Chapter III: Part 3

After a few months in France, they moved me to a Red Cross hospital at Southampton, England, called Netley hospital. I had a long stretch of hospital life in Netley. When I was sailing from France to England, aboard the hospital ship, they asked me where I would like to go. Naturally, being a Canadian, and having no relatives over there, I promptly said, London, so I could meet some of my pals. When I got off the boat, and aboard the hospital train, I asked the orderly if I was near London, and he gave the answer: "Don't worry. You are not going to London. You are on your way to Netley, and will be there in ten minutes."

I was a little downhearted at first, but after a few weeks, I was satisfied with my treatment, which was the very best.

When I got my little lot of wounds, on the Somme, I also was exposed to gas shells, which left my stomach in such a condition that I could not eat for two months until after I had that sea voyage from France to Netley. The nurse there asked me if I would try a poached egg on toast, and that was my turning point. From that day until the day I was discharged I have not missed a meal, except after an operation.

I had nine operations altogether, eight in the Netley Hospital at Southampton, England. After the shrapnel was removed, the doctor found out that the bone in my shoulder was severely fractured, and I had four different operations, just to clean out the loose bone which was keeping my wound from healing. All the time I was in the hospital and even until three months ago my arm was completely paralyzed. But through the wonderful treatment they gave me I am very glad to say I have pretty good use of my left arm.

Another one of my large wounds was in my left thigh, where I lost about eight inches of flesh, from the knee up. I have had four operations on this limb. I lay for eight months in suspense, awaiting the official word, whether I would have to lose the left limb. I can honestly say I had a great deal of confidence in my surgeon, and one day he came to me and had a personal chat with me. He talked to me just like a father. He asked me if I thought I could stand another operation because he stated that I was in a pretty bad condition. I was very anxious to know his view on the subject as I put all confidence in him. I promptly asked him his decision, and he replied that he thought I could stand it. Knowing he thought I could pull through, it did not take me long to let him do anything to get me healed up.

The operation was performed and I had all the skin taken from my right thigh and grafted on the wound on the left. I can say it was a success, and after a few months I was able to get along on a cane. The doctor, seeing I was able to move about, had me sent to a Canadian Hospital so I could be boarded and sent to Canada.

I was in the Canadian hospital for about a month and was very anxious to see my native land again, when one day at noon the word came for me to pack up and get ready for the boat.

After nine days at sea on a hospital ship, with all lights aglow, at the time the Germans were sinking Red Cross ships, we pulled into Halifax, N. S., safe and sound. Here I was detailed off for a hospital, after I had my furlough, to visit my relatives.

After I had seen my people, and was exhausted from talking, and shaking hands with old acquaintances, I reported to hospital again in St. John, N. B., Canada, where I received electrical and massage treatment.

At that time I could not bend my knee, and my leg was stiff, but through the wonderful treatment, and my own will power, I finally got very good use of it before I got my discharge, May, 1918.

BUCKINGHAM PALACE

5th October, 1915.

It is a matter of sincere regret to me that the death of Colour-Sergeant Frederick William Hall deprived me of the pride of personally conferring upon him the Victoria Cross, the greatest of all Military Distinctions.

George R. I.

Mrs. M. Hall,
179 Spence Street,
Winnipeg, Canada.]

The original letter of the above photo was sent to Mrs. Hall, together with the Victoria Cross, from King George. This medal, the first Canadian Victoria Cross awarded in this War, was won by Sergeant Major F. W. Hall at Ypres, April 24, 1915, who was shortly afterwards killed in another attempt to bring in a wounded man under rifle and machine gun. The story of his two brothers appears in this book.

TWO YEARS AND A HALF OF WAR

BY SGT. F. R. MUIR, NO. 81611, 10TH BATT., C.E.F.

SIX months before war had been declared I left New York City for Winnipeg, Canada, to play at the Winnipeg Theater and remained there until war was an established fact. On August 6, 1914, I enlisted as an American and joined the 32nd Battalion, C.E.F. After about five months' training, my battalion was ready and eager for service. From Halifax, Nova Scotia, we set out on the former Red-Star liner _Vaderland_ bound for the battle grounds of Civilization, each and every boy of us keyed up to the highest pitch of patriotism. When we were three days at sea we ran out of cigarettes. A number of the boys had boxes of strong cigars with them and these they passed around quite generously. We smoked with the usual gusto and also the usual results. A ton of fish must have been fattened on food that was intended solely to strengthen us for the combat.

