come over and get the men. Of course, the boys answered his call and brought the whole eighteen back to the British lines.

"You see, the Germans, with all their efficiency, aren't used to that kind of fighting. They're always so darn serious about it. They're good soldiers but they don't have any fun. When they see us come over kicking a football ahead of the charge, they don't seem to know what to make of it. We do it sometimes, don't you know, just to add a little novelty to the sport.

"The war is just beginning. The Germans have a great machine and it'll take a long while to break it.

"As much as you people in the States have heard about German efficiency, there has been little overestimating of it. Only one who has seen the Germans in action can appreciate what a well-regulated business organization they have made of war.

"I don't know what our boys will do when it's all over; they're so used to war that peace will probably come hard for a while.

"Seriously, now, I don't know a soldier who is even dreaming of peace. They didn't want war, but now that it is here, they're going to carry it through. And they're going to have all the fun they can out of it while it lasts."

PRIVATE McTOSHER DISCOVERS LONDON

_Told by C. Malcolm Hincks_

Experiences of a Highland soldier, back from the front, while
visiting London for the first time in his life. The hero's correct
name, of course, has been suppressed in this story in the _Wide
World_.

I--STORY OF THE HIGHLANDER ON FURLOUGH

He was standing on the main-line departure platform of St. Pancras Station. Motionless, as though on guard over the bookstall, he might have been made of the granite of his native country, and I felt sure that his name was Sandy or Jock.

His war-stained khaki bore traces of many ordeals undergone; even the big, red knees were flecked with mud. Around him hung the extraordinary medley of equipment that so thoroughly justifies the old Army axiom that a soldier is "something to hang things on."

A red face beamed out like a beacon from the mass of paraphernalia, a wisp of sandy hair peeped from under the soft khaki headgear, but the steady blue eyes glanced at me with hard suspicion as I felt for my cigarette-case; and thinking my action might be misunderstood, I went into the refreshment-room and dined.

Nearly three-quarters of an hour later I emerged. It was eight o'clock, and I had half an hour longer to wait for my train to the Midlands. I gasped when I saw the Highlander still standing on sentry-go beside the bookstall. Presently he shouldered his rifle and paced along the platform. There was a clatter, and his steel helmet slipped from his back and rolled towards me. I just saved it from going under the wheels of a heavy luggage truck a porter was pushing along.

The Highlander took his property with gruff word of thanks.

"Losh, mon; it's a terrible city!" he murmured, as he placed his rifle between his knees and groped among the multitudinous buckles and straps on his broad back. "D'ye ken it's been my life's dream to see yon London? Ma old mither don't believe in dreams--and I'm thinkin' she's reet. I'll be glad when eleven o'clock comes and I'm off for bonnie Scotland!"

"Eleven o'clock!" I gasped. "Why, you've nearly three hours to wait, and you were here when I arrived just after seven."

"Aye; I've been here since four o'clock. Mon, I know this platform as well as I know ma own wee house! I feel safer here than in yon streets."

Having fixed his steel helmet to his satisfaction on top of the other gear, he swung his rifle round on the sling--nearly braining an elderly gentleman who was passing behind him in the process. Ignoring the civilian's angry protest, he turned to me.

"That's the sixth," he said, shortly, and a faint glimmer of amusement came into his clear blue eyes, "the sixth thieving rascal that felt ma rifle this day. They hang round trying to steal something from ma kit. It's a terrible city. I've been discoverin' it all day."

"Look here," I said, "I've half an hour to spare, and you must be feeling hungry. I can't offer you a drink, but if you'll come and have some hot tea or cocoa and something to eat, I'll be proud, and you can tell me of your adventures."

The Scot eyed me suspiciously.

"A wee lassie made the same offer three hours since," he replied, doubtfully. "A lassie all in furs, but I didna trust her, and I told her so. She was after ma money or ma kit, or she wouldn't have been so angry at having been found oot! But I'll trust ye, mon. I want a bite of something, and if it's my adventures you want to hear, it's a wonderful story I'll have to tell ye."

And here is the tale he told me, though I can only indicate the broad Scots in which he spoke.

II--THE SCOTCHMAN TELLS HIS OWN TALE

For years in ma wee Inverness-shire home I'd dreamt of seeing London. I'd never seen a city in ma life. I might have gone to Edinburgh once, but I lost the excursion ticket I'd bought and couldna find it till the train had gone. Ma mither had put it away for safety and forgotten where she'd put it! I was working for Farmer Macpherson when news of the war came, and about the end of August I was in the market-toon, when up came a chap dressed like I am now, except that he'd only got three stripes on his arm ... and was twisting a cane. "My lad," says he, "don't you wish to serve your King and Country?"

"Aye," says I, "but I'm serving Farmer Macpherson juist noo, and he and ma mither wouldna like me changing jobs."

Well, the sergeant had a lot to say. Mon, he was an awfu' liar, that sergeant! Maybe he came from here; I'm thinking he did! He talked of seeing life and of being in Berlin before Christmas.

