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Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 A TASTE OF HELL
I joined the Navy as an apprentice seaman. I thought it would be
great to try a new way of licking the Huns. I had sampled the army.
Yes, I was at the Somme with the Canucks. Greatest bunch of
fighters the world has ever seen!
I can say it, because I'm an American, but as soon as war was
declared, my three cousins and I beat it for Canada and enlisted. We
were all in the same regiment, the third to go across.
You've no idea until you get into the thick of a fight with shrapnel
whistling past you and shells bursting a few feet away, how much
depends on your leader. It's up to him to win or lose the ground
you're holding for all you're worth. The men in charge of us were
young and some of them pretty green at the war game—but say!
there wasn't a bloody Hun alive that could scare them! Not by a long
sight!
We sailed in August, about two thousand of us. We had a quiet
trip across and, oh, Christmas! how we did long to get into the
scrap! They landed us at a French port and we had just three days'
training before we were ordered up.
You can't make much headway in three days to prepare you to
meet the Boches, but we did manage to get in a little drilling and
skirmishing. All the bayonet charging I learned was from a Jap in my
company. He was a funny little cuss. Why he joined up I can't
imagine. You'd think he would rather save his skin and stay at home,
but he was all for fighting. He had been trained in Japan and had
joined the Canadians at the last minute.
My cousins and I learned all we knew from him. He seemed glad
to show us. He was a friendly little chap and some fighter! I
remember seeing him alongside of me for a few seconds in a trench
full of Germans . . . and then not seeing him. What became of him I
never knew. You don't, most of the time.
A long line of troop trains were awaiting us. Pullmans? I guess
not!—freights. We piled in. We were all anxious to get to the front.
We knew they were in desperate need of men and that we might get
a chance to go over the top, green as we were.
It was night before they opened the doors and let us out. We
seemed to be in a sort of meadow. It was black as a cave, except for
the lights of the station. There was plenty of noise as two thousand
men alighted, but there was another sound—a dull, thick booming
. . . cannons! It seemed thousands of miles away, but you never
forgot it for an instant. It meant that we fellows who had been so
recently in offices plugging away for so much a week were out there
at last on the great battlefield of France!
We had reached the trenches. They weren't at all like I supposed
they'd be. I expected them to be narrow, with room enough for one
man only. Instead two and sometimes three could walk abreast. It
seemed to me as though we marched a hundred miles that night. I
was so tired I was ready to drop, and then all the mud I had ever
read about seemed to be planted in that trench! Mud! We tramped
through knee-deep slime—knee-deep, mind you—and we thought
that was bad until we went in up to our waists.
It must have been raining pitchforks before we arrived, and as we
scuffed along the best way we could it began again—a cold, driving
rain straight down from the black sky, stinging our faces and running
down our necks. After a while we halted for the night.
There were dugouts where you could set up your cook-stove if
you were lucky enough to own one. All your food you carried on
your back in cans, but you didn't have energy enough left to open
them. You just dropped down under the shelter of a bunch of
sandbags if you were lucky, or if you weren't, in a muddy patch of
ground where you slept like a log.
Next day we were on our way—that long line of drenched men
tramping toward the sound of the big guns. That's how you
measured distance, by increasing volume. The rain had begun in
earnest and it never let up for the three days we made our way to
the trench just back of the Big Hill.
It seemed to be our destination, because we got orders to begin
digging, and we went to work with pick and shovel. I forgot how
tired I was in the excitement of being so near the Huns. You do out
there. You don't worry about dying, that's one sure bet, nor about
eating or sleeping; the one thing that gets you is when your best
pals go west.
I had to stand watch that night. That meant two hours of pacing
back and forth, fifteen feet, ready for the enemy's charge at any
second. I couldn't believe that the fellows we were waiting for were
so close up—there across that short patch of ground—but I realized
it when a shell fell not five feet away from me and blew three of my
pals to bits. By God! I knew it then!
I shall never forget it. I'd been listening to them talk in a little
knot as I paced by, swapping smokes and trying to find a dry place
to stand. One of them laughed. That was the last sound I heard
before the crash of exploding shell. There wasn't one of them left.
We were four days waiting for the signal to charge. We were mad
for it. It seemed as if the leaders could not hold us back another
day. We wanted to get at those damned Huns who had killed our
pals. We knew we could lick them, raw as we were. We had some
full-blooded Indians from Ontario with us. They were the real thing
in a fight. They did not know what fear meant. There just wasn't any
such word in the language for them, and when they charged they
forgot they were supposed to use rifles. They threw them away and
drew their long knives—razor-sharp. That's how they went after the
Huns—and butchered the swine good and proper.