This experience, coupled with seasickness, made four of us refuse to wake up one morning, for which we were brought up before the major and sentenced to cleaning port-hole windows. We did not relish this labor and one port hole each was the extent of our efforts for half the day. In the afternoon we were set to peeling potatoes, cleaning the dishes and scrubbing the lower decks, which we finally accomplished after much pouting and grumbling.

As we neared the coast of Ireland the ships which comprised our convoy seemed to be making a bee line for any port they could reach. Word had been received that subs were in the vicinity and full steam ahead was the order of the day. The fact that our ship was the slowest tub of the bunch, making only about nine knots per hour, added darned little to our comfort. Finally after much excitement we docked at Queenstown. Major Ashton, in command of our battalion, had the gangplanks lowered and invited us out to a route march through the city. We aroused quite some enthusiasm and curiosity, as we were the first Canadian troops to ever land in Ireland. Our next stop was Liverpool and there the dinkey trains, which to us were a real joke in comparison to our own huge monsters at home, afforded us opportunity for funny comment. These trains are little bits of things and from fifteen to twenty men were crammed into a small compartment normally holding about ten. Several of us were unable to sit down all the way to London. The best feature of the train service was the fond good-byes, given us by the young ladies who usually gave them with a kiss, something that not many of us found fault with.

On our journey through London we were royally received by English Red Cross ladies who fed us with welcome lunches that sure did fill the vacuum beneath the belt. From Folkestone, fully equipped, we left for France. We knew we were going over to reinforce the gallant 10th Battalion, and this knowledge added to our good spirits. We were relieving real heroes and we knew it was up to us to "Carry on" as nobly as had our predecessors. Every mother's son of us was eager, yes, anxious, to start in on real action. Canada expected much from us, and we would not disappoint her. Arriving at Boulogne we were a bit peeved as we anticipated being received by enemy shell fire, but silence was the only reception we got.

Red Cross ambulances were arriving in countless numbers, bringing in the wounded, and this was our first glimpse of battle's havoc. This sort of took the heart out of us, but only for a few moments, for, with that scene, came a gritting of the teeth, and on each face could be seen a new-born determination to see this thing through to a successful conclusion.

After a night spent, tentless, in the pouring rain, covered only with straw and the mean, wet sky, we entrained for an unknown destination, and landed at Poppraine, which surely looked like an unknown destination, as it was a typical jerk-water village inhabited only by a few old men and women. Through this village we hiked and up a road leading to the front line trenches. This road had been shot full of shell-holes, which made walking very uncomfortable. The further on we walked, the nearer came "Fritzie's" forty-two centimeter shells, fired from the largest cannon ever known up to that time; the "Jack Johnsons" as they were called. We were kept busy dodging the shells that seemed to burst all around us, yet never hit us, but in our hearts and souls we realized that at last we were on speaking terms with Mr. Death himself; and this sobered us up some, you bet. 'Twas no unusual thing to feel your hair stand right up straight on end and hear your knees beat a tattoo as they knocked against each other. However, we soon overcame this feeling as the purpose of our mission dawned upon us. I had a good opportunity to observe how young fellows act when each knows that death may be his portion at any moment.

In a section composed of eight men I noticed that one was laughing as lightly as though he was safe and secure at home. Another was singing a crazy song and kept marching along defying death, or any other horror, that might overtake him. Still another took the matter so seriously as to walk along in a sort of semi-conscious daze, with a look of stupidity on his face, oblivious to all surroundings. There is the case of Private Fred Wheelhouse, a Canadian lad of about twenty-two years, who while walking under fire of the German guns kept on playing his mouth organ or harmonica until struck on the head by a piece of shrapnel which killed him instantly and spattered his brains upon his nearby comrades.

This was our first casualty and right then and there we solemnly swore that we would avenge him. On April 21, 1915, while awaiting orders in our reserve trenches two miles from the front line which was being held by the Canadian troops from the 1st, 2nd, 5th, and 8th battalions, the Germans let loose a heavy gas attack upon them. At that time the gas mask was hardly known, the men being equipped with small, inefficient respirators, and naturally the casualties were very heavy. As a result the men had to fall back, losing a lot of the lighter guns. This made necessary the use of the men in the reserve trenches, and an order was immediately issued that we "stand to" ready to take our places in a counter-attack which was to be launched in the morning.

Imagine, if you can, the feelings of the lads awaiting the rising of the sun which, probably, meant the last sunrise many of them would behold. The tortures of the death-house, I am sure, are mild when compared to those endured by the boys, in the tense hours prior to the attack; especially when one has to listen to the moaning of the wounded who are being carried back of the lines. It is far from encouraging, and it did not surprise me when, after going through a night like this, that each and every one of us became fatalists. At five-thirty in the morning, the time set for the attack, we received word to go, and, believe me, we were glad of it. I felt as though I was ready for death to end my anxiety, or else to fight it out, right on the spot, to a finish. Our officer, Lieutenant Ball, was the first to jump to the front. After a lusty "Come on, boys," he shot forward into the turmoil, caused by our heavy artillery, with a recklessness bordering on insanity. His action was an inspiring one and we boys were ready to follow him to Hell, if needs be.