"Mon," I says, "I'm not fashing maself about Berlin, but if I go in the Army shall I go to London?"

"Of course," says he. "As soon as you're a soldier you'll go to London."

"All reet," says I; and I sent a boy home with the pony-cart to tell them that Jock McTosher had 'listed and was going to London. Well, I didna go to London. I trained in various parts of Scotland, just far enough away to miss ma home, but too close to get a real change. Then we went to an awfu' place in Wiltshire, all mud and huts and hard work; and then slipped across to France. I was a sad mon when I left the dock that night. I'd thought as a soldier I'd be sure to see London, but I'd never even seen a big town save the one we sailed from, and they marched us through that at night, when everything was quiet, and stowed us away in the big ship like smuggled goods.

Well, I'd given up all hope of seeing London unless I got wounded and was sent there, when a bit ago they told me ma name was down for a ten days' leave! "Losh!" I says to maself, "I'll have a whole day in London before going north!" Well, I've had it, mon, and it's been a wash-out!

At six o'clock this morning I arrived at Victoria, and with some pals had breakfast at a hut in the station. One of them was a Londoner, and when the laddies left me to go to their homes, he told me to keep straight along the street and I'd come to Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament.

Losh! mon, I was verra disappointed with London when I stepped out into yon street. It was quieter than the ruined wee village I'd left in France. Well, I looked at the Abbey from the outside, but no' feeling dressed for the kirk, I went across to the Houses of Parliament, thinking maybe the politicians would have had their breakfast interval and be starting again soon, as it was by then getting on for eight o'clock.

But the big gates were shut and there seemed no one about but a policeman. A nice mon he was--and he knew me, too.

"Halloa, Jock!" says he, quite friendly. "What are ye wanting?"

"Mon," says I, "I'm having a day in London, and I want to see the Members of Parliament and the great lords at work. Maybe the day-shift's having breakfast and not started yet?"

The policeman laughed as though I'd made a joke. He said the members weren't working that day, and anyway they didn't start till the afternoon.

"Mon," I said, "they must make good money, or they'd never be able to live with so much standing-off time."

"They don't do so bad," says the policeman, with another laugh; and I walked up a road called Whitehall, though I couldn't see anything white about it, unless it was the faces of the wee lassies hurrying to work. Then I went into a park and sat down and had a rest and a smoke. Maybe I dozed for awhile, for when I got out into that same Whitehall again something wonderful seemed to have happened. It was all noise and rush, and I was saluting officers until my arm ached. Then I crossed the road a bit, and after having been nearly run over twice, turned down a side-street and lost myself.

III--ON THE WAY TO PICCADILLY

Presently I saw what looked like a kindly old gentleman, and I asked him the way to Piccadilly.

"You'd better take the Tube," says he. "There's a station just over there."

"Tube!" says I, doubtful like. "What's that?"

"An underground railway," says he, hurrying off. "You'll get to Piccadilly Circus in a few minutes."

He was an awfu' liar, that mon! Why, it was ten minutes before I got ma ticket! There were penny-in-the-slot machines besides the little windows; but I don't trust them. There seemed to be about half-a-dozen railways running into the place, and there were maps with all the colours o' the rainbow to show you how to get to places; but as I didn't know where I was, or whether I was on a green or a brown line, they didn't help me much. I looked at the pictures and I looked at the pert lassies in uniform clippin' tickets an' all. I didn't like bothering them with questions, but at last I got to a window and asked for Piccadilly.

"Penny," says the girl.

"Aye," says I, and I put down ma rifle, not meaning to hurt the foot of the fussy mon behind me. "Is there any reduction for a return?" says I, having been brought up never to waste the bawbees.

"No," she snapped. "Penny's the fare. Hurry up, please!"

"Yes, do," growled out the mon behind, hopping about on one foot and I saw it was true about a crowd quickly gathering in London--for just in the little time I'd been talking there were dozens of people waiting in a line.

"I'll have to get at ma purse," says I, starting to search ma pockets. "Losh! I believe I have it in ma pack! Will ye give us a hand with these straps, laddie?"

"Oh, I'll pay your fare," says the man behind me; and no doubt he meant it kindly, though his way was rough. Well, I puts ma ticket in ma pocket and walks a little way. Then one of the wee lassies with clippers stops me and wants ma ticket.

"Hold ma rifle, lassie," says I, "so as I can get it."

Seeing how unsociable everyone else seemed, I spoke kindly to the lassie and told her I hoped she liked the job and her mither approved and all. But maybe, knowing Londoners, she didna trust any mon; anyway, the C.O. with a bad attack of liver couldn't have told me off much sharper; and there was a crowd behind charging at me just like a game of football!

