CHAPTER I. From Mufti to Khaki. It was in an office in Jersey City. I was sitting at my desk talking to a lieutenant of the Jersey National Guard. On the wall was a big war map decorated with variously colored little flags showing the position of the opposing armies on the western front in France. In front of me on the desk lay a New York paper with big flaring headlines: LUSITANIA SUNK! : LIVES LOST! ‘The windows were open and a feel- ing of spring pervaded the air. Through the open windows came the strains of a hurdy-gurdy playing in the street—*I Didn't Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier.” “Lusitania Sunk! American Lives Lost !”"—“I Didn’t Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier.” To us these did not ‘Seem to jibe. The lieutenant in silence opened one of the lower drawers of his desk and took from it an American flag which he solemnly draped over the war map on the wall. Then, turning to me with a grim face, said: “How about it, sergeant? You had better get out the muster roll of the Mounted Scouts, as I think they will be needed in the course of a few days.” ‘We busied ourselves till late in the evening writing out emergency tele- grams for the men to report when the call should come from Washington. Then we went home. I crossed over to New York, and as I went up Fulton street to take the subway to Brooklyn, the lights in the tall buildings of New York seemed to be burning brighter than usual, as if they, too, had read “Lusitania Sunk! American Lives Lost!” They seemed to be glowing with anger and righteous indignation, and their rays wigwagged the message, “Repay !” Months passed, the telegrams lying handy, but covered with dust. Then, one momentous morning the lieutenant with a sigh of disgust removed the flag from the war map and returned AMERICAN Guy Empey. to his desk. I immediately followed this action by throwing the telegrams into the wastebasket. Then we looked at each other in silence. He was squirming in his chair and I felt de- pressed and uneasy. The telephone rang and I answered it. It was a business call for me, re- questing my services for an out-of- town assignment. Business was not very good, so this was very welcome. After listening to the proposition I seemed to be swayed by a peculiarly strong force within me, and answered, “I am sorry that I cannot accept your offer, but I am leaving for England next week,” and hung up the receiver. The lieutenant swung around in his chair, and stared at me in blank aston- ishment. A sinking sensation came over me, but I defiantly answered his look with, “Well, it’s so. I'm going.” And I went. The trip across was uneventful. I. landed at Tilbury, England, then got into a string of matchbox cars and. proceeded to London, arriving there about 10 p. m. I took a room in a hotel near St. Pancras station for “five and six—fire extra.” The room was minus the fire, but the “extra” seemed to keep me warm. That night there was a Zeppelin raid, but I didn’t see much of it, because the slit in the curtains was too small and I had no desire to make it larger. Next morning the tel- ephone bell rang, and someone asked, “Are you there?” I was, hardly. Any- way, I learned that the Zeps had re- turned to their fatherland, so I went: out into the street expecting to see scenes of awful devastation and a cow- les nN a pp Ne AN AMERICAN SOLDIER WHO WENT ARITIURGUY IMPLY MACHINE GUNNER, SERVING IN FRANCE——= wT RN ©1917 BY ARTHUR GUY EMPEY ering populace, but everything was normal. People were calmly proceed- ing to their work. Crossing the street, I accosted a Bobbie with: “Can you direct me to the place of damage?” He asked me, “What damage?” In surprise, I answered, “Why, the damage calised by the Zeps.” With a wink he replied: “There was no damage; we missed them again.” After several fruitless inquiries of the passersby, I decided to go on my own in search of ruined buildings and scenes of destruction. I boarded a bus which carried me through Tottenham Court road. Recruiting posters were everywhere. The one that impressed me" most was a life-size picture of Lord Kitchener with his finger point- ing directly at me, under the caption of “Your King and Country Need You.” No matter which way I turned, the accusing finger followed me. I was an American, in mufti, and had a little American flag in the lapel of my coat. I had no king, and my country had seen fit not to need me, but still that pointing finger made me feel small and ill at ease. I got off the bus to try to dissipate this feeling by mixing with the throng of the sidewalks. Presently I came to a recruiting of- fice. Inside, sitting at a desk was a lonely Tommy Atkins. I decided to in- terview him in regard to joining the British army. I opened the door. He looked up and greeted me with “I s’y, myte, want to tyke on?” I looked at him and answered, “Well, whatever that is, I'll take a chance at it.” Without the aid of an interpreter, I found out that Tommy wanted to know if I cared to join the British army. He asked me: “Did you ever hear of the Royal Fusiliers?’ Well, in London, you know, Yanks are supposed to know everything, so I was not going to ap- pear ignorant and answered, “Sure.” After listening for one half-hour to Tommy's tale of their exploits on the firing line, I decided to join. Tommy took me to the recruiting headquarters, where I met a typical English captain. He asked my nationality. I immedi- ately pulled out my American passport and showed it to him. It was signed by Lansing. After looking at the passport, he informed me that he was sorry but could not enlist me, as it would be a breach of neutrality. I insisted that I was not neutral, be- cause to me it seemed that a real American could not be neutral when big things were in progress, but the captain would not enlist me. With disgust in my heart I went out in the street. I had gone about a block when a recruiting sergeant who had followed me out of the office tapped me on the shoulder with his swagger stick and said: “S’y, I can get you in the army. We have a ‘lef- tenant’ down at the other office who can do anything. He has just come out of the O. T. C. (Officers’ Training corps) and does not know what neu- trality is.” I decided to take a chance, and accepted his invitation for an in- troduction to the lieutenant. I entered the office and went up to him, opened up my passport and said: “Jefore going further I wish to state that IT am an American, not too proud to fight, and want to join your army.” He looked at me in a nonchalant manner, and answered, “That’s all right; we take anything over here.” I looked at him kind of hard and re- plied, “So I notice,” but it went over his head. He got out an enlistment blank, and placing his finger on a blank line said, “Sign here.” I answered, “Not on your tintype.” “I beg your pardon?” Then I explained to him that I would not sign it without first reading it. I read it over and signed for duration of war. Some of the recruits were lucky. They signed for seven years only! Then he asked me my birthplace. I answered, “Ogden, Utah.” He said, “Oh, yes, just outside of New York?” With a smile, I replied, “Well, it’s up the state a little.” Then I was taken before the doctor and passed as physically fit, and was issued a uniform. When I reported back to the lieutenant, he suggested that, being an American, I go on re- cruiting service and try to shame some of the slackers into joining the army.” “All you have to do,” he said, “is to go out on the street, and when you see a young fellow in mufti who looks physically fit, just stop him and give him this kind of a talk: ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, a Britisher, phys- ically fit, and in mufti when your king and country need you? Don’t you know that your country is at war and that the place for every young Briton is on the firing line? Here I am, an American, in khaki, who came four thousand miles to fight for your king and country, and you, as yet, have not enlisted. Why don’t you join? is the time. “This argument ought to get many recruits, Empey, so go out and see what you can do.” He then gave me a small rosette of red, white and blue ribbon, with three little streamers hanging down. This was the recruiting insignia and was to be worn on the left side of the cap. Armed with a swagger stick and my patriotic rosette, I went out into Tot- tenham Court road in quest of cannon fodder. Two or three poorly dressed civil- fans passed me, and although they ap- peared physically fit, I said to myself, Now perhaps they have someone dependent on them for support,” so I did not ac- cost them. Coming down the street I saw a young dandy, top hat and all, with a side him. meat,” and when he came abreast of me I stepped directly in his path and stopped him with my swagger stick, saying: “You would look fine in khaki; why not change that top hat for a steel helmet? Aren’t you ashamed of your- self, a husky young chap like you in mufti when men are needed in tle trenches? Here I am, an American, Swearing in a Recruit. came four thousand miles from Ogden, Utah, just outside of New York, to fight for your king and country. Don’t be a slacker, buck up and get into uni- form; come