In that charge I enjoyed the experience of getting my first German. I crashed into him, a big burly six-footer, and now that my wish to meet one had been gratified, and I stood before him, I did not know whether to shoot him, punch him, kick him or stick him as you would a pig. Not having much experience with the bayonet, I acted on impulse and rammed it right through his stomach. Oh, boy! What a squeal he let out. Putting my foot on his breast I pulled the bayonet from out his vitals, taking along with it his bowels. This nerved me, and I rushed forward like a raving maniac stopping for nothing. I plowed my way through them using first my butt and then the bayonet until I had rushed right into their second line, and, Holy Jerusalem!! right smack into a whole nest of them. We were proceeding rather methodically, in cleaning them out, when a shell from a "Jack Johnson" burst in the midst of our gallant little company, killing five outright and separating two from their legs and arms, I myself losing a leg and having my shoulder put out of commission. I was conscious all the time of what had happened, and managed to crawl into a shell-hole, and slap a bandage about my leg. With my shoulder I could do nothing and after lying exposed for two hours the company stretcher bearers picked me up, and carried me back to the dressing station. From there I was sent to No. 13 general hospital, Boulogne, but by the time I arrived, gangrene had set in, and the doctors there could do nothing for me. Again I was transferred, this time to London, and from there to Cambridge. A Doctor Cook, holding the rank of major, and from New York, announced he would cure me in two months. But the job was a more difficult one than he anticipated and six months was required ere I could walk again. During that time the leg had to be amputated to the knee. I was then discharged and received, from the Canadian Government, an artificial limb which I later discarded for a better one made in little old New York.

FROM ENGLAND TO FRANCE AND BACK

BY PVT. GEORGE OXTON, NO. 81680, 10TH BATT., C.E.F.

IT WAS the latter end of the month of April, 1915, that the 32nd Canadian Battalion received orders to embark from the port of Folkestone, on the south coast of England, for the western front.

By reason of the fact that the Canadians had suffered great losses at the first battle of Ypres, our order to leave England came at an hour's notice, but the regiment to a man was extremely anxious to get over, and get busy.

While we were on board, our time was occupied by assembling our new issue of Webb Equipment, which we had practically thrown at us, prior to leaving our huts at Risborough Barracks, Shorncliffe. Consequently some of us found we were short a portion of the accoutrement while others had parts to spare. Being sociable, we were all able to make a complete rigout.

The night was of the pitch-black sort, but, thanks to the science of navigation, and sea and air escort, we docked at Boulogne, France, safe and sound, but in a drizzly rain.

As long as I live, I'll never forget the peculiar odor that filled the air while marching up the long, steep, winding road that led from the docks to the camp. It seemed miles, and more miles, long, but thank goodness, we arrived at last, to spend our first night on damp ground, or I had better say cold mud. It's very true we had canvas over us, but I'm sure the tents had just been thrown up, for it was quite as dry outside as inside.

I had no sooner put my head on my knapsack when that poor miserable little bugler bellowed out his early morning song.

On April the 27th we entrained for parts unknown, at least we poor privates didn't know where we were bound for; probably our company commander knew, and, if he was in the humor, the sergeant-major might have known also.

After traveling all night and part of the next day, packed in cattle cars like the proverbial sardines, we arrived at Poperinghe. The name was the largest portion of the town that the German gunners saw fit to leave. Detraining here, we made a rapid march to within a mile of Ypres. Here we joined our respective regiments. I went to the 10th Battalion. It had then earned the name of the "Fighting Tenth."

This night we dug ourselves in, along two sides of a large field. Each man dug a shallow hole large enough to lie down comfortably in. Owing to my height I had to dig one at least six feet in length. I was wishing, at that particular time, that I happened to be that poor miserable little bugler, as he was a little more than five feet tall.

The next morning I, for one, was up before reveille. I found it much more comfortable walking round in the cool of the morning than lying in a mud hole with only a greatcoat within a mile of me. I imagine something always happened to those lovely army blankets, for they were generally conspicuous by their absence.