Mon, I'm not surprised that these Londoners make good soldiers! A man that could take that Tube every day of his life would think the first line of trenches restful! Down a sort of underground tunnel I walked; then suddenly I came to the funniest staircase I'd ever seen. I should have stopped to stare at the rumbling, snarling thing, but people from behind pushed me, and all of a sudden there was somethin' wrong with ma feet, and I found myself carried forwards. While I was looking about me steps formed before my eyes, and I gave a yell and clutched out to save myself.

Now mind ye, mon, I'm a respectable young chap; ma feyther was elder at the kirk and ma mither's always warned me to treat lassies with proper respect.

I didna know it was a lassie's waist I clutched hold of when I went down with a crash, ma rifle clattering and those awfu' stairs sliding downwards all the time. When I pulled myself together I saw that I'd dragged down with me a very pretty lassie, and she was sitting on ma knee! She was wearing one of those terrible short skirts, and there before my eyes was about a yard of silk stockings; but the lassie jumped to her feet just as I was going to shut ma eyes.

She was quite nice aboot it, mind ye--the only nice Londoner I'd met. She was flushed-up like, and confused, as anybody would be on that awfu' livin' staircase, but she helped me to get to ma feet and collect ma kit. It wasn't her fault, moreover, that I fell down again in getting off that movin' contraption. I thought I was going to be carried doon the crack where it disappeared, and what with marking time and trying to step off with both feet at once I came down again with another crash. I blocked the passage-way for a minute or two, and the poor Londoners, with never a second to spare, were clambering all over me. Do they get paid by the minute?

When I'd picked maself up and seen that nothing was missing, the dainty little lassie had disappeared. I was sorry, for, although I've been taught to be cautious of women, she was certainly verra nice, and no weight at all on ma knee.

IV--"I'VE WALKED THE SEWERS OF LONDON"

Finding myself alone, I set off up a tunnel. Presently I came to a notice--"Exit by Stairs." I didna know what "exit" meant, but I knew all about those terrible conjuring-trick stairs, and so I turned back and tried another tunnel. Seeing a lot of people going into a little room, I followed them. I gave ma ticket to another lassie, but she was so busy love-making to a bit of a boy that she took it without so much as a glance at it or me. There were advertisements in the room, and sort of sliding doors at each end of it. "It's a waiting-room," says I to maself; and thinking there might be some time before a train came and they opened the other door, I lit a "fag." Very wisely, I saw, they'd put up "Beware of Pickpockets," so I kept my eyes about me.

"No smoking!" barks the lassie; and she came into the room, closing the other gates behind her.

I was just going to argue with her, when all of a sudden the room started to move upwards. Losh! mon, it gave me an awfu' turn! I yelled out, and a man standing next to me laughed--anyway, he laughed till I turned round and ma rifle knocked against his head. Then, before I knew what had happened, the other gates swung open in a ghostly way. Mon, I'll swear there was no one to open them! I drew in a breath of fresh air, thinking I'd got to Piccadilly but, if you'll believe me, I'd walked the sewers of London and _come out at place where I'd entered_! And that old man said the "Tube" was an underground railway! Underground maze, I call it! I walked to Piccadilly after that; I was afraid of spending the rest of ma leave down there.

I have no doot that Piccadilly is gay enough. But I was feeling tired and hungry the noo there were officers thick as flies after jam; and there didn't seem room for me and ma kit on the pavement. And the lassies! Never have I seen such clothes, and some of 'em had enough fur on them to make twenty goatskin waistcoats. It's a queer thing, though, but all of them seemed to have their clothes too short for them; ma mither would have been horrified. They looked at me as if I was something out of a show, and I began to feel nervous. "Losh!" I says to maself, "I'll have a bit of dinner. I'll do maself well." So I walked into a restaurant, after dodging a naval officer who was standing at the entrance and seemed to have something to do with the place. As soon as I got in I saw I'd made a mistake, and I'd have retired at the double, but a foreigner in evening dress, with about four square feet of starched shirt on him, came rushing up quite excited.

"You can'd sdop here," says he. "Dis blace is for ladies and gendlemen."

"Mon," says I, "there's many a rule made to be broken, or you wouldna be here."

"I'll haf no insolence!" he cries, going very red. "You go to a common restaurant. We do not serve your sort here."

That roused what ma mither calls the devil in me.

"Mon," says I, catching him by the collar, "I've been killing the likes of you for the past sixteen months. The only difference is that they wore a grey uniform, instead of that fancy dress of yours. Say 'kamerad' and bring me some sausages and mashed and a pint of beer, or you'll be the thirteenth I've finished off at close quarters, and that might be unlucky for both of us!"

"The Scotsman's quite right," piped a pretty voice; and I felt fair frightened. The whole place was in an uproar. Ma rifle--an awkward thing is a rifle--had knocked over a chair, and a young Brass Hat (Staff officer) who was sitting at a table with the girl with the pretty voice, came over. I had to let the other chap go, so as to salute.

"This won't do, you know," says Brass Hat, very severe; but the pretty lassie frowned at him, and he looked a bit awkward. "Confound you, you fool!" says he, very fierce, to the man in evening dress. "The young lady wants this man to lunch with us!"