over to the recruiting of- fice and I'll have you enlisted.” He yawned and answered, “I don’t care if you came forty thousand miles, no one asked you to,” and he walked on. The girl gave me a sneering look; I was speechless. I recruited for three weeks and near- ly got one recruit. This perhaps was not the greatest stunt in the world, but it got back at the officer who had told me, “Yes, we take anything over here.” I had been spending a good lot of my recruiting time in the saloon bar of the Wheat Sheaf pub (there was a very attractive blonde barmaid, who helped kill time— I was not as serious in those days as I was a little later when I reached the front)—well, it was the sixth day and my recruiting report was blank. I was getting low in the pocket—bar- maids haven't much use for anyone who cannot buy drinks—so I looked around for recruiting material. You know a man on recruiting service gets a “bob” or shilling for every recruit he entices into joining the army, the recruit is supposed to get this, but he would not be a recruit if he were wise to this fact, would he? Down at the end of the bar was a young fellow in mufti who was very patriotic—he had about four “Old Six” ales aboard. He asked me if he could join, showed me his left hand, two fingers were missing, but I said that did not matter as “we take any- thing over here.” The left hand is the rifle hand as the piece is carried at the slope on the left shoulder. Near- ly everything in England is “by the left,” even general traffic keeps to the port side. I took the applicant’ over to head- quarters, where he was hurriedly ex- amined. Recruiting surgeons were busy in those days and did not have much time for thorough physical exam- inations. My recruit was passed as “fit” by the doator and turned ever to a corporal to make note of his scars. I was mystified. Suddenly the corpo- ral burst out with, “Blime me, two of his fingers are gone.” Turning to me he said, “You certainly have your nerve with you, not ’alf you ain't, to bring this beggar in.” The doctor came over and exploded, “What do you mean by bringing in a man in this condition?” Looking out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the officer who had re- cruited me had joined the group, and I could not help answering, “Well, sir, I was told that you took anything over here.” I think they called it “Yankee im- pudence,” anyhow it ended my recruit- ing. CHAPTER II. Blighty to Rest Billets. The next morning the captain sent for me and informed me: “Empey, as a recruiting sergeant you are a wash- cut,” and sent me to a training depot. After arriving at this place, I was hustled to the quartermaster stores and received an awful shock. The quartermaster sergeant spread a wa- terproof sheet on the ground and com- “They don’t want to join the army; fashionably dressed girl walking be- ! I muttered, “You are my | ! menced throwing a miscellaneous as- | sortment of straps, buckles and other | paraphernalia into it. I thought he { would never stop, but when the pile | reached to my knees he paused long ' enough to say, “Next, No. 5217, ’Arris, | B company.” I gazed in bewilderment { at the pile of junk in front of me, and | then my eyes wandered around looking | for the wagon which was to carry it to barracks. I was rudely brought to | earth by the “quarter” exclaiming, | “'Bre, you, ’op it; tyke it aw’y; blind | my eyes, ’e’s looking for ’is batman to ’elp ’im carry it.” i Struggling under the load, with fre- quent pauses for rest, I reached our | barracks (large car barns), and my | platoon leader came to the rescue. It { was a marvel to me how quickly he i assembled the equipment. After he had completed the task, he showed me i how to adjust it on my person. Pretty soon I stood before him a proper Tom- my Atkins in heavy marching order, feeling like an overloaded camel. On my feet were heavy-soled boots, studded with hobnails, the toes and heels of which were re-enforced by steel half-moons. My legs were in- cased in woolen puttees, olive drab in color, with my trousers overlapping them at the top. Then a woolen khaki tunic, under which was a bluish gray woolen shirt, minus a collar; beneath this shirt a woolen belly band about six inches wide, held in place by tie strings of white tape. On my head was a heavy woolen trench cap, with huge earlaps buttoned over the top. Then the equipment: A canvas belt, with ammunition pockets, and two wide canvas straps like suspenders, called “D” straps, fastened to the belt in front, passing over each shoulder, crossing in the middle of my back, and attached by buckles to the rear of