The evening of the 28th was reasonably fine when we answered roll call prior to going up the line. Here we found ourselves in the last line of reserves, the idea being to get used to the "heavies." At times the shells became far too familiar with us, consequently I lost some of my best pals. We spent a week like this on the Yser Canal bank, living like the old cave dwellers, only we were not there long enough, and it wasn't peaceful enough, to construct any labyrinths. Our work consisted of making shelters, after a "Jack Johnson" had obliterated them.

On the move again, this time to billets about seven miles south of Baieulle, it took a full night to march the distance, with full kit. The roads didn't appear to get any softer, as time went by, but still one heard the everlasting (Kipling's) boots, boots, boots. As we had ten minutes each hour to rest, I was absolutely unconscious for nine and a half minutes of that time.

On the nineteenth of May, we were on foot again. I had a feeling it would not be to the last line of reserves this time. Neither it was, for, by the next night, we were heading for the front line trenches, one mile east of the village of Festubert. At dusk we traversed communication trenches to our destination: the front line on the edge of No Man's Land. At last! After training and waiting for over seven months. We relieved the Berkshires and took up our posts along with the "Little Black Devils," as the 8th Battalion is called, in a trench which was only captured from the Germans the previous day. The portion of the trench we held was dug in a roadway, and being fairly high ground was comparatively dry. This speaks wonders for a trench, for we plodded through much mud and water to reach it. Every second man was detailed to mount guard, while the remainder fought for forty winks, then relieved guard. The first two nights were uneventful, though a heavy artillery duel was the standing program.

The third night, the twenty-first, we were not going to give "Fritzie" a chance to come across, but we were going to push him back. If a man tells you he was not nervous going "Over the Top" for the first time, he lies. I felt nervous, though I never confessed it, and I wager everyone else felt the same way, as we had to wait about two hours, after being told we were going over. At eight o'clock we were sent up to a small communication trench about half way across No Man's Land, on the side toward the enemy. It cut across diagonally. There was a good-sized gap, on which some snipers had their rifles trained. At this point, we lost a few of our company. It was a case of running the gauntlet for each man who passed it. All of us had to pass it three different times; for, in our first advance, the order was cancelled, so we had to return till later on.

About nine o'clock, at dusk, we finally went ahead to the end of the communication trench. Here we branched out on either side, and spread out in open order, to charge. By this time my nervousness had disappeared. My mind was set on the one object of getting someone--and I gripped my gun, and prayed for all the strength I could muster. With a wild cry of _"Lusitania,"_ we received the orders to go. All I could do was yell to the boys to give them "beans," for I was knocked down, and found my right leg was half blown off, just below the thigh. If the boys hadn't taken their objective that night, I should have been a prisoner, instead of a hospital case, for over twenty months, in England.

I'm just a plain buck private,
Who fought with Canada's Sons,
In a regiment of the Maple Leaf,
That made it hot for the Huns.

I'm just a plain buck private,
And fought on the side of right,
To serve the world for democracy,
And beat the Hunnish might.

I'm just a plain buck private,
From the land of ice and snow,
And gave all I could, for my country,
To help to vanquish the Foe.

It was probably an hour or two after the advance that some of the men came to see what they could do for us. In my particular case the shrapnel, which had penetrated and completely shattered the right femur, had also numbed the nerves, therefore I was left conscious.

However, one of our battalion sergeants tied up the top of the leg for me with a length of cord, which I was always in the habit of carrying.

Four of the machine gunners, who had just returned from the new trench, made an attempt to carry me into the old communication trench, but their good intentions were completely frustrated by the company captain, a real cantankerous sort, who levelled his revolver at me, and declared he would shoot, if the boys took me in. Though I felt sore, in more ways than one, I came to the conclusion that he was perfectly right, as it might have blocked the trench to the reserves coming up.

The only thing to do was to put me on the ground again. Here I was expecting another shell every minute, but Providence evidently thought I had received my share, as I was free from any more shells, though they were bursting close at hand continually.

About 2 A.M. our battalion stretcher-bearers managed to reach the position where many more, with myself, were lying. The shelling had then subsided to a great extent, making it possible to continue the work of carrying out the wounded.

I knew one of the three men who came alongside of me with a perfectly good-looking stretcher. Though the way was long and very rocky, we finally arrived at the first aid dressing station. After resting here for probably an hour, I was conveyed in one of the "London Scottish" ambulances about five miles to a field hospital. I saw many of the boys here. Most of them appeared to be walking cases. The next thing I knew, I was placed on the operating table, where I smelled ether for the first time. I remember the doctor saying: "Be perfectly still, now, and breathe naturally." After that I knew no more till the job of inserting numerous rubber tubes through the leg was finished. Having to spend two nights on ambulances and trains, I arrived at a British base hospital in Boulogne. I remember the people cheering as our train pulled in, but I wasn't in the mood for caring what they did.