V--"AND I WENT TO THE CINEMA"

I can't quite remember what happened after that. I should have liked to have fed with that lassie, for her eyes sparkled like stars, and as the Brass Hat was afraid of her it showed she was worth knowing. Still, she wasn't my lassie, but his, and he mightn't have liked it, so I started to retire. The Brass Hat gave me half a crown and said something about being quite as keen on killing the waiter as I was; and then I found myself out in Piccadilly again. It was some time before I found a little pub where I got a good dinner, with beer, for eighteenpence. I will say that for Londoners, mon, they do throw money aboot. Within an hour or so I'd had a railway fare paid and been stood a good dinner. But they take so much more out of you than what they give you, that's my grievance.

Well, having had a good dinner, I strolled along for a bit, and then I thought I'd have a motor-bus ride. As I was standing on the pavements a 'bus stopped alongside me. Mon, I blushed and turned away ma head.

There, on the wee platform at the end, stood a lassie in a blue kilt shorter than mine and high-top boots. Ma little sister wears longer skirts! She was a brown, curly-haired lassie, quite twenty years old, with a funny-shaped hat on her head and a cheeky smile on her lips.

"Want the Bank, Sandy?" says she.

"Lassie," says I, "war's a terrible thing! Go hame to your mither and ask her to lengthen your kilt!"

"Kilt, indeed!" says the hussy, unabashed. "You're out of date, old boy!" And she jerked the bell and the 'bus went off. She waved to me from the stairs, but, of course, I took no notice. By now I was tired of London, mon; I wanted a little peace. Coming to a cinema, I paid saxpence at a little ticket-office and went through a hall that was all mahogany and plush, with a sort of field-marshal in full dress sweeping the marble floor. A lassie with a torch pulled a curtain on one side, and I saw a man falling into a river with a motor-car chasing him. Then the lights went up, and I saw I'd paid saxpence just to stand. I said I'd been swindled, but the people round only cried "Hush!" and then the lights went out again and some letters came up on the screen--"The Big Advance on the Somme."

Mon, when you've been dodging shells and bullets for sixteen months, and ruins and broken trees are the only sort of scenery you've seen, you don't want to have "Big Advances" thrown at you on the pictures. I think I began a speech, and I'm sure it would have been a fine one, but things happen so sudden in London. I saw a shell coming over--on the film, ye ken--and I ducked from force of habit and jostled one or two people. In the excitement I upset a pretty lassie who picked up ma helmet--it was in the dark, ye see--and then I was put out. I wanted to go, or else they'd never have done it. After that---- Oh, is that your train, mon?

"I should have liked to hear the remainder of your adventures in London, Jock," I said, leaning out of the carriage window.

"There weren't any more," replied Jock, gazing suspiciously round him. "I came straight here after that. I've had enough of London. I've only three hours to wait the noo! I'll be feeling a wee-bit lonely, but----"

The train moved away suddenly. I saw the brawny man in khaki take up his position by the bookstall, now closed. I waved to him, but he had turned to granite again. Private McTosher had discovered London!

RUSSIAN COUNTESS IN THE ARABIAN DESERT

_Adventures of Countess Molitor as Told in Her Diary_

I--ON THE GREAT ARABIAN DESERT

One of the most striking of all the numberless enterprises of one kind and another which have been brought to naught by the war was the plan of a young, rich and beautiful Russian countess to unveil the secrets of one of the earth's last unexplored and admittedly most dangerous regions--the great Desert of Arabia, called by the tribesmen who live on its fringe "The Dwelling of the Void," a region that is three times as large as Great Britain, and upon which no European foot is yet known to have been set.

The young widow of a wealthy Russian nobleman, whose estates were in the neighborhood of Moscow, Countess Molitor's life had been full of thrilling experiences even before she made her plan to go, without any European companion, and conquer the unexplored Ruba-el-Khali.

Previously she had wandered, with only a small escort of native bearers, through savage Southwest Africa, and had been captured there and held for ransom by native torturers. She had adventured, too, among the savage Tuaregs of the Saharan Desert, known as the most bloodthirsty tribe on earth; had crossed the Alps in a balloon, made between sixty and seventy flights in aero and water planes, been attacked and kept prisoner by Apaches in Paris, had nursed in the hospitals of Europe and taken part in rescue work in the slums of London.

Of the remarkable experiences that have befallen the plucky countess since then I am now able to tell as the result of having, to begin with, received several lengthy letters from her at Cartagena, in Spain, where she has been living for some months, and, more recently, having been privileged to read the mightily interesting and vividly written journal that she kept from the moment of her arrival at Port Said.