the belt. On the right side of the belt hung a water bottle, covered with felt; on the left side was my bayonet and scabbard, and intrenching tool handle, this handle strapped to the bayonet scabbard. In the rear was my in- trenching tool, carried in a cenvas case. | This tool was a combination pick and spade. A canvas haversack was strapped to the left side of the belt, while on my back was the pack, also of canvas, held in place by two canvas straps over the shoulders; suspended on the bottom of the pack was my mess tin or canteen in a neat little canvas case. My waterproof sheet, looking like a jelly roll, was strapped on top of the pack, with a wooden stick for cleaning the breach of the rifle pro- jecting from each end. On a lanyard around my waist hung a huge jack- knife with a can-opener attachment. The pack contained my overcoat, an extra pair of socks, change of under- wear, hold all (containing knife, fork, spoon, comb, toothbrush, lather brush, shaving soap, and a razor made of tin, with “Made in England” stamped on the blade; when trying to shave with this it made you wish that you were at war with Patagonia, so that you could have a “hollow ground” stamped “Made in Germany”) ; then your house- wife, button-cleaning outfit, consisting of a brass button stick, two stiff brushes, and a box of “Soldiers’ Friend” paste; then a shoe brush ang a box of dubbin, a writing pad, indel- ible pencil, envelopes, and pay book, and personal belongings, such as a small mirror, a decent razor and a sheaf of unanswered letters, and fags. In your haversack you carry your iron rations, meaning a tin of bully beef, four biscuits and a can containing tea, sugar and Oxo cubes; a couple of pipes and a pack of shag, a tin of rifle oil, and a pull-through. Tommy gen- erally carries the oil with his rations; it gives the cheese a sort of sardine taste. : Add to this a first-aid pouch and a long, ungainly rifle patterned after the Daniel Boone period, and you have an {dea of a British soldier in Blighty. Before leaving for France, this rifle Is taken from him and he is issued with a Lee-Enfield short trench rifle and a ration bag. In France he receives two gas hel- mets, a sheepskin coat, rubber mack- intosh, steel helmet, two blankets, tear- shell goggles, a balaclava helmet, gloves and a tin of antifrostbite grease which is excellent for greasing the boots. Add to this the weight of his rations, and can you blame Tommy for growling at a twenty-kilo route march? Having served as sergeant major in the United States cavalry, I tried to tell the English drill sergeants their business, but it did not work. They Immediately put me as batman in their mess. Many a greasy dish of stew was accidentally spilled over them. I would sooner fight than be a waiter, 80 when the order came through from headquarters calling for a draft of 250 re-enforcements for France, I vol- unteered. Then we went before the M. O. (medical officer) for another physical examination. This was very brief. He asked our names and numbers and said “Fit,” and we went out to fight. We were put into troop trains and sent to Southampton, where we de- trained, and had our trench rifles is- sued to us. Then in columns of twos we went up the gangplank of a little steamer lying alongside the dock. At the head of the gangplank there was an old sergeant, who directed that we line ourselves along both rails of the ship. Then he ordered us to take life belts from the racks overhead and put them on. I have crossed the ocean several times and knew I was not sea- sick, but when I buckled on that life belt I had a sensation of sickness. After we got out into the stream all I could think of was that there were a million German submarines with a tor- pedo on each, across the warhead of which was inscribed my name and ad- dress. After five hours weé care aleusrside a pier and disembarked. I had art- tained another one of my ambitions. I was “somewhere in France.” We slept in the open that night on the side of the road. About six the next morn- ing we were ordered to entrain. I looked around for the passenger coaches, but all I could see on the sid- ing were cattle cars. We climbed into these. On the side of each car was a sign reading “Hommes 40, Cheveaux 8” When we got inside of the cars, we thought that perhaps the sign painter had reversed the order of things. After 48 hours in these trucks we detrained at Rouen. At this place we went through an intensive training for ten days. : The training consisted of the rudi- ments of trench warfare. Trenches had been dug, with barbed wire en- tanglements, bombing