Bellefonte, Pa., February 28, 1919.
fin—A Soldier of
the King
Empey
Author of “Over the Top,”
“First Call,” Etc.
0-0-0
Mr. Empey’s Experi-
ences During His Seven-
teen Monthsin theFirst
Line Trenches of the
British Army in France
(Copyright, 1917, 7 The McClure Newspaper
yndicate)
We were machine gunners of the
British army stationed “Somewhere in
France,” and had just arrived at our
rest billets, after a weary march from
the front-line sector.
The stable we had to sleep in was
an old, ramshackle affair, absolutely
overrun with rats, big, black fellows,
who used to chew up our leather equip-
ment; eat our rations, and run over
our bodies at night. German gas had
no effect on these rodents; in fact,
they seemed to thrive on it. The floor
space would comfortably accommodate
about twenty men lying down, but
when thirty-three, including equip-
ment, were crowded into it, it was
nearly unbearable.
The roof and walls were full of shell
holes. When it rained a constant drip,
drip, drip was in order. We were so
crowded that if a fellow was unlucky
enough (and nearly all of us in this
instance were unlucky) to sleep under
a hole, he had to grin and bear it.
It was like sleeping beneath a shower
bath. y
At one end of the billet, with a lad-
der leading up to it, was a sort of
grain bin, with a door in it. This
place was the headquarters of our
guests, the rats. Many a stormy cab-
inet meeting was held there by them.
Many a boot was thrown at it during
the night to let then know that Tom-
my Atkins objected to the matter un-
der discussion. Sometimes one of
these missiles would ricochet, and land
on the upturned countenance of a
snoring Tommy, and for about half
an hour even the rats would pause in
pdmiration of his flow of language.
On the night in question we flopped
down in our wet clothes, and were
soon asleep. As was usual, No. 2 gun's
crew were together.
The last time we had rested in this
particular village, it was inhabited by
civilians, but now it was deserted. An
order had been issued, two days pre-
vious to our arrival, that all civilians
should move farther back of the line.
I had been asleep about two hours
when I was awakened by Sailor Bill
shaking me by the shoulder. He was
trembling like a leaf, and whispered
fo me:
“Wake up, Yank, this ship’s haunt-
ed. There's someone aloft who's be
moaning for the last hour. Sounds
like the wind in the rigging. I aint
scared of humans or Germans, but
when it comes to messin’ in with spir-
its it’s time for me to go below. Lend
your car and cast your deadlights on
that grain locker, and listen.”
I listened sleepily for a minute or
se, but could hear nothing. Coming
to the conclusion that Sailor Bill was
dreaming things I was again soon
asleep.
Perhaps fifteen minutes had elapsed
when I was rudely awakened.
“Yank, for God's sake, come aboard
and listen!” I listened, and sure
enough, right out of that grain bin
overhead came a moaning and whim-
pering, and then a scratching against
the floor. My hair stood on end.
Blended with the drip, drip of the
rain, and the occasional scurrying of
a rat overhead, that noise had a su-
pernatural sound. I was really fright-
ened ; perhaps my nerves were a trifle
unstrung from our recent tour in the
trenches.
I awakened Ikey Honney, while Sail.
or Bill roused Happy Houghton and
Hungry Foxcroft.
Hungry’s first words were, “What's
the matter, breakfast ready?”
i In as few words as possible we told
them what had happened, By the
light of a candle I had lighted thei
faces appeared as white as chalk. Just
then the whimpering started again, and
we were frozen with terror. The ten-
gion was relieved by Ikey’s voice:
“I admit I'm afraid of ghosts, but
that sounds like a dog to me. Who's
going up the ladder to investigate?”
No one volunteered.
I had an old deck of cards in my
pocket. Taking them out, I suggested
cutting, the low man to go up the lad-
der. They agreed. I was the last to
cut. I got the ace of clubs. Sailor
Bill was stuck with the five of dia-
monds. pon this, he insisted that it
should be the best two out of three
cuts, but we overruled him, and he was
unanimously elected for the job.
With a “So long, mates, I'm going
aloft,” he started toward the ladder,
with the candle in his hand, stumbling
over the sleeping forms of many. Sun-
dry grunts, moans, and curses follow-
ed in his wake.
As soon as he started to ascend the
ladder, a “tap-tap-tap” could be heard
from the grain bin. We waited in fear
and trembling the result of his mis-
sion. Hungry was encouraging him
with “Cheero, mate, the worst is yet
to come.”
After many pauses Bill reached the
top of the ladder and opened the door.
We listened with bated breath. Ther
he shouted:
“Blast my deadlights, if it ain’t a
poor dog! Come alongside mate,
“Blast My Deadlights, If It Ain't a
Poor Dog!”
ycu're on a lee shore, and in a sorry
plight.”
Oh, what a relief those words were
to us!
With the candle in one hand and a
dark object under his arm, Bill re-
turned and deposited in our midst the
sorriest-looking specimen of a cur dog
vou ever set eyes on. It was so weak
it couldn’t stand. But that look in its
eyes—ijust gratitude, plain gratitude.
Its stump of a tail was pounding
against my mess tin, and sounded just
like a message in the Morse code. Hap-
py swore that it was sending S. O. S.
We were like a lot of school chil-
dren, every one wanting to help and
making suggestions at the same time.
Hungry suggested giving it something
to eat, while Ikeyv wanted to play on
his infernal jew’s-harp, claiming it was
a musical dog. Huugrs's suggestion
met our approval, and there was a
general scramble for haversacks. All
we could muster was some hard bread
and a big piece of cheese.
His nibs wouldn’t eat bread, and also
refused the cheese, but not before snif-
fing at it for a couple of minutes. I
was going to throw the cheese away,
but Hungry said he would take it. I
gave it to him.
We were in a quandary. It was evi-
dent that the dog was starving and in
a very weak condition. Its coat was
lacerated all over, probably from the
bites of rats. That stump of a tail
kept sending S. O. S. against my mess
tin. Every tap went straight to our
hearts. We would get something to
eat for that mutt if we were shot for
it.
Sailor Bill volunteered to burglar-
ize the quartermaster’s stores for a
can of unsweetened condensed milk,
and left on his perilous venture. He
was gone about twenty minutes. Dur-
ing his abscnce, with the help of a
bandage and a capsule of iodine, we
cleaned the wounds made by the rats.
I have bandaged many a wounded
Tommy, but never received the amount
of thanks that that dog gave with ite
eyes.
Then the billet door opened and Sail-
or Bill appeared. He looked like the
wreck of the Hesperus, uniferm torn,
covered with dirt and flour, and a
L. . :tiful black eye, but he was smil-
ing, and in his hand he carried the
precious can of milk. We asked no
questions, but opened the can. Just as
we were going to pour it out Happy
butted in and said it should be mixed
with water; he ought to know, because
his sister back in Blighty had a baby,
and she always mixed water with its
milk. We could not dispute this evi-
dence, so water was demanded. We
would not use the water in our water
bottles, as it was not fresh enough
for our new mate. Happy volunteered
to get some from the well, that is, if
we would promise not to feed his royal
highness until he returned. We prom-
ised, because Happy had proved that
he was an authority on the feeding of
babies. By this time the rest of the
section were awake and were crowd-
ing around us, asking numerous ques-
tions and admiring our newly found
friend. Sailor Bill took this opportun-
ity to tell of his adventures while in
quest of the milk.
“I had a fair wind. and the passage
was good until I came alongside the
quartermaster’s shack, then the sea
got rough. When I got abeard I couid
hear the wind blowing through the
rigging of the supercargo (quartermas-
ter sergeant snoring), so I was safe.
I set my course due north to the ra-
tion hold, and got my grappling irons
on a cask of milk, and came about on
my homeward-bound passage, but
something was amiss with my wheel,
because I ran nose on into him, caught
him on the rail, amidships. Then it
was repel boarders, and it started to
blow big guns. His first shot put out
my starboard light, and I keeled over.
I was %n, the trough of the sea, but
soon righted, and then it was a stern
chase, with me in the lead. Getting in-
to the open Sea, I made a port tack
and hove to in this cove with the
milk safely in tow.”
Most of us didn’t know what he was
talking about, but surmised that he
had got into a mixup with the quarter-
master sergeant. This surmise proved
correct. .
Just as Bill finished his narration a
loud splash was heard, and Happy’s
voice came to us. It sounded very far
off:
“Help, I'm in the well! Hurry up,
I can’t swim! Then a few unintelli-
gible words intermixed with blub!
blub! and no more.
We ran to the well and away
down we could hear an awful splash-
ing. Sailor Bill yelled down “Look
out below; stand from under: bucket
coming!” With that he loosed the
windlass. In a few seconds a splut-
tering voice from the depths yelled to
us, “Haul away!”
It was hard work hauling him up.
We had raised him about ten feet from
the water, when the handle of the
windlass got loose from our grip, and
down went the bucket and Happy. A
loud splash came to us, and, grabbing
the handle again, we worked like
Trojans. A volley of curses came
from that well which would have
shocked Old Nick himself.
When we got Happy safely out, he
was a sight worth seeing. He did not
Got Happily Safely Out.
even notice us. Never said a word,
just filled his water bottle from the
water in the bucket, and went back
to the billet. We followed, my mess
tin was still sending S. O. S.
Happy, though dripping wet, silent-
ly fixed up the milk for the dog. In
appetite the canine was a close sec-
ond to Hungry Foxcroft. After lap-
ping all he could hold. our mascot
closed his eyes and his tail ceased
wagging. Sailor Bill took a dry flan-
nel shirt from his pack, wrapped the
dog in it and informed us:
“Me and my mate are going below,
so the rest of you lubbers batten down
and turn in.”
We all wanted the honor of sleeping
with the dog, but did not dispute Sail-
or Bill's right to the privilege. By
this time the bunch were pretty sleepy
and tired, and turned in without much
coaxing, as it was pretty near day-
break.
Next day we figured out that per-
haps one of the French kiddies had
put the dug m the grain bin, and, in
the excitement of packing up and leav-
ing, had forgotten he was there.
Sailor Bill was given the right to
christen our new mate. He called him
Jim. In a couple of days Jim came
around all right, and got very frisky.
Every man in the section loved that
dog.
Sailor Bill was court-martialed for
his mixup with the quartermaster-ser-
geant, and got seven days field pun-
ishment No. 1. This meant that two
hours each day for a week he gould
be tied to the wheel of a limber. Dur-
ing these two-hour periods Jim would
be at Bill’s feet, and, no matter how
much we coaxed him with choice mor-
sels of food, he would not leave until
Bill was untied. When Bill was loose
Jim would have nothing to do with him
—just walked away in contempt. Jim
respected the king's regulations, and
had no use for defaulters.
At a special meeting held by the
section Jim had the oath of allegiance
read to him. He barked his consent,
so we solemnly swore him in as a
soldier of the Imperial British army,
fighting for king and country. Jim
made a better soldier than any one
of us, and died for his king and coun-
try. Died without a whimper of com-
plaint.
trips to the trenches; each time Jim
accompanied us. The first time under
fire he put the stump of his tail be-
tween his legs, but stuck to his post.
When “carrying in” if we neglected to
give Jim something to carry, he would
make such a noise barking that we
soon fixed him up.
Each day Jim would pick out a dif-
ferent man of the section to follow.
He would stick to this man, eating and
sleeping with him, until the next day,
and then it would be some one else’s
turn. When a man had Jim with him,
it seemed as if his life were charmed.
No matter what he went through, he
would come out safely. We looked up-
on Jim as a good-luck sign, and be-
lieve me, he was.
Whenever it came lkey Honney's
turn for Jim’s company, he was over-
joyed, bacause Jim would sit in digni-
fied silerce, listening to the jew’s-harp.
Honney claimed that Jim had a soul
for music, which was more than he
would say about the rest of us.
Once, at daybreak, we had to go
over the top in an attack. A man in
the section named Dalton was select»
ed by Jim as his mate in this affair.
The crew of gun No. 2 were to stay
in the trench for overhead fire pur-
poses, and, if necessary, to help re-
pel a probable counter-attack by the
enemy. Dalton was very merry, and
hadn’t the least fear or misgivings as
From the village we made several
to his safety, because Jim would be
with him through it all.
In the attack, Dalton, closely follow-
ed by Jim, had got about sixty yards
into No Man’s land, when Jim was hit
in the stomach by a bullet. Poor old
Jim toppled over, and lay still. Dalton
turned around, and, just as he did se,
we saw him throw up his hands and
fall face forward.
Ikey Honney, who was No. 3 on our
gun, seeing Jim fall, scrambled over
the parapet, and, through that rain of
shells and bullets, raced to where Jim
was, picked him up, and tucking him
under his arm, returned to our trench
in safety. If he had gone to rescue a
wounded man in this way he would
have no doubt been awarded the Vie-
toria Cross. But he only brought in
poor bleeding, dying Jim.
Ikey laid him on the firestep along-
side of our gun, but we could not at-
tend to him, because we had important
work to do. So he died like a soldier.
without a look of reproach for our
heartless treatment. Just watched our
evefy movement until his lights burn-
ed out. After the attack, what was left
of our section gathered around Jim’s
bloodstained body. There wasn’t a dry
eye in the crowd.
Next day we wrapped him in a small
Union Jack belonging to Happy, and
laid him to rest, a Soldier of the King.
We put a little wooden cross over
his grave which read:
PRIVATE JIM,
MACHINE-GUN COMPANY;
KILLED IN ACTION
APRIL 10, 1916.
A DOG WITH A MAN'S HEART.
Although the section has lost lots
of men, Jim is never forgotten.
MRS. TURNER STUDYING
HYGIENE.
BABY
SHE ASKS the Physician,
“My dear Mrs. Turner” said the family
physician, “I can only repeat what I have
said so many times—that not only must
we see to it that the child properly as-
similates its food, but, equally important,
that the waste products are properly elim-
inated. Infant—or Child—hygiene plays
an immense part at this day. The prop-
er feeding of children is today an exact
science and it has brought with it the
knowledge of how to keep the child's ali-
mentary tract in the proper condition.
Have you noticed how many physicians
now specialize in children’s diseases?
Those men have at their command all the
treatises on the maladies of infancy and
childhood. Naturally they have the ad-
| vantage over the general practitioner.
{ But, do you think the specialist has more
success in treating the children than has
the physician who brought them into the
. world; who day in and day out sees them,
watches them and notices all their little
individual peculiarities? The specialist
comes in as an outsider and has to learn
of these things. The family physician
knows them.” i
“One of the best known physicians in
this country puts the matter' of sanitation
of the alimentary canal into a terst sen-
tence— ‘Clean out, clean up and keep
clean.” Surely what is true about the
grown-ups is still more so in regard to
children. The grown-ups can think for
themselves. But the baby? Ah! you get
the point? Tood that may suit one child
may be absolutely unfit for another, the
ice cream cone, the tempting water melon,
the ever to be desired green apple, these
and many more cause the woe, which may
be soothed by remedies that cannot be
given to the infant or small child, such as
Castor Oil a most nauseating old fashion-
ed remedy. Now, to tell you the truth, I
very rarely give Castor Oil. For years
and years, in my own family as well as in
outside practice, I give Fletcher's Casto-
ria and I know of scores of other physi-
cians doing likewise. You ask why? Well
I have had nearly thirty years experience
with it, that is why. Experience teaches.
You, Mrs. Turner, are still young and have
only your first baby to worry over and be-
cause his little stomach is out of kilter
vou are scared. Now, just do as I tell
vou. Give him Fletcher's Castoria as di-
rected and you will find that your boy will
be very comfy.”
“But Doctor” broke in Mrs. Turner,
“are yon sure there is nothing injurious
in Fletcher's Castoria?”’ “Why my dear
Mrs. Turner right on the wrapper of every
bottle you will find the formula. And since
you are of such an .inquiring turn of
mind, if you will some day come over to
my office I will read to you what the text-
books say about those ingredients and ex-
plain it to you in every day lingo.”
The doctor’s candid talk convinced Mrs.
Turner that Fletcher's Castoria was the
remedy for her to keep in the house and
any other mother who takes the trouble to
ask her physician will receive the same ad-
vice.
‘Ware Souvenirs.
Even “kultur” has its limitations.
One of these is brought out in a let-
ter from Private Ralph G. Kilbon of
the Sixteenth engineers. He says:
“TI am in a dugout that was very has-
tily abandoned by a ‘kultured’ Boche.
He was ‘kultured’ enough to have a
nice feather tick in his bunk, which I
appreciate in spite of the fact that
even his ‘kultur’ didn’t keep it from
being alive. However, he left me his
helmet for a box and plenty of can-
dles to light up the place. There is
everything in the line of souvenirs
that one could ask, but everything I
have goes on my back, with an over-
coat, blankets, raincoat, shelter tent
and extra clothes, so the souvenirs will
stay just about where they are, un-
less somebody comes clorg with a
truck.”
Breaking It Gently.
Kind Old Lady (visiting peniten-
tiary)-—Ah, my poor fellow; you look
like an honest man. Why did they put
you here?
Poor Fellow—Yer right; it was a
shame, leddy. They put me here just
fer tryin’ to open up a little business.
Kind Old Lady—Why, that was an
outrage! What kind of a business
was it?
Poor Fellow—The little business on
the front of a safe.
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