Had it not been for the war, it is extremely probable that the countess would have accomplished her project, which would have pushed her into the front rank of successful explorers. She carried out, it seems, her original intention, a venturesome one, indeed, for a white woman, of joining a Bedouin tribe and traveling with them, and had covered over nine hundred miles of her journey when she was caught in the Turkish mobilization and arrested, on suspicion of being a Russian spy, by the Moslems, who, from the beginning had frowned on her project and attempted to prevent it. Bitterly disappointed at being thus defeated just when the chance of success seemed rosiest, the countess was brought back as a prisoner to Damascus. There she had the narrowest escape of being shot for supposed espionage, and it was only after months of surveillance and affronts that she finally was permitted to return to Europe.

II--GUEST OF A BEDOUIN SULTAN

Though she failed to get across the Arabian Desert, the countess, previous to her arrest, had some of the strangest and most picturesque experiences that ever have befallen a white woman. Probably no other European woman has traveled, as she did, for weeks on end as the honored guest of a Bedouin Sultan (who insisted on believing her to be a sister of the Czar of Russia), living the nomadic life of the tribe and riding on camel-back, nor lived, as did the countess, all by herself, in the heart of old-world Damascus, an experiment that does not commend itself even to the foreign consuls. What she saw of the brutalities of the Turkish mobilization alone makes as thrilling a tale as any that has been told since the war began.

Meanwhile the countess has been the victim of an astonishing accident, as a result of which she is still chary about using her right arm.

"One day here at Cartagena," she writes, "while swimming some distance out at sea, I was followed and attacked by a big dolphin. Luckily an officer at the fortress had seen it, and he fired on the dolphin. But before killing him, one bullet went through my right arm! I must say in fairness to the dolphin that it really was not he who first attacked me. I saw him following me, and I thought I could have a little ride on his back, knowing that dolphins are good-natured, as a rule. But he misunderstood my attentions and turned on me, and, had not the second shot been fired an instant later, I should have been lost."

The countess made the journey to Beyrout via Port Said.

From Beyrout she went by train to Damascus (a day's journey), where she had planned to live for a time and improve her knowledge of Arabic, which is one of the six languages which she speaks, before setting out for the desert. To begin with, she put up at the only European hotel in this famous city of the East, and found its proprietor to be a strange character, indeed. Untidy of person and appallingly rude in manner, "he reigned there," writes the countess, "with absolute despotism. This his monopoly of the European hotel business in Damascus enabled him to do, as the Arab hostelries are impossible for foreigners.

"Here is a little example of his delightful ways. One day an English visitor asked for a bath and, as answer, was told to get his luggage ready and leave the hotel in two hours' time, as his hotel had no room for people who were dirty enough to need a bath! It seemed to be a special passion and sport of his to turn people out of his hotel, and any one to whom he took the smallest dislike was ejected without the slightest consideration. Those who won his favor, however, he entertained with jokes and stories worthy of an old pirate!"

She met both the English and Russian consuls, who placed themselves at her service and introduced her to other Europeans likely to advise her wisely in the matter of engaging her caravan and getting acquainted with friendly Arab chiefs, who would be able to give her a certain amount of protection at the outset of her journey, and eventually she found an old Syrian woman willing to let her house and act as cook and general factotum.

III--UNDER ESPIONAGE IN DAMASCUS

And so she settled down, and from this time, the early days of May, until when in June she began her journey the countess, with no other protector than old Sitt Trusim, as her bent and shriveled landlady, who proved to be the most capable of spies, was called, lived the life of a Syrian woman of the upper class, wearing the native dress, smoking the nargileh, studying Arabic diligently and always dreaming of what would happen when she was alone with her camels and the Arabs under the desert stars.

The pages of the journal she kept during those months are reminiscent of "Kismet" and the "Thousand and One Nights," for where the countess willed to go she went, regardless of whether it was precisely safe to do so or not. And adventures she had in plenty. For while keeping nominally in touch with her European acquaintances on the hill of Sahiye, outside Damascus, she found her chief delight in wandering through the bazaars and the quaint streets of this enchanted city of minarets and in riding on horseback through the surrounding country in the cool of the evening. Once while thus doing she was attacked, as she had been warned she would be, by a couple of robbers, who possessed themselves of all the money she had, but missed her small Browning pistol, which, Bedouin fashion, she carried in her riding boot, and with this she eventually cowed them and made her escape.

It was soon made plain to the countess that all her movements were painstakingly reported to the Turkish authorities, though the Vali, or Governor, consistently posed as her friend. She had by no means agreeable experiences, too, owing to the jealousy of certain Syrian families, whose pressing invitations to various ceremonials she had been obliged to decline, while accepting those of others and immensely enjoying the impressive and occasionally screamingly funny rites which she witnessed as their guest. One of these hosts of hers, by the way, was the proud possessor of the only bath in Damascus. More than one attempt was made to lure Countess Molitor to places where it was undoubtedly intended to ill-treat if not actually to make away with her. I will let her tell of one of these plots.

"To-day Sitt Trusim brought me a letter addressed in unknown handwriting. Before opening it I asked her who brought it. She tells me that a man delivered it, whom, after questioning him, she found out to be deaf and dumb. I read the letter, which was an invitation from a lady asking me to visit her and her daughters this afternoon. She complained that I had given preference to her friends by visiting them, and said that she would send her man-servant to bring me at 5 o'clock. I don't know why this letter aroused my suspicions. Perhaps on account of the mysterious deaf and dumb messenger.

"I sent for Vadra Meshaak (a friend's dragoman) to come to me, and showed him the letter quite carelessly, without mentioning my suspicions. He at once declared that it was written by a man and not by a woman and became very serious and angry, feeling sure that there was some treason behind it. At 5 o'clock the man was to come and fetch me. Well, he (Vadra) would dress up in my Arab costume, which in its largeness covers the whole figure, and go with the man and find out who the writer of the letter was. If it really was a woman he could explain his disguise as a joke. But he absolutely feared foul play! So in the afternoon we sent Sitt Trusim on an errand to the farthest end of the town, and I arranged Vadra Meshaak to look like a Syrian lady.

"Punctually at 5 o'clock the mysterious deaf-and-dumb man knocked at the door, and Vadra Meshaak opened it and went away with him. I had not been alone a quarter of an hour till he was back again, all fury and excitement. After he had calmed down a little I heard his story! He had followed the man to a house in the inner court where three Turks, very well known to Vadra Meshaak, were getting up to pounce upon him. He did not leave them any time to talk, but gave each of them a heavy blow in the face, and before they could realize what had happened he had disappeared again.

"They must have thought me a very fine pugilist! What their intrigue against me had been we shall never know. Vadra thinks that they probably meant to keep me in their house by force over night and then afterward report that I was a woman of no character and thus get me expelled."

At the outset of the arrangements for the journey she was fortunate in getting acquainted with an old Arab Sheik, Mahmoud Bassaam, who had previously traveled with the Arabian lady explorer, Miss Bell, and was known to be entirely trustworthy. He had spent virtually all his life with the Bedouin and, as a camel dealer, had accumulated what was regarded in the East as a large fortune; yet he consented to accompany the countess (whose personal charm generally prevails, not only with men, but with her own sex, too), and took charge of all the arrangements for her journey, including the buying of camels and outfit.

"My idea," the countess writes in her diary, "is to join the Roalla tribe at Palmyra and make friends with their Sultan, as they are one of the greatest and richest tribes in all Arabia. Once friends with the Roalla I intend to travel with them, move with them through the inner deserts southward and, arrived south, I hope to be able to interest the Sultan and induce him to cross the Ruba-el-Khali with me. Because I think this is only possible for a great tribe, with all their herds of camels and sheep. On my journey with him I shall try my utmost to fire his imagination and to rouse his enthusiasm for the exploration of the great desert."

As her dragoman, the countess had an American university graduate, one Doctor Kahl, a Syrian, "well educated, serious and clever," who also had spent many years with the tribes of Arabia, but who, when introduced to the countess by Sheik Mahmoud Bassaam, had a lucrative practice as a dentist in Damascus.

IV--ACROSS DESERT ON CAMEL CARAVAN

It was on the fifth of June that she set out, secretly, for fear that the Turkish authorities at Damascus would oppose her if they knew of her intentions. Allowing it to be supposed that she was merely going for a ride on horseback, she met her American-taught dragoman on the outskirts of Damascus, and rode with him to Adra, on the fringe of the desert, where Mahmoud Bassaam and her caravan (eight camels and camel men, an Arabian cook and a guide) were awaiting her.

It was in September, after they had traveled for more than 900 miles through the desert in company with the Sultan Al Tayar and his followers that the first echoes of the European war reached these travelers.

In the meanwhile the Countess who, from first to last, was treated as a guest of the highest distinction by the Sultan (to whom she had been presented by Mahmoud Bassaam) had been able to revel to the full in the dreamy "_dolce far niente_" existence which she had so often pictured to herself. She had become familiar with all the customs and observances of the Bedouins--she had even witnessed a pitched battle between her hosts and an enemy tribe--and had learned to eat with her fingers as they did without discomfort. By some means the impression that she was a sister of the Czar of Russia had become fixed in the minds of these tribesmen, and when the Countess wished to disabuse them of it, the Sultan dissuaded her, hinting that it was all to the good.

It was while crossing the Dahma Desert and heading for the wells of Wadi-al-Mustarri that a small Arab tribe brought them the tidings that Turkish soldiers were scouting the country, and that at Hail great demonstrations and assemblies of Turks and Arabs had taken place. And, on arriving at Jilfi, a small trading town, a few days later they learned that a European war had broken out, though between whom nobody knew.

At Jilfi the countess was arrested, a paralyzing blow for her, considering that she had covered more than half the distance to the Ruba-el-Khali, and that another two months would have found her on its borders, and that she had succeeded in winning the Sultan to the venture of attempting to cross it. He and his chiefs, who first wished to resist, parted from their guest with keen sorrow, and the Sultan presented her, as his parting gift, with a magnificent emerald, of which, however, she was robbed while being brought back as a prisoner and ill with fever to Damascus. There the Turkish authorities greeted her with soft words, declaring that they had acted only for her safety, but, though she was allowed to go free and to live in her own house, she was aware all the time that she was carefully watched.

V--HELD PRISONER--ESCAPE TO EGYPT

The account which she gives of the Turkish mobilization in the days that immediately followed is graphic enough: "Soldiers armed to the teeth pass," she writes, "driving before them villagers to be enlisted. The boys all look terrified. Patriotism means nothing to them; they loathe their Government and are frightened to death at the thought of becoming Turkish soldiers, who are treated like dogs. Those who can, fly and hide themselves in the mountains. At present the Lebanon is full of such fugitives, and, being very desperate and nearly mad with fright and hunger, they are quite dangerous to meet. I am told they hide like animals in the grass and bushes and live on wild cucumbers. Poor things."

Then German officers arrived on the scene and things grew rapidly worse. "The commandeering in town," writes the countess, "is rapidly bringing about the utter financial ruin of many families. To-day every house was ordered to provide a hundred blankets or to pay a sum equivalent to their value. Those who cannot comply are thrown into prison. From the store at which I buy my provisions they have taken $2,500 worth of rice, sugar and coffee, the poor man's entire stock, without paying him a penny or even giving him a receipt. He is ruined. From another store they have taken carpets and rugs valued at $1,000 which are, I am told, destined for the private households of the officers! The same is, no doubt, the destination of $1,500 worth of ladies' silk stockings, linen and dresses, which were also commandeered!

"A commission visited the manager of a firm of automatic pistols and took away 800 without paying for them, leaving the rest. Two days later the manager was arrested, under the pretext that he had purposely hidden the arms which the commission had not taken. They put him into prison, and only after a week's incarceration, his family having paid £50 to the Government, was released. Meanwhile he has not had a receipt for his guns."

Eventually the countess managed to escape from Damascus to Bayreuth, where she had hoped to find a friend in the Vali, or Governor, there, who had treated her with great consideration at the time of her arrival in Syria. Upon instructions from Damascus, however, he kept her a virtual prisoner, and when later her trunks were examined and the photographs and notes she had made while on her expedition discovered she was in imminent danger of being shot as a Russian secret agent. The Russian consul, who was himself in danger and had made one fruitless effort to escape, was unable to assist her.

She found her best friends, then, in the officers of the American men-of-war _North Carolina_ and _Tennessee_, which were lying off the town. They gave her good counsel and helped to keep her spirits up. After some weeks of agonizing uncertainty it was decided that the countess should merely be expelled from the country, and she was given an hour to get aboard of a vessel which was sailing for Egypt.

GERMAN STUDENTS TELL WHAT SHERMAN MEANT

_Three Confessions from German Soldiers_

_Told by Walther Harich, Wilhelm Spengler and Willie Treller_

What the educated German soldier thinks about the war, how he is
affected by the strain and the brutalities and the heroisms of life
consequent of it, is described with a fresh, powerful vividness
in a book of war letters from German students issued under the
editorship of Professor Philipp Witkop, of Freiburg ("Kriegsbriefe
Deutscher Studenten"). Translations of some of the impressions on
the German youth are here presented.

I--"DRIVEN TO DEATH BY ME"

Of the worst of all I have not written.... It is not the slaying, not the mounds of dead, which we are always passing, and not the wounded (they have the morphine needle and they lie quiet and peaceful in the straw of the requisitioned peasant carts). To me the worst is the distress and suffering to which man and beast are constantly subjected by the terrible strain. We have just buried my first mount, a glorious animal, virtually driven to his death. Driven to death by me! Can you imagine that a person as peaceable as I could find it possible to drive a horse to death with whip and spurs?

There is no help for it. The word is forward--always forward!

Oh, this everlasting driving on!

One stands beside a team that can go no further and compels the drivers, with kindness or threats, to force the impossible out of the horses. The poor animals are all in, but one grabs the whip himself and mercilessly beats away at the miserable beasts till they move again. That is the shocking thing--that one is constantly compelled to make demands upon the poor animals to which they are not equal. Everything here is beyond one's strength. The impossible is made possible. It must go--till something or other breaks.

Or picture this to yourself: Shaken with fever and with burning eyes, a boy comes to me, whimpering--he can endure no more--and I ride into him and drive him back to the front. Can you picture that? But it must be!

Everything here is beyond one's strength. My God! We ourselves must do impossible things. But can one demand that of the others? We know that the struggle is for the German idea in the world--that it is to defend German understanding, German perception against the onslaught of Asiatic barbarism and Romanic indifference. We know what is on the cards if we do not do our utmost.

But the men? How often since we came to this God-forsaken region did we tell ourselves that it was impossible to go forward at night. It is really impossible. And then came an order--an order which could not be carried out during the day, so it went at night. It went because it must. Because "the order" is the great unavoidable--something that must be carried out--Fate, the all-determining. We know what "the order" means now! It is that which gives our people the ascendancy over the whole world.