saps, dugouts, observation posts and machine gun em- placements. We were given a smat- tering of trench cooking, sanitation, bomb throwing, reconnoitering, listen- ing posts, constructing and repairing barbed wire, “carrying in” parties, The Author’s Identification Dssk. methods used in attack and defense, wiring parties, mass formation, and the procedure for poison-gas attacks. On the tenth day we asain met our friends “Hommes 40, Cheveaux 8.” Thirty-six hours more of misery, and we arrived at the town of F——o. After unloading our rations and equipment, we lined up on the road in columns of fours waiting for the order to march. A dull rumbling could be heard. The sun was shining. I turned to the man on my left and asked, “What's the noise, Bill?” He did not know, but his face. was of a pea-green color. Jim, on my right, also did not know, but suggested that I “awsk” the sergeant. Coming towards us was an old griz- zled sergeant, properly fed up with the war, so I “awsked” him. “Think it’s going to rain, sergeant?” He looked at me in contempt, and grunted, “’Ow’s it a-goin’ ter rain with the bloomin’ sun a-shinin’?” I looked guilty. “Them’s the guns up the line, me lad, and you'll get enough of ’em be- fore you gets back to Blighty.” My knees seemed to wilt, and I squeaked out a weak “Oh!” Then we started our march up to the line in ten-kilo treks. After the first day’s march we arrived at our rest billets. In France they call them rest billets, because while in them Tommy works seven days a week and on the eighth day of the week he is given twenty-four hours “on his own.” Our billet was a spacious affair, a large barn on the left side of the road, which had one hundred entrances, ninety-nine for shells, rats. wind and rain, and the hundredth one for Tom- my. I was tired out, and using my shrapnel-proof helmet (shrapnel proof until a piece of shrapnel hits it), or tin hat, for a pillow, lay «down in the straw, and was soon fast asleep. I must have slept about two hours, when I awoke with a prickling sensation all over me. As I thought, the straw had worked through my uniform. I woke up the fellow lying on my left, who had been up the line before, and asked him: “Does the straw bother you, mate? It’s worked through my uniform and I can’t sleep.” In a sleepy voice he answered, “That ain't straw, them’s cooties.” From that time on my friends the “cooties” were constantly with me. “Cooties,” or body lice, are the bane of Tomany’s existence. The aristocracy of the trenches very seldom call them “cooties,” they speak of them as fleas. To an American flea means a small insect armed with a bayonet, who is wont to jab it into you and then hop- skip and jump to the next place to be attacked. There is an advantage in having fleas on you instead of ‘“‘cooties” in that in one of his extended jumps said flea is liable to land on the fel- low next to you; he has the typical energy and push of the American, while the “cootie” has the bulldog tenacity of the Englishman; he holds on and consolidates or digs in until his meal is finished. There is no way to get rid of them permanently. No matter how often you bathe, and that is not very often, or how many times you change your underwear, your friends the “cooties” are always in evidence. The billets are infested with them, especially so if there is straw on the floor. (Continued on page 7, column 1.) FARM NOTES. —Going to the shop over icy roads Fit: smooth shoes may ruin your best orse. —Do not try to winter the cows without grain. Wheat bran, corn- nal and oil-meal will be found valu- able. —Some wheat bran in the ration is most suitable for the brood sows. It keeps the system cool and the bowels open. —Be sure there are no narrow doors for the ewes to crowd through. One jam may cause the loss of a lamb, or both ewe and lamb. —The cow your neighbor does not want to sell is the one you want to buy. Get around this dilemma by raising that kind yourself. —Wetting the hoofs with a sponge and clean water every day, or simply dipping each foot into a pail of water, will keep the feet from becoming dry. .