The treatment was of the best in this hospital, though I only remained in it fourteen days. In the bed next to mine there was a Scotchman who kept yelling continually. His leg had been amputated so I couldn't see what he had to kick about. Nevertheless, it made it quite impossible to get any rest at all.

On the morning of June 3rd, the doctor marked me "out," which meant that I was going to "Blighty." I hardly realized what it meant then.

Again I was on the table--this time to cut an abscess and to put a cumbersome iron splint on me. I think they called it a Hodgson's splint, one of those affairs that extended down two sides of the body to the feet. It took up a lot of room--so much so that I had to have a Ford ambulance all to myself; consequently at the boat's side I was taken for an officer and treated as one. This I didn't object to in the least.

The _Abert_ set sail soon after, and about two hours afterward we were in Dover, where we entrained, in a regular hospital train. I was marked for Norwich, in the County of Norfolk, a short distance from the east coast. The night of June 5th our train pulled into Norwich station, where the Red Cross ambulance conveyed us to our hospital. I found myself in a military ward of the General Hospital of Norwich, but only for a few minutes. They discovered that the beds were too small for both myself and the splint, so I was shifted to another ward, where I was put to bed, and became very much attached to this same bed for ten long months, undergoing nine more operations in the hope of saving the limb. They eventually took it off, but I always have the consolation of knowing that I am far better off than a good many others.

Editor's note:--The verses embodied in this story are in no way changed, but are printed exactly as Mr. Oxton delivered them to me.

H. L. F.

"WHY I HATE A GERMAN"

BY PVT. JOHN T. MILLER, NO. 122957, 96TH CO., 6TH REGT., U. S. MARINES

ON THE afternoon of July 24, 1917, as I was walking along the streets of Detroit, Michigan, my attention was attracted by the beat of drums and the tramp of marching men. It then dawned on me that I was big enough to do my bit, so I went to the Marine recruiting office, enlisted, and was sent to Paris Island, S. C., where I was trained for four months. On January 19, 1918, I left New York and after thirteen days arrived at a port in France. It was there I got my first glimpse of war. We were loaded in box cars about half the size of American cars. They are built for eight horses, but forty marines had to spend sixty hours in them. We were then in the zone of advance, but stayed only about three weeks. We went into the line the first night. It was an experience I shall never forget. Cigarettes were barred and no loud talking permitted. I thought it very funny, but soon learned different. The third night in, "Heinie" paid us a visit. There were thirty-seven of us, holding about 500 yards of front line. This at one time was a quiet sector but it woke up on this night. We had no reserves, and retreat was impossible, so all we had to do was to stay and entertain our visitors. There were about 250, and none of them looked starved to death. After the barrage lifted we saw some of the boys that we had traveled over three thousand miles to see. I was in a daze when I saw my first "Heinie," and he looked about as big as the Woolworth Building. But I woke up in time to realize that I had a rifle and hadn't forgotten how to use it. "Heinie" stopped in our wire and stayed there. Our visitors were all given a royal reception. Six of our boys went to the hospital but we left over a hundred of the Kaiser's boys in front of, and in, the trench, and had the trouble of burying them. From that night on we took more precaution and I was one that was made the goat. My "bunkie" and I took up our post in No Man's Land at sunset each night and stayed until midnight. We were put there for the purpose of announcing "Heinie" if he should call again.

"Heinie" did not worry me so much, but the rats, which we called "war babies," insisted on sleeping in my arms. And as we were in a position where the slightest noise would send us to the hospital or perhaps "west," the "war babies" had everything their own way. And the "cooties" would keep us company every night. They would parade up and down my back and of course I had to stand for it. I laid out there three nights with my pal. On the fourth day about five o'clock we decided to wash, as it would be the first time in five days. We got down to the spring without being seen and were enjoying a wonderful bath when the "Heinie" spotted us and started to snipe with his six-inch shells. Bill and I made for the dugout and had about two hundred feet to go when a shell hit under Bill's feet. I did not stop, for it was useless, as all I could see was blood and a part of a shattered leg. We picked Bill up in a box. It sure hit me hard, but it is all in the game. I swore that night I would get even, and I think I have. After three months in the front line, in and around Verdun, we went out for a rest, but not for long. We had been in a rest camp about ten days, when on the night of May 28th, at nine o'clock, we were ordered to move up the line, and stop "Heinie," who wanted to make Paris his headquarters. We were loaded in motor lorries and rode all night and part of the day.

We arrived at a little town and got something to eat, the first we had in twenty-four hours. We then started on a march which lasted thirty-six hours, when we arrived at a town about five miles behind the line, tired and hungry. I will go on record, right here, to say that I have been over every inch of France, in box cars, hospital trains, motor lorries, and the rest I hiked. We arrived at this town about 2 A.M. and were ordered into the line, but thanks to our commanding officer we did not go. The inhabitants had evacuated and we were told to go and sleep in any house we could find. It was here that I saw the first example of German "Kultur." In a room in the house I went into, I saw a mother with part of her head blown off, with a six-months'-old baby in her arms, both lying on the bed, dead. In the corner was a six-year-old boy who had evidently been killed by the same shell that killed the mother and baby. But with all that I had a good night's sleep, which I needed. In the morning we killed what live stock we could find, and sure did eat. That night we were ordered into the line and there we began to see real war.

"Heinie" started to send over everything he had, in the way of shells, high explosives, shrapnel and machine gun bullets. There were no trenches and the only protection we had were the holes which we dug to lie in. Things were flying and I did not take time to get my shovel, which I had in my pack, but used my mess gear instead. We laid in those holes for three days and dared not stick our heads up. If we did it meant "taps," and that we would not have to answer "reveille" in the morning. What we had to eat we had at night, and it was very little, a French ration, consisting of "monkey meat" and French bread; but anything tasted good. One night a lad from Texas, who was not satisfied with his "Boudoir" in the ground, decided to change hotels. About that time "Heinie" saved him the trouble by sending an eight-inch H. E. which made a hole big enough to put a regiment in. So "Tex" decided to take up quarters in it. He had just arrived in his new home (or hole) when "Heinie" duplicated the order, which hit on the edge of the first hole. "Tex" came sailing over my head. I first thought he had joined the aviation, and was going to Heaven, but when I looked around there was "Tex" sitting on the ground trying to find out if he was all together, and cursing "Heinie" for being so attentive. Looking at me he said:

"Can you imagine those Dutchmen sniping at me with an eight-inch gun?"

On the afternoon of June 6th, we received orders to pack up and we all had the idea that we were to get a rest. All were counting on the sleep and bath we would have. But no such luck. It was here when the French had retreated so far that the artillery was no good to us, and the general in charge of the division said the words that will remain in history forever, "Retreat, Hell, we are going ahead." And we were ordered to go "Over the Top" at 5.15. The order came at five o'clock. I cannot describe the feeling one has while waiting for the word. It seemed to me that the time would never come. But suddenly the silence was broken by the blast of a whistle and we were on our way. The sun was shining and the country looked wonderful, and across the wheat we started, to reach our objective, which was the town of Bourches. We had gone no more than about one hundred feet when our captain, the first man to go down, was hit six times in the body. I began to realize then what we were up against, for "Heinie" must have had a million machine guns and they were all working.

The boys started to fall and all that was heard was, "I'm hit," or "Heinie got me." A lad beside me "got it" in the ankle, and said to me: "Kid, what do you think of that dirty bunch of Dutchmen. They won't even let me get started. When you get into the town, kill ten for me."

I promised him I would, and left him. I don't know whether I fulfilled my promise, but I told him I did when I saw him later in the hospital. When I arrived at the town, which was our objective, there were forty-seven left of 256 in our original company. The Germans were in one end of the town and we were in the other, and, as the reader will understand, one town could not hold both parties, so we started to move "Heinie." Some of us were detailed to put "Heinie" out and it was no easy job, for every "Heinie" had a machine gun. But it was the same old story, they would fire their guns until we were on top of them, then throw up their hands, shout "Kamerad" and beg for mercy. But after you go through as far as that, you cease to be human and don't know what mercy is. We reached our objective at 5.30 P.M. and at nine o'clock by direction of one lieutenant, the only officer left in the company, and a pal to all the boys, we had "Heinie" on the outside, the town fortified, and nine hundred men put into the position. Again, and up until the time I was hit, it was little or no sleep, for "Heinie" insisted upon coming back into the town.

On the afternoon of June 10th, I was going after some water, and some "Heinie" with a machine gun gave me my fare to the hospital, in the form of a bullet in the knee. Some of the boys carried me into a dugout, where I had to wait until dark, and then was carried to the rear, put in a Ford ambulance and started to Paris. Twenty-seven miles in a Ford, on a stretcher, is no joy ride, but it was good enough. Then I reached the hospital in Paris. I had not had my clothes off for fifty-seven days. When I got a bath and saw a bed, with white linen and blankets, and something real to eat, I thought I was in paradise. After the operation, all I could do was to sing, "Please go away and let me sleep." After three months in the hospitals of France, I was put on a transport and started for New York. I am now in the hospital, awaiting discharge, and think it all a dream, and am in fear that some one will pinch me, and I will wake up.

"MY DUTY TO MY COUNTRY"

BY PVT. JACK KNEELAND, NO. 105, 43RD CO., 5TH REGT., U. S. MARINES

WHEN the great World War was raging, and the United States were preparing for any trouble that might occur between her and the Teutonic Government, I was playing in vaudeville. April 6th we received word that our Government declared war on Germany. Immediately I decided to quit the show business and go into the service, but what branch I did not know as I was unfamiliar with the different outfits of Uncle Sam's noble army and navy. As I was walking down the street I happened to notice different recruiting officers, appealing to the men to enlist in the several outfits we have, for the sake of our folks at home, and for democracy. I happened to think of the navy as a good chance, but as I wished to be in the thick of the battles and excitement I decided it was either the army or the United States Marines. While I was trying to fix my mind on what I should do, a marine sergeant came and started talking to me and asked me what I was going to do. I told him I was ready for the worst, and that I was anxious to go across the water and do my bit. He said that the United States Marines was the place for me, a boy with the spirit Americans wanted. Well, it did not take me long to make up my mind, and shortly I was being examined by the doctor for physical fitness. I was confident I would pass the rigid test that is given to the marines as I had never had an illness of any kind in my life. After the examination I was told I was 100 per cent perfect, and sworn in as a private in the soldiers of the sea, as we call the marines. First to fight on land and sea. Three days later I was called to depart for Paris Island, S. C., where I was to get my training. I arrived the 15th of April and was immediately sent to a quarantine station where all preparations were given, such as clothes, finger prints taken, and then I was finally sworn in once more, on the 21st day of April. After all these proceedings were over, I was sent to the maneuvering ground where the greatest task lay. We drilled from morning until late in the evening, but I did not mind it as I knew that it was for a good purpose. Digging trenches, hand grenade practice, bayonet drills and rifle practice were our continual routine, for fully three months. I was then transferred to Marine Barracks, Philadelphia, for duty, where I was assigned to the 5th Regiment to be ready for overseas duty.

On the 21st day of August, we received word to get ready to sail. We were then given overseas equipment and boarded the transport _Henderson_. We went to New York, where we loaded supplies and stores for the trip, and started on our way to No Man's Land at midnight the 22d. As the submarines were active at that time we were somewhat delayed in getting there. But we finally arrived without a scratch. We landed on the 7th day of September in St. Nazarre, France. There we were taken to the Rue Du Chateau, where we were assigned to barracks.

Here we received our severe training. It was drill morning, school in afternoon, drill in evening, for two and a half months. After this we were ready for anything that might be needed of us.

On the 17th of November our commander received orders to take our men to the Flanders Front, where we were to hold the southeastern corner of the Marne with the Australian Anzacs. We immediately departed and arrived there on a very rainy day.

Now comes the first real encounter the Americans took part in. The Germans sent us a rapid shell fire from their position opposite to us. We immediately sent back an intense machine gun fire. The battle raged on for seventeen hours. I received a wound in the leg and was immediately sent to base hospital where I was at once treated. We were treated fine because the French now realized that we were with them in heart and soul. I remained in hospital twenty-three days, and then was sent back to the Front, this time to join the 43rd Regt., 2nd Division, who were holding a front in Belgium on the Cambrai side. We advanced and took several little towns around Soissons and stopped at St. Quentin which was being shelled by the Austrians. We took position and immediately started offensive. We succeeded in capturing two thousand prisoners who were sent to one of the French prison camps. After this encounter we were sent to rest camps, where our clothes were replaced by new ones, and allowed to visit the neighboring towns for seventy-two hours. I, with a comrade who you will read about later, went to Paris and had a very good time.

The French people could think of nothing too good for us. After having a fine time, we reported back and occupied the second line, with the Canadians, and once more at Sartormai I was sent with a message to Major General Leonard Wood. It was a dispatch of fifty-three miles and I was to do this in an hour and ten minutes. I had a Harley Twin Six, and I started out. It was about 9.30, Paris time, when I was passing through a lonely village, a German sniper picked me off in the head. I regained consciousness and fired my Colt automatic and got my man. I succeeded in reaching my destination two minutes before time; but in an unconscious condition. I guess the good Lord was good to me and brought me to life again so that I could explain my mission. I was taken to Base Hospital No. 3, where my wound was treated with care and the lead extracted. For two weeks and a half I was practically senseless. My memory was impaired, caused by the shock of the bullet, and the intense speed I was going. In this hospital I met a German who had been captured and had been sent to the hospital to be treated for a scalp wound. He was a very well-educated boy, about nineteen years old and could speak English very well.