WALTHER HARICH.

II--HORRORS OF "NO MAN'S LAND"

Near Maricourt, December 17, 1914.

Soon after 11 we were awakened by the retiring sentries. As tired as dogs though we were, we crawled out into the open. It was still raining wet strings--a cold, ugly December night; not a star to be seen. Every once in a while the sound of a shot came to us from the other side of the stream.

"You," remarked Hias suddenly, "listen! Hear anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"Now."

It was a long, wailing cry for help. I could hear it distinctly.

"There is a poor devil out there, wounded," said Hias.

Great heavens--in this weather! And he must have been lying there without help since early yesterday.

He couldn't be in the wood anywhere, for we had gone through that thoroughly. Perhaps he had been caught by a shrapnel splinter during the retreat across the field. Well, what was it to us? Let his comrades get him. He must be just a few meters from the French trenches, anyhow.

Released at 1, we went back to our tents to get some sleep, cursing the French who left their comrade to perish so miserably.

At 3 the next afternoon, when I went on duty again, the poor devil was still calling for help, keeping it up all day. We could not help; we did not see him. And to expose ourselves to the French was a proceeding not to be lightly recommended. It was a horrible feeling to be condemned thus to inaction while a wounded soldier called for help.

When the wind changed one could hear the poor devil whimper and weep and then suddenly rouse himself and send out a call for help, "Oh, la, la!"

Why didn't the French take him away? There was no danger. We could not shoot, for we saw nothing. And we had no intention of doing that. I was glad when my hour was up.

At 8 o'clock I was at my place again with Hias. The poor Frenchman was whining more pitiably than ever. For half an hour we listened; then Hias lost his patience.

"What a tribe of pigs," he broke out, "to leave a comrade to die like a dog! He can't last much longer."

"Well, Hias," I said, "what can we do? I am sorry for him myself, but there is no help. He must die."

After a few minutes a terrible scream: "Oh, la, la, la, la!" pierced the night. Then there was quiet. God be praised! Now he is dead and at peace, I thought. And quietly I repeated a few prayers for his soul. But after a while we heard his cry again.

"Well, it's enough now," exclaimed Hias. "I can't stand this any longer. I'm going to get him, with or without permission." He spoke and disappeared.

In a minute his brother took his place at my side, while he himself ran up to the trenches. He was back in about ten minutes. He had the permission. The lieutenant also was going and asked if I would come along, as I knew something of first aid and could speak a little French.

When we got to the lieutenant three more men, splendid fellows, on whom one could rely, had volunteered. In a twinkling we had gathered tent cloth, side arms and saws and were running singly across the meadow. Of course, the sentries were notified that we were out in front.

We entered the wood. While two men worked with knives and saws to cut a way through, the others held themselves ready for anything that might develop. We stumbled over bodies, weapons and knapsacks. At last I found a little path which the French had made a few days previously.

I rested a while and was just about to return to my comrades when a hand gripped my foot. Great God, I was frightened! For a second I was paralyzed; then, tearing out my sword--

"Pitie! pitie!"

Some one under my feet was whining for mercy. My teeth chattered. I could hardly move or answer.

"Oh, m'sieur camarade; pitie! pitie!"

Suddenly the lieutenant appeared and I found my control again. Getting down on my knees, I carefully groped for the body.

"Look out now," whispered the lieutenant. "It may be a trap."

"Give me your hand," I ordered the Frenchman. A cold, moist, trembling hand was put into mine.

"Where is your weapon?" I asked. He had lost it as he pulled himself along till he was exhausted.

Suddenly from somewhere near we heard the horribly familiar call, "Oh, la! la!"

"Well, now," said the lieutenant, "we have one man, but not the right one."

I asked the wounded one whether we would be seen if we tried to get the other man.

"_Oui, mon brave camarade, Allemand._" The lieutenant hesitated, but resolved nevertheless to go on.

One man remained behind with the Frenchman--a corporal, he said he was--with orders to stab him instantly if he called for help while we were working our way through the brush. We came to the edge of the wood at last and peered out.

We could make out the forms of many black objects--dead men, killed so near their own trenches, too! Hias was beside me, and with his sharp peasant eyes soon espied the body of the poor fellow we were after. The lieutenant crawled out, and we followed. Coming up to him, I called softly, "_Camarade!_" I did not want to frighten him; besides, he might scream for help, then we would be in a nice fix.

"Oh, oh, _Dieu! Dieu!_" he breathed and emitted sounds like the joyful whining of a puppy when he saw me.

He grasped my hand and pressed it to his breast and cheek.

I felt him over carefully. As I fumbled along his left leg I received a sudden shock. Just below the calf it ended. The foot was torn off above the angle and hung loosely on the leg. As his whole body was wet I could not tell whether he was still bleeding. I could only make out that a rag was tied about the wound. He had bandaged it with his handkerchief, as I learned later.