On the fourth day the signal was passed along the trench for a
charge. One hundred and fifty men were picked—every third man. I
was lucky and was one of the number. Every man was keen to be
first over the top. About nine of the Indians came along. None of my
cousins made it, but the little Jap who had taught me bayoneting
was beside me, grinning and fondling his rifle as a mother does her
baby.
Our leaders sprang up on the sand bags and hurled us the order.
How few of them came back from that charge on which they set out
so fearlessly!
We climbed up. We heard our officers shouting to us and our
comrades wishing us the best of luck, to give the Huns hell! We
sprang forward and the Germans opened a rain of bullets from their
machine guns full upon us and the men who followed. They swept
our lines. Men reeled and fell to the left and right of me—just
crumpled up like those little toys whose springs have snapped. Still
we went on. We made the trench and I speared my first Boche. Got
him, too! Brought back his iron cross as a trophy. The Germans were
scampering to the next trench like rats caught in a trap. They sure
do hate hand-to-hand fighting!
We held that trench six days. It was jumpy work. The Germans
were driven back, but there was no telling when they would start
with the hand-grenades. They didn't do that, but they did something
worse—gas. It was pretty new to us then. We were fitted out with a
sort of rubber mask that wasn't much good. We saw a fellow drop a
way down the line. Then one of the brownish trench rats, a friendly
little chap, who ate the scraps I shelled out to him, turned up his
toes. We clapped on our masks, but the wind was with Fritz and the
gas swept through our trench on the breeze.
 It lasted about an hour and a half. I'd hate the job of being the
first man ordered to take off his mask and test the air for the rest,
but some one has to, and it often means lights out for him.
I had been slightly wounded—a sabre cut on my leg, but I
managed to dress it myself. It was ten times better to be up,
however rocky you felt, than lying around those damp trenches. I
wondered where my cousins were. I worried about them. Somehow
I wasn't afraid for myself, but I just wished it would soon be over
and I could get home. You think about home an awful lot out there.
We were sent to some swamps next. There were cement trenches
—German make—and they were considerably drier. We were pretty
comfortable there except for an occasional shell blowing things to
bits. I used to wonder how there was enough lead in the world to
make all the shells the armies used. We always had plenty of
ammunition. The Russians were the ones who got the raw deal. We
passed a lot of them on our way out front. A regiment of them was
holding a square. They were dull-eyed boys—hopeless looking. Do
you blame them? One day they would be sent out with ammunition
to burn. The next they wouldn't even be given a rifle. How did they
protect themselves? Oh, rocks and stones, I suppose. But they were
wiped out when they tried to charge empty-handed, that's sure.
The Germans raided us with hand grenades one night. We heard
them coming and we fought like fiends, but they outnumbered us
five to one. I went down with a shot in my side. The next thing I
remembered was being aboard a transport bound for home. Nothing
ever sounded so good to me as that word! I found my three cousins
were aboard. One of them had lost his two legs, another his leg and
his arm, and the youngest had his right arm blown off.
It didn't take me long to find out how lucky I was. All I needed to
do was to look around at the other eighteen hundred wounded.
They landed us at Halifax, on our way to Toronto. I was laid up for
quite a while, and the funny thing was now that I was home again I
kept planning ways to get back as soon as I could just to show those
Huns who's who.
I used to lie in my clean white bed, looking out a long window
onto the garden. It was calm and quiet. But I didn't seem to see it—
what I saw were those blood-soaked trenches, with your pals
gasping out their lives alongside of you and your leaders, falling
even as they urged you to charge! It took me a while to get well and
when I did I went back to the States. I had an idea. I would join the
Navy. It would be a new way of meeting Fritz. I liked the thought of
killing him wholesale on the sea.
I enlisted as an apprenticed seaman,—that was last March. I am
in fine trim, except for a scar on my leg and a bullet hole in my side.
I've finished training now and I'm ready to be shipped across. Gee,
but I hope we'll get a fat submarine full of German officers—and that
we'll drown them like the rats they are!
SECOND-CLASS GUNNER'S MATE
FOWLER SPEAKS:
A marine can do anything—even ride a horse!
 THE WANDERLUST AND THE WAR
I've been torpedoed three times—three ships gone down under
me, and I'm still here. Didn't mind it much—I can swim; besides, I'm
pretty used to the sea—first shipped when I was thirteen. My father
and mother had sent me to a manual training school. I didn't like it.
I was always playing hookey and finally ran away.
I didn't care where I went just so long as it was on a ship. I knew
it was the sea I wanted. Before I decided, I used to hang around the
docks. I liked the smell of the water and the big talk of the old salts
who had been around the world a dozen times. They didn't stay
cooped up in any four walls studying geography—they went out and
lived it.
I knew enough about sailing to ship as boatswain. I was big for
my age, so they took me on. It was a sand sucker going down to the
mouth of the Mississippi.