—A horse’s teeth get out of condi- tion as readily as do your own. Now- adays when one of our horses goes off feed we at once look to his teeth be- fore giving any other treatment. —The calf that gets a good drink of water every day, no matter if he has all the milk he needs, will do bet- ter than one which is deprived of this ‘| same means of quenching his thirst. —An English breeder of registere cattle says that feeding To gd his youngest calves and letting them have continual access to rock salt and soft chalk has done away with scours in his herd. —In winter there is less work for the horse, and he stands idle in the stable sometimes for days together. To avoid scratches, keep the legs of the horse free from mud, and the stalls clean and dry. —The dairy cow is the most efficient of farm animals in the production of human food (milk) and the hog is the most efficient in the conversion of grain into meat, producing five times as much per acre of crops as does any other animal. —Corn, on a given area, will pro- duce more human food than any oth- er crop commonly grown on American farms. This crop heads the list in units of energy produced per acre and is ahead of all other crops except na- vy beans and soy beans in tissue- building material. In the latter ele- ment, soy beans far outclass all oth- er crops, showing twice as much pro- tein per acre as navy beans, which rank second in this regard. —In order to get the maximum, profit from feeding a balanced ration to the cows, it is necessary to keep them in a warm, comfortable stable which is well lighted and ventilated, otherwise much of the feed which should be used to produce milk will be required to keep the animals warm. We do not mean by a warm stable one heated up to 60 or 70 degrees F. in cold weather. But one which main- tains an even temperature around 45 degrees, never falling below the freez- ing point and always containing a plentiful supply of fresh air without drafts. A stable which is made warm at the expense of proper ventilation is not a place in which to keep cattle in a healthy condition. “When driving in the rain, snow or fog,” says a writer in Farm and Fire- side, “it 1s very essential that the windshield should be kept clean. There are several devices upon the market with a rubber surface which can be slipped along the windshield and .will remove the water or snow. “There are preparations that can be obtained at all accessory stores which can be applied to the windshield and prevent the water or snow from stick- ing to the glass. A little kink that is interesting to know was shown me by a taxi driver. It is to rub the finger from the top of the windshield glass to the bottom in the way a window cleaner is used on store windows. It will be necessary to pull the finger downward a good many times and to make the cleaned surfaces join. This makes a very effective water resist- ant. I used it recently in a dense fog and it helped greatly.” —When the pigs are about five weeks old, they will begin to taste some of their mother’s feed. Do not be in a hurry to wean them. Eight weeks is young enough to wean them, if there is skim milk for them. Of course the size and development has a great deal to do with their weaning age. If skim milk is not obtainable, it is better to let the pigs nurse the sow until ten weeks old. Skim milk and corn, or skim milk and shorts, fed in the proportion of 3 to 1, make an excellent ration for weanlings. If skim milk is not avail- able, a mixture of 5 parts corn meal, 4 parts middlings, and 1 part tank- age, fed as a thin slop, is very good. Good succulent pasture is always ben- eficial. It will aid wonderfully in put- ting growth on the young pigs, and the grain expense will be lessened. After a litter of pigs has been wean- ed and are eating well, the most diffi- cult part of their care is over. —A small percentage of loss in lambs in the feed lot is to be expect- ed, but this loss in some instances is far greater than it should be. When range lambs are placed on a fattening ration the change of feed is so sudden that diatic disturbances cause a gen- eral disorder and several dead sheep are found in the pens each morning. This invariably leads to the suspicion that they are dying of some infectious disease. In some cases the ration is not well balanced to secure the best gains and the condition of care and handling might be better, but these things will account for only a nominal loss. The change from grass to alfalfa, corn, barley, molasses and straw, en- silage, ete.,, must be made gradually and herein lies the secret of the heavy losses of lambs in the feed lots in the early fall. The desire to get the lambs on a fattening ration as early as possible and failing to appreciate the danger of too heavy feeding and change of ration has helped to make lamb feeding an unprofitable business in some instances. A sudden change of feed or overfeeding must be guard- ed against in the domestic animals, especially is this true with the horse and sheep. —For high class Job Work come to the “Watchman” Office. wed
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers