Part 1
# True Stories of the Great War, Volume 5 (of 6): Tales of Adventure--Heroic Deeds--Exploits Told by the Soldiers, Officers, Nurses, Diplomats, Eye Witnesses ### By Unknown
---
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 50807-h.htm or 50807-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/50807/pg50807-images.html) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/50807/50807-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See https://archive.org/details/truestoriesofgre05mill
TRUE STORIES OF THE GREAT WAR
Tales of Adventure--Heroic Deeds--Exploits Told by the Soldiers, Officers, Nurses, Diplomats, Eye Witnesses
Collected in Six Volumes From Official and Authoritative Sources (See Introductory to Volume I)
VOLUME V
Editor-in-Chief FRANCIS TREVELYAN MILLER (Litt. D., LL.D.) Editor of The Search-Light Library
1917 Review of Reviews Company New York
Copyright, 1917, by Review of Reviews Company
CONTENTS
This group of stories for VOLUME V has been selected by the Board of Editors according to the plan outlined in "Introductory" to Volume I. It includes episodes from thirty-one story-tellers--tales of Dragoons, Marines, Bishops, Foreign Legion, Fleet Surgeon, Scouts, Exiles, Soldiers, Spies and Eye-Witnesses. The selections have been made from the most authoritative sources in Europe and America. Full credit is given in every instance to the original source.
VOLUME V--THIRTY-ONE STORY-TELLERS--142 EPISODES
TALES OF THE DARING RIDES OF A FRENCH TROOPER 1 WITH THE TWENTY-SECOND REGIMENT OF DRAGOONS Told by Lieut. Christian Mallet of the Dragoons (Permission of E. P. Dutton and Company)
"TO RUHLEBEN--AND BACK" LIFE IN A GERMAN PRISON 18 WHERE THE BRITISH CIVILIAN PRISONERS ARE HELD IN DETENTION CAMP Told by Geoffrey Pyke, an English Prisoner (Permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company)
AN AMERICAN AT BATTLE OF THE SOMME WITH FRENCH ARMY 36 ARMY LIFE WITH THE SOLDIERS ALONG THE SOMME Told by Frederick Palmer (Permission of Dodd, Mead and Company)
AN AMERICAN'S EXPERIENCES "INSIDE THE GERMAN EMPIRE" 53 Told by Herbert Bayard Swope (Permission of The Century Company)
"DIXMUDE"--AN EPIC OF THE FRENCH MARINES 64 STORY OF THE MURDER OF COMMANDER JEANNIOT Told by Charles Le Goffic of the Fusiliers Marins (Permission of J. B. Lippincott Company)
A BISHOP AT THE FRONT WITH THE BRITISH ARMY 75 Told by Right Reverend H. Russell Wakefield, Bishop of Birmingham (Permission of Longmans, Green and Company)
SHORT RATIONS--THE TRUTH ABOUT LIFE IN GERMANY 83 AN AMERICAN WOMAN IN GERMANY Told by Madeline Zabriskie Doty (Permission of The Century Company)
FIGHTING "WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY"--ON THE AUSTRIAN FRONT 92 THE COLOSSAL STRUGGLE OF THE SLAVS Told by Barnard Pares (Permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company)
THE ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH FOREIGN LEGION 107 THE "GLORIOUS RASCALS" Told by E. S. and G. F. Lees (Permission of Wide World)
ADVENTURES OF WOMEN WHO FACE DEATH ON BATTLEGROUNDS 121 LITTLE STORIES OF WOMAN'S INDOMITABLE COURAGE Told by Hilda Wynne and Others (Permission of New York American and New York World)
AN AMERICAN WOMAN'S STORY OF THE "ANCONA" TRAGEDY 142 Told by Dr. Cecile Greil (Permission New York Times)
THE STRATEGY OF SISTER MADELEINE 151 THE STORY OF A FRENCH CAPTAIN'S ESCAPE FROM THE GERMANS Told by Himself and Translated by G. Frederic Lees (Permission of Wide World)
TALES OF THE SPIES AND THEIR DANGEROUS MISSIONS 169 REVELATIONS OF METHODS AND DARING ADVENTURES Told by Secret Service Men of Several Countries (Permission of New York American; New York World; New York Herald and New York Tribune)
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE "GLENHOLME" 192 ADVENTURES WITH SUBMARINES IN THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA Told by Captain Groome to a Friend (Permission Wide World)
WHAT THE KAISER'S SON SAW ON THE BATTLEFIELD 203 PERSONAL EXPERIENCES OF A GERMAN PRINCE Told by Prince Oscar of Prussia, Fifth Son of Emperor Wilhelm (Permission of New York American)
A DAY'S WORK WITH A FRENCH SUBMARINE 222 AN AMERICAN'S EXPERIENCE UNDER THE SEA Told by Fred B. Pitney (Permission of New York Tribune)
TALE OF THE CHILD OF TERBEEKE 233 HOW IT SAVED A BRITISH BATTALION Told by Oliver Madox Hueffer (Permission of Wide World)
A HERO TALE OF THE RED CROSS 242 Told by G. S. Petroff (Permission of Current History)
LIFE STORY OF "GRANDMOTHER OF THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION" 246 TRIUMPHANT RETURN FROM FORTY-FOUR YEARS IN SIBERIAN EXILE Told by Catherine Breshkovskaya, the Russian Revolutionist (Permission of New York Tribune)
TALE OF AN AMAZING VOYAGE 262 GERMAN OFFICERS ESCAPE FROM SPAIN IN A SAILING VESSEL Told by Frederic Lees (Permission of Wide World)
THE POET'S DEATH IN BATTLE--HOW ALLEN SEEGER DIED 278 A YOUNG AMERICAN IN THE FOREIGN LEGION Told by Bif Bear, a Young Egyptian in the Foreign Legion
THE GUARDIAN OF THE LINE--HERO TALE OF LITHUANIA 286 Told by G. Frederic Lees (Permission of Wide World)
WITH A FLEET SURGEON ON A BRITISH WARSHIP DURING A BATTLE 295 UNDER FIRE ON HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP, "THE FEARLESS" Told by Fleet Surgeon Walter K. Hopkins (Permission New York American)
AIRMEN IN THE DESERTS OF EGYPT 304 ADVENTURES OF THE ROYAL FLYING CORPS IN SINAI Told by F. W. Martindale (Permission of Wide World)
HOW SWEENY, OF THE FOREIGN LEGION, GOT HIS "HOT DOGS" 312 Told by Private John Joseph Casey (Permission of New York World)
THE DOGS OF WAR ON THE BATTLEGROUNDS 316 THE "FOUR-FOOTED SOLDIERS" OF FRANCE Told by the Soldiers (Permission of Wide World)
TRUE STORY ABOUT KILLING THE WOUNDED 328 Told by A. Pankratoff (Permission of Current History)
HOW WE FOILED "U 39"--IN THE SUBMARINE ZONE 333 ADVENTURES ABOARD A HORSE TRANSPORT Told by H. O. Read (Permission of Wide World)
MY WORST EXPERIENCE IN MESOPOTAMIA 344 Told by a Man Who Stopped a Bullet (Permission of Current History)
SPIRIT OF YOUNG AMERICA--HOW WE WENT "OVER THE TOP" 349 EXPERIENCES OF A NEW YORK BOY WITH THE CANADIANS Told by (name withheld), wounded in France
THE SINKING OF "THE PROVENCE II" 358 Told by N. Bokanowski, Deputy of the Department of the Seine
[Illustration: © International Film Service. THE BALLOON CORPS EXPERIENCE THE SENSATIONS OF THE POLAR EXPLORER]
[Illustration: DROPPING A BOMB FROM A DIRIGIBLE _It is Pleasanter to See This in a Volume Than Overhead!_]
[Illustration: A FEW MINUTES BEFORE THIS WAS A GERMAN BATTLE PLANE _But the Aircraft Guns Got His Range. The Insert Shows a Naval Plane_]
[Illustration: © International Film Service. SOMEONE IS ALWAYS WATCHING IN THE FIRST LINE TRENCH _A British Trench at Orvillieres_]
TALES OF THE DARING RIDES OF A FRENCH TROOPER
_With the Twenty-second Regiment of Dragoons_
_Told by Lieut. Christian Mallet, of the Dragoons_
This famous 22nd regiment of Dragoons was raised in 1635 and took part in all the great wars in which the French were engaged before the Revolution. It fought under the Republic and then with Napoleon's armies--at Austerlitz (1805); Jena (1806); Eylau (1807); Oporto (1809). It saw service with the Army of the Sambre and Meuse, the Army of the Rhine, the Grande-Armee, in the War in Spain, the Campaign in Saxony, the Campaign in France (1814). The regiment was disbanded in 1815 at the close of the Napoleonic Wars and was not raised again until 1873. The first great charge of the 22nd Dragoons in the Great War occurred on the night of September 10-11, 1914. It has since been fighting heroically "For France and Civilization." Lieut. Mallet has fought his way up