The skipper took a kind of a shine to me. He saw I wanted to
study navigation so he lent me books and let me go into the chart
house and work. Arithmetic was hard for me, and spelling, too, but
I'd copy out words I didn't know and take them to him. I guess he
saw I was in earnest.
As a result I got my rate as able-bodied seaman when I was
fifteen. I was in New Orleans then, and I saw a chance to ship on
one of the Standard Oil boats bound for Tampico.
I was crazy to go to Mexico. There was a "Mex" on the old ship
and he was always talking about the sunshine and free fruit in his
country. When I told him where I was bound for he wanted to come,
too, but my new skipper couldn't see him. "Mex" drank too much fire
water for the good of one man.
 We didn't stay long in Mexico. I got a chance to go through Vera
Cruz, and that was about all, before starting for home. I'd saved
quite a lot of money and all the way back to New York I kept asking
myself would I or wouldn't I drop in on my father and mother to let
them know I was alive. I couldn't decide. When I got to New York
the first thing I did was to buy myself a great outfit; then I started
to the street where I knew the family lived. On the way I met a pal
who was shipping on a small boat leaving for Canada. He wanted me
to go along. There didn't seem to be any good reason to refuse,
seeing as I had all my papers. I'd never been to Canada.
I told him about wanting to call on my parents, but he said
there'd be time enough when I got back to port. I went along with
him and up to Nova Scotia.
All the time I told myself it was going to be my last trip up the
coast. I wanted to see Europe next. When we came back to New
York I went up to Union Hall and told them I'd like to ship across. I
got my wish. They sent me on a Standard Oil steamer bound for
Rouen. At last I was going to France!
I liked that country from the start. The first sight I had of it was
white houses and green fields and church steeples. I was so busy
looking at the scenery I couldn't do a stroke of work. I got liberty to
go up to Paris, and I saw all of it for two francs. I just hopped into
one of those little cabs and said to the driver "Giddap," and he rode
me around. I didn't miss a thing.
We went back to Norfolk, where we were quarantined for seven
days because a yellow cook we had broke out with the same color
fever. That gave me time to think, and I made up my mind that I'd
pay off and go up and see my folks. I was sixteen then, hard as nails
and pretty prosperous.
Once ashore I bought myself everything from patent leather
shoes to a derby hat. I wanted them to see I'd made good.
 I walked in on them at dinner time. My father didn't know me, but
my mother did. "It's George!" she hollered, then stared at me. But
father didn't. He wanted to lick me for staying away all those years.
Mother wouldn't let him, though. She wanted to hear all about
where I'd been. I was glad I could put some money in the bank for
her. I stayed home about two weeks and then got so restless I knew
I'd better leave before they threw me out.
Well, I let myself in for an adventure that time for I went to
Halifax, and from there shipped on an oil collier bound for Mexico.
We struck a hurricane and were washed ashore. That was my first
shipwreck. We had to eat stores out of the ship's supplies, which
were pretty low at the time. I didn't like the looks of things and I
decided to foot it into Tampico, which we figured wasn't more than
forty-two miles south of us.
Eight of my mates and I figured that by traveling toward the sun,
we'd make it in a couple of days. We packed our grub and put on
the good heavy Dutch sea boots we wore in heavy weather, and set
out through the woods.
Hot! Say, your head blistered under your cap. We struck a swamp,
but we were afraid to go back—it was just as bad as going forward—
so we started through, but we miscalculated, for we spent a whole
day and night in there before we got our bearings.
We climbed the branches of the trees at nights and slept as best
we could in them. But two of the fellows caught the jungle fever,
and one of them died before we could get him out. We buried him
there and marked the place.
Another man was pretty sick, and I remember reading
somewhere that sassafras root was good for fever. We found some
growing there, and we managed to build a fire—but we didn't have
matches to light it, so we struck flints until we got a blaze. We
cooked the root and gave him the juice. It saved him.
 On the outskirts of the swamp we saw a little Mexican house. It
was the greatest sight I ever want to see. The woman was cooking
some kind of meat over her fire. We didn't stop to inquire what it
was so long as it was f-o-o-d. That was enough for us. She was glad
to give us all she had, because American money goes big down
there. Several of the men stayed to look after our sick mate, but I
hot-footed it into Tampico to find the consul and try to get back to
the States. I found him but he couldn't do anything for us.
I didn't care much. It was a pleasant country, so I decided to stay.
I was there six months. At last I grew tired of everlasting hot
weather so I asked a skipper on an English ship if he'd take me back
to the States. I told him I didn't care about the pay, just so long as I
got home. That impressed him and he signed me up for a quarter a
month. He couldn't have paid me less, but what difference did it
make to me? Wasn't I getting out of that all-fired hot country?
We docked at Baltimore. I was pretty seedy, so I took the first job
I could get, which was night watchman on the docks. Then I wired
my mother that I was stranded without clothes or money. She sent it
double quick. I knew she would.
Once I was outfitted I applied for a third mate's job. I had already
made my license, although I was only seventeen. The hard thing
was getting any skipper to believe I knew all I claimed I did. I found
one at last. I told him to fire any questions at me he could think of.
He sure did. He asked me things a chief has to know and I came
through. He took me on as third and I paid off at New York.
When I reached there I went to the seamen's Bethal, where I got
clothes and the chance to ship on an English vessel bound for the
other side. That was in 1915. The German subs had started their
little game of hide-and-seek, but we didn't expect any trouble.
However Fritz was waiting for us. It was about six o'clock in the
evening, dark, with a full moon. I was on deck watching the
moonlight on the water. It's a sight I never get tired of. All was quiet
except the throbbing of our own engines, when suddenly we felt the
blow that ripped her side open. A torpedo had registered a hit.
We couldn't see the sub; she had gotten in the moon's rays, and
it was impossible to make her out. We didn't try. The order,
"abandon ship," had sounded, but I didn't make a lifeboat; instead I
dived off the side of the ship and swam around in the water for a
few minutes before somebody heard me yelling and yanked me in.
Next morning an English schooner picked us up and we went
ashore. Say, but I was mad through to think of a blinking submarine
sinking a neutral. I never was neutral from that minute, and when
we got into the war I went in the navy. I knew that would be the
one place I'd have a chance to take a shot at the Kaiser's pets.
We carried a big cargo over; our cargo line was 'way down. We
had a lot of green hands aboard, "hay-shakers," I call them. Some of
the boys were pretty seasick. I bet they wished they had never
started across.
Well, we delivered our cargo and started back, when sure
enough, one dark night, we got it again. This time, though, I was
standing under the bridge, and in the explosion a piece of rail was
hurled against me that broke both legs.
A big Swede, who had always a hand out to help everybody,
hoisted me into a lifeboat, but in launching it was smashed up. I was
in the water and I certainly thought my last hour had come, but I
found the big Swede was swimming beside me, and he dragged me
onto a piece of board floating by. I lay there until it was light and in
answer to our S. O. S., American destroyers came on and picked up
our boats. Was I glad to see the good old American flag? Was I! I
didn't know much when they hauled me aboard—the pain was pretty
bad, but they sent me to a hospital over there, and before long I
was around again, fine as ever. Takes more than a German sub to
keep me down.
 I went back to the States in style on a transport. As I always
carried my Union book I had no trouble in getting another new
outfit, once I reached my home port. I set out for France on a cargo
vessel. Well, say, it was clear sailing over. We met our convoy and
they hoisted up their signal flag. We were all of two hours making it
out. At last we could read it, it spelled:
"What are you doing,—bringing Brooklyn Bridge over with you?"
They were making fun of our queer-shaped bridge. Well, we started
back, but I know things always happened in threes so I was pretty
sure we'd get it going home. I was right.
It was my watch, late in the afternoon. I was keeping a sharp
lookout when I saw the torpedo scudding toward us.
"Wake of a torpedo in starboard bow!" I yelled. Say, that vessel
wheeled like a streak—and the torpedo missed. But the next one
didn't. Bing!—I felt the big ship quiver under me, and the explosion
that followed blew me so high that I came down in the paint locker
with my arm under me.
You'd think I'd be used to torpedoing by this time, and could keep
my sea legs under fire, but I didn't. I'm getting better though, and
I'm waiting to get a shot at Fritz that will send him where he'll stay
for a while. I certainly am glad every time I hear we've sunk one of
them, but I always wish I was one of the crew of that lucky ship.
CHIEF NURSE STEVENS
SPEAKS:
 UNDER THE RED CROSS BANNER
I was educated abroad. That's how I came to love France and
England almost as well as my own country. I was in my teens when
I returned to America. I had always wanted to be a nurse. Even
while at school I longed for the days when I should be old enough to
begin training. It was my calling, and, when I left school, I answered
it.
I trained in France, England and America. I had practised but a
short while when I married. My husband was a surgeon, and from
him I learned more of nursing than I could ever hoped to have
acquired from text-books. We were always together. We played and
worked and traveled all over the world. When he died, it was like a
great light going out. I did not know where to turn—I did not know
what to do. Even to this day I cannot get used to his being away
from me. It always seems as though he were on one of his
professional trips and would return.
And then in 1914, just six months after his death, war came, and
I knew that my place was in France, so I sailed at once and enlisted
in the nursing corps.
Those were the days before the great base hospitals were
established—the days when the dead and wounded were left in piles
awaiting such care as could be given them by the handful of
overworked doctors and nurses.
It was there I found my "son." We had come to a group of white-
faced boys—the mark of death on their brow. Lying a little apart
from the others was a young Frenchman. He had an ugly shrapnel
wound on his shoulder. He was unconscious when we found him, but
he was so appealing, so young, that my heart went out to him. His
clothes were stained with dirt and blood, and the mud was caked on
his cheek, where he had fallen.
When we moved in, he opened his eyes. "Maman," he said, and
smiled at me. I think that was what won me completely.

Copyright by International Film Service

Torpedoes cost money—they are often recovered and fired again.

I watched over his convalescence and learned that his own

mother was not living, so when he was well once more and ready to
return to duty, I adopted him as my "fils de guerre," and to this day
I hear from him twice a month—and such letters! Full of his battles
and his play at the rest billets—his dreams and his hopes. He is
France at her best, with the love of youth and life and country in his
heart.
There were sights on that battlefield you never forget—never. It
was the bodies of Frenchwomen left dead by the Germans that
haunt me—the women they dragged from captured France and took
with them to their trenches. We used to thank God when we came
upon these girls that we found them dead. At least these few were
out of their unfathomable depths of misery at last.
After ten months of nursing in France, the doctors ordered a rest
—no—commanded it, so I left the service and went to England to
visit an old schoolmate, now married. Her husband was at the front,
but her father, a peer, whose name is a great one in England, lived
with her.
He had known me since childhood. He was very fond of me. He
was a man of great importance to the government, but he had a
delightful way of dropping all the cares of State, once he reached
home, and of romping with his two tiny grandsons whom he adored.
In their home I found the quiet I craved, and, as I grew stronger,
I longed to get back once more to duty. I knew so well the
desperate need for trained workers. My friends sensed my growing
restlessness and Violet's father spoke of it at dinner one evening.
"Why not join the British army?" he asked me. "I'll try to get you
a good post."
There were a number of guests present, and, as Sir Arthur sat
quite far from me, I did not catch what he had said. But Violet had.
She leaned across and called to me.
"You aren't listening to father—he means you." I turned toward
him eagerly. "Why not join the British ranks?" he repeated. "You say
you feel fit again and want to get out there. Well, I'll give you a
chance to prove it."
I didn't believe he half meant it, for his eyes twinkled; but I
caught at it.
"I cannot get to the front soon enough to please me," I cried.
"Just try me and see," and no more was said about it.
 The days passed and the lovely English summer changed into
autumn. I felt splendidly. One day I came in from a long walk. I
glowed with health. I just knew that I could not remain idle another
instant. I found Violet in the nursery with her babies. I told her I
must go. She laughed at me.
"So long as you feel that way, it's fortunate this letter came for
you this morning, isn't it?" and she laid in my hands a long, official-
looking document, bearing the royal coat-of-arms in one corner. I
tore it open. It was a command to appear before the Matron-in-Chief
of her Majesty's army. I knew by the time that I had finished reading
it that Sir Arthur was responsible in a large measure. He was well
aware of the fact that no neutral could serve in the Allied armies
unless by royal order. I flew to the office of the Matron-in-Chief. My
knees knocked together. Could I qualify in her eyes for a post at the
front?
What transpired seemed like a golden dream to me. I was
appointed Chief Nurse—or Matron, as they call us Over There—of a
hospital ship holding four thousand beds! I did not show my inward
tremors. If it could be done, I was going to do it—I, an American—
and what was more I was going to make those British nurses on my
staff love me in spite of themselves. I dared not think how afraid I
was to tackle it. I just kept saying, "I'll do it! I've got to, so I can."
I returned to Violet and dropped in a heap on a couch.
"What's happened?" she demanded—and I told her. She listened,
her eyes like stars.
"How splendid! You can do it if anyone in the world can! You've
proved your worth in France. Oh, I am so happy that you are to look
after our poor boys!"
Sir Arthur came in at this moment. I knew by his smile that he
had been listening.
 "Well, well, so you are to be a Matron, are you?" he teased. I
nodded. I was past speech.
"Perhaps you don't know that you will be gazetted as Major in the
British army as well. That will probably be your official rank."
And a major I became on my floating hospital. I felt strangely
alone at first. The only American among so many English. For the
first time in my life I longed for my compatriots. Then one day as we
lay at anchor in the harbor, I saw, some distance away, a battleship
flying from her mast the Stars and Stripes. I began to cry, I was so
glad to see my own flag again. I asked our wireless operator if he
would send her a message.
"Will you ask an American officer aboard the Man-o'-War to come
aboard the British Hospital ship and speak with an American
woman?" The instrument snapped the message. The battleship
caught it, and, a few hours later, I saw an American Naval officer for
the first time in over a year.
I had never met him before, but I was so glad to talk with him of
our own land that I dreaded the time when he must return to his
ship. He went at length, and I followed him with my binoculars. It
gave me a warm feeling around my heart to have a Yankee ship so
close by.
Once I started to work in earnest, I found that my nurses were
eager to coöperate with me in every way. Instead of resenting my
authority over them, they were anxious to help me, and the fear I
felt of my ability to handle this great task was swallowed up by the
mountains of work before me. There was no time to fear or to
rejoice. There was no time for self, with four thousand souls aboard
who needed caring for each hour of the day and night. For our ship
was loaded with the wounded from that desperate fighting in the
Dardanelles.
There were a great per cent who came to us with hands and feet
cruelly frozen, from the weeks and even months in icy trenches.
Then there were shell-shock cases. One which appealed to us all
was of a chaplain, adored by his regiment. Through the heaviest fire
he had stood by his flock with no thought for his own safety. An
exploding shell had brought on that strange state of aphasia. He did
what he was told to do docilely and quietly, but he remembered
nothing that had gone before.
He was sent back to London, his mind still clouded. I used to
think of him often—his quiet, studious face and soldierly bearing and
his eyes with their eternal question in them, which none of us could
answer for him.
Months later I saw him again. The government was in need of a
matron to take charge of a four-hundred-and-fifty-bed ship bound
for South Africa. Fierce battles were raging in Mesopotamia. I was
selected for the task. I had eight nurses and a hospital corps of fifty.
As I came aboard her, I saw a familiar figure standing by the
gang-plank. I caught my breath. It was the chaplain himself. There
he stood, smiling quietly, with hands outstretched.
"I am going with you, Matron," he told me, "to care for the boys."
He was well once more and back again in the field.
Malaria was rampant in Africa. Our ship exceeded capacity by
over a hundred cases—men with raging fevers. Working at top
speed, we could not bathe them all, and cold baths alone could save
them.
The convalescent officers helped us. We worked like machines.
Some of the nurses caught the tropical fever, too, but they stuck by
their post. They did not dare give in. There were too many sick and
dying men calling for them. I have known those girls to stand on
their feet when their own temperatures ranged between 103 and
104 degrees. They laughed at the idea of giving in. They couldn't.
That was all.
 You have heard of the brutality of the Turk. Let me tell you he is
gentle compared to the ferocity of the Germans. We lay at anchor
near Salonika. The Turks were on one side of the Gulf, the British on
the other. More than once I have seen the Turks hoist a white flag to
us, and, when we have at length replied to it with our flag of truce,
they have sent an envoy aboard. Always, he desired to parley with
the Matron instead of with the Commander, and I would be
summoned to receive his message.
"Mem Sahib," he would say, "we are about to open fire on the
British. You will move your ship about fifty yards. You will then be
out of danger." He would bow and return to his regiment, giving us
ample time to move before the great guns roared once more.
But the Germans! To bomb a field hospital or shell an ambulance,
or sink a Red Cross ship is a triumph for them!
It was three o'clock one morning. We lay in the Mediterranean.
An accident case needed instant care. I ran to prepare the "theater,"
as we call the operating room. The patient was treated and had
been lifted to a stretcher when the Huns' torpedo struck us.
Then came the crash, the sudden trembling of the ship and the
sudden dreadful listing. We carried the man to the deck, scrambling
up as best we could. The engine had not been struck, but the stern
was shattered. Every man who was able to, reached the deck with
life-belt on, and the nurses and doctors flew to the rescue of those
below.
We carried them all on deck, and the Commander faced us
quietly.
"The boats on the port side are smashed, and those on starboard
cannot be lowered."
There was not a sound for a full moment after he spoke, as the
awful truth dawned upon us. Then his voice rang out:
"There is only one chance—to jump for your lives."
 Jump for your lives! I looked at the men who were too ill to be
moved, who lay unconscious, with flushed cheeks and closed eyes.
Jump for our lives! What chance had they? Truly the Boches could
take toll that night if they counted sick and wounded men and Red
Cross nurses as fair prey. . . .
The Commander shouted to us: "Jump feet first. Watch out—
jump feet first."
We had practised doing it in the tank on the way over. With life-
belts on, it is the only way of preserving your balance.
The men were dragging out tables and tearing up planks for rafts.
They hurled them into the water, and little groups of them climbed
the rail, stood poised an instant above the black depths below them
—then leaped down. . . .
The voices of hundreds of struggling men rang in on our ears and
we were helpless to aid them.
The Commander called the nurses to him.
"You go next," he told them. "The Matron and I will jump last."
They were the bravest, coolest lot of girls I have ever seen. They
climbed the rail, hand in hand. They hesitated a second—with a
shudder at what lay before them, then they leaped forward. . . . I
could not look. Only the Commander and I remained. He drew me to
the rail.
"I can't do it," I cried, drawing back. But he was very firm.
"Come," he said quietly, "it will soon be too late."
He helped me up. My heart was thumping like a trip-hammer in
my breast. I could not—I could not—could not jump. He drew me
down suddenly. I lost my footing and plunged after him. The water
closed over me. It seemed hours before I came to the top. For a
long time I could not move. At length I began to swim. I knew
enough to get as far away as I could from the suction that would
draw me as the ship sank.
Three hours later patrols picked us up.
And yet, I love the water. If I am ashore and cannot sleep, I
pretend my room is a cabin and that I am on a quietly rocking sea.
That is why I entered the Navy nurse corps of my country when she
declared war on Germany.
So I have served under three flags since war was declared, and at
last—at last I am under my own!
GUNNER'S MATE M'QUIRE
SPEAKS:
 "ABANDON SHIP!"
Me father was always talkin' about the old country. Sure and he
said there was nothin' in the whole of America to compare with a
corner of County Cork! We kids used to poke fun at him, but I'm
confessin' it made us kinder hanker to see that land ourselves.
He was after claimin' that the grass was greener there than
anywhere else on earth and the sky bluer. As a kid I planned to run
away and ship over there just to see if the old man was givin' it to
us straight. But it was to Canada I drifted, and, because I have more
inches than most men, the Northwest Mounted sent me an engraved
invitation askin' me to join them, which I did for six years.
Sure, it's a great way to spend your days, ridin' through snow and
ice or mud and mosquitoes—accordin' to the season—after the gang
of outlaws runnin' loose up there. But it was always worryin', the
wife was, for fear I couldn't shoot quick enough and they'd get the
drop on me. She'd tell me that it was the kid she was considerin'—
she wasn't wantin' to bring him up without a father. She'd say he
was too big a handful for her to manage, then get around me by
claimin' he was a chip off the old block all right—all right.
So I give up me post in the Northwest and settled down in
Winnipeg. Then the war came and I could see reasons all over the
place for me joinin' up at once. First of all, though me country was
America, me home was in Canada and I knew that nine-tenths of
the Canucks would be friends of mine. Then secondly, wasn't I Irish,
which meant gettin' into any scrap that was goin', so help me?
Well, the wife held me back at the start. She kept coaxin' me to
bide a bit. She argued the States wasn't in trouble yet, so I listened
with one ear, but with the other I was hearin' from all sides about
the greatest free-for-all fight in the world's history, and I knew that
me, Patrick M'Quire, had no business to be standin' by.

"Gas Masked," the men in the trenches throw hand grenades.

The wife wasn't well and she was always frettin' at the thought of
me enlistin', so I told her I'd wait, but I warned her that it was
entirely responsible she'd be if Germany tied the Allies in a show-
down. I told her I was a sharpshooter with a record in the Northwest
to be proud of. I asked her why she was keepin' me back. Sure, I
demanded what business she had to be hamperin' the Allies'
chances like that!
Well, me humor fell on deaf ears and I stayed until me own
country, the United States of America, declared war, and that same
afternoon, by the grace of God, I walked meself up, bought tickets
for the States, packed me family aboard and two days later joined
the navy.
 It's compromisin' I was when I joined. I told the wife that the fear
of trenches or gas attacks need never enter her heart, but I knew as
well as me own name the danger on the seas of Fritz gettin' playful
and stickin' a torpedo in your ribs—but why worry her?
Better than me prayers I knew firearms. I could take a rifle apart
and put it together again with me eyes closed. I had had as many
machine guns jam on me as the next fellow. I was entirely qualified
to be a gunner's mate, which, I assure you, I wasted no time
becomin'.
They shipped me over on a British auxiliary—a cargo ship. For the
two months they held me at the trainin' station. The wife had been
knittin' and knittin'! If I'd been bound straight for the North Pole I
couldn't be after havin' more helmets or sweaters or socks or
wristlets than she sent me. Whist! how these women do slave for us.
It was askin' her not to, that I did at first, until I saw it was givin' her
the only mite of pleasure she could squeeze out of me goin' away.
Women is like that. They wants to be babyin' their men folks until
the end of the story.
What I valued most of all was a picture she had taken with the
kid. That nearly finished me. I was after winkin' and blinkin' over it
like an old fool parted from his senses. But she looked so sweet
smilin' at me there and the kid looked so clean it almost broke me
up.
I set sail on a warm June day. There was no chance to go home
and say good-bye. In a way I was glad of that. She was, too. It's
rough weather we had all the way and plenty of work, but I liked the
life. I was hard as nails. I was strong from bein' outdoors twenty-
nine years of me thirty. Weather didn't worry me—rain or shine was
all the same.