He told me about how, against his will, he was dragged in and made to fight for Prussianism when he always believed in democracy. It almost brought tears to my eyes to listen to his story about the people who were wishing that the Kaiser and the Teutonic power would be killed, instead of taking every young fellow against his will and making him fight. I soon recovered, bid this boy good-bye, and moved on to the second division, who were still occupying Flanders Front.

One day while wading through mud, a big shell exploded in front of us and we lost a great number of men, and I fell into the shell crater with nine other men. The crater must have been forty feet deep, with about three feet of mud at the surface. Here we did not eat for five days. We had to drink the green slime and mud so that we might not perish from thirst. Every time we wanted to sleep we would fall in this mud and wake up all caked with it. We were finally rescued by a French patrol party, and given plenty of food and nourishment to put us on our feet again. We were sent to a convalescent camp, and told to do nothing but rest. After resting for a month I was again placed in position with our snipers, with Private Al Barker as my companion. I at once took position in the limbs of a tree, so that I could notice any patrols that might pass. On our southern corner we saw a raiding party of Germans, fixing their machine guns to clean up a town called St. Forme. We immediately opened fire on these men, and succeeded in picking off a large majority of them. Suddenly my comrade received a wound in the knee and fell to the ground. I descended and, picking him up, carried him safely to our lines, receiving at the same time three bullet wounds.

We were sent to Base Hospital No. 16, where we were operated on. It seemed as though it was a year before we were well. Finally we were sent to the front at Belleau Woods. This place was approximately the turning point of the war. It is situated thirty-eight miles from Paris, and the Crown Prince's army were trying to advance through it. Here for forty-eight hours we were continually on the alert, always watching the Germans. We did not eat for forty hours.

On the 18th of July at 12.03 A.M. we received the call to arms. We were ordered to advance to the Forest of Père where a great number of Germans were operating. We traveled seven and a half miles on foot and placed ourselves on the southeastern part of Chateau-Thierry. We opened fire immediately, and this is where the bloodiest encounter of our service took place. We succeeded in starving our opponents and cut off all their ammunition. It was a big disaster to us as they outnumbered us four to one. After the British had been thrown back, the marines took the field and succeeded in annihilating the Crown Prince's army.

Of our battalion, of one thousand men, only 147 survived, and practically all of these were wounded. The Germans, seeing that they were beaten, immediately sent over their fumes of deadly mustard gas and liquid fire. I happened to be one of the unlucky ones and received a big dose of it. It fairly burned the clothes from my back, blinding me instantly, and deafened me. I was taken to Base Hospital No. 23 where I remained forty-two days. After I had recovered a little I was sent to a convalescent camp to await my departure for the good old U. S. A. On September 24th I sailed from Brest and arrived safely in Hoboken, October 3, 1918.

THE "DARDANELLES" CAMPAIGN

BY SGT. M. L. NICHOLSON, NO. 3736, 10TH LIVERPOOL SCOTTISH, B.E.F.

AT THE outbreak of the war I enlisted in the 10th Liverpool Scottish Regiment, B.E.F. It was at 2.30 P.M. on September 14, 1914, I went into the recruiting office, and offered my services. The captain looked at me and said, "I am afraid you are too young." I was then seventeen years of age. With tears in my eyes I walked out only to meet my six pals who were in kilts. One of them, "Vic" Gordon, said:

"Come back at five o'clock and try again;" so I made up my mind I would get in the army at five o'clock that day, and I was accepted, I think, because they were so busy in the office that they did not notice me. Well, I went home the day after with my knees all bare; perhaps for the first time since my childhood. My folks just roared and laughed at me, saying, "You will never make a soldier," and a lot more things that made my Scotch blood boil.

I stayed at home for three days before I was called, and then, only then did I know what being a soldier meant. The first thing was to learn how to turn and salute, then came a route march, around the country for ten miles. It was no joke with great big army boots that weighed about fifteen pounds,--it seemed that much to me. After being in the army for about four weeks, we were brought to the fields to drill. What I could not understand was, that they put cows and other animals into this big field the night before and that field was just terrible for a man to walk on, let alone lay down in. We were all wondering what we were going to do, and, I can tell you, it wasn't long before we found out. The captain came up to us and said:

"All right, boys, we are ready for some drill in this field."

You should have seen the look on some of the boys' faces. I may mention that some of them were bankers and lawyers and even millionaires' sons. I heard one man say in a typical English way: "Oh! isn't the army beastly, old man."