We came to the Zone. "Aha!" says I to meself, "so this is the
patch Fritz has picked to try his luck with us as a target!" I kept
wishin' for a sight of him. Sure, I stayed awake nights worryin' for
fear the convoy sent out to meet us would be so good it would scare
all the subs away. It was nearin' the point where we expected the
sub chasers to meet us that I got me wish.
It was about five in the afternoon with the sun goin' down like a
red balloon, when we sighted a raft with a barrel propped up at one
end. There were two fellows aboard her, in a bad way from the looks
of them, stripped to their waists, wavin' their shirts to us for help.
We had been after hearin' how dangerous it was to stop your
engine in the Zone and rescue survivors, but good God! who'd have
the heart to pass those poor fellows by! Perhaps they had wives and
kids at home same as us. We drew up about five hundred yards
from them and started to lower the boat when the raft rose out of
the water and turned over and the men dived off. Under it we saw
the deck of a submarine, the barrel still on her periscope.
It's trapped we were by her dirty trick! She struck us amidships
and then submerged. There wasn't time to fire. We were sinkin'
stern first. The boats were swung down and I started to get into me
own when I remembered the wife's picture! Sure, I had to have it!
There wasn't no two ways about it. I just wouldn't get off the ship
without it. Someone called to me to come on. Someone pulled me
arm. But I tore it loose.
"It's goin' back I am," I told him.
"You're crazy! She'll be down in four minutes."
"I tell you, it's goin' back I am. . . ."
And he let me go. I guess he thought he'd done his best to save a
poor loon. All hands were on deck. I made for the hatchway and
found it fillin' with water. The furniture was floatin' around like the
little toys the kid puts in the bath tub.
I fought me way to me bunk. Over it I'd nailed the picture. I felt
with me hands until I found it. I tore it off the wall and stuffed it in
me shirt, then I started out. The water was clean up to me waist
and pourin' in. The force of it sent the chairs and tables crashin'
against the wall. I dodged them and found the stairs. They were
submerged. It's on me hands and knees I crawled, until I reached
the top. The water poured in on me.
I found the deck deserted. I looked down. A few boats were
bobbin' on the waves. I dived off. When I came up it did me eyes
good to see a boat a few yards away. I swam toward it and they
pulled me in. A seaman named Doyle and another called Hooper
were good strokes. They rowed all eighteen of us away out when
the cruiser went down.
About a hundred yards from us was a boat full of our officers. It
was decidin' to follow them we were, when the submarine came to
surface again. She was after knowin' which boat held officers, too—
no doubt about that, because she trained her machine gun on the
lot of them without wastin' time, and opened fire. Yes, by God!
shootin' on men adrift in a lifeboat!
That's a sample of Hun fightin' I won't forget in a hurry! I'd have
given me life and that of all me dear ones just then for a chance to
cut the throats of those cool devils on her deck, pumpin' death into
that boat load of helpless youngsters. . . .
We expected to get it next and it's ready for them we were. I
hoped with all me heart and soul that they'd come close enough to
hear the names I was callin' them. But they didn't honor us—not
them. They figured that we were all enlisted men, not worth wastin'
a shot on, for they submerged.
It was growin' dark, but there was still light enough for us to take
stock of our fodder. All lifeboats are well equipped—provided with
ten gallon barrels of water, and with tins of bacon and crackers. It's
glad to find the food and water we were. The chances were pretty
fair of our bein' rescued in a day or two. That was good, seein' we
hadn't a compass and most of us was green. We couldn't even pick
the stars and none of us knew seamanship.
 We could do nothin' but wait until mornin' and pray for the sight
of a sail. Mornin' came. We were stiff, 'part from wet clothes and
'part from the hard boards on which we'd been lyin'.
There were four boys aboard—just kids, not more than eighteen
or nineteen. It's game they were, all right. They were the life of that
gang. It's "Cheer up, they'll find us to-day," they'd tell us.
One of them was bubblin' over with spirits. He was a big, blond
kid called Terry. He was one of the gun's crew and I'd liked him from
the start. He appointed himself C. P. O. in charge of the chow and
dished out the crackers and bacon to us, jokin' about our table de
hôte and sayin' he'd try to do better next meal.
Some of the older men aboard shook their heads over the way we
was eatin'.
"Better hold back on the rations and water," they warned us. "We
ain't rescued yet."
But we laughed them down. We felt sure some ship must have
caught our S. O. S. the night before. It stood to reason help was
hurryin' toward us.
We took turns scannin' the horizon. It wasn't hard, because the
sky was cloudy. We didn't say so, but it's hopin' we were that there
wouldn't be a squall. It wasn't long before the water grew choppy
and a mist came up. Some of the men were glooms for fair.
"Fog risin'. We couldn't see a ship if she was alongside of us,"
they growled.
The boys wouldn't be downed.
"We'll shout just to show them we're here," they said, and, at
intervals all that long night, their voices rang out, but no answer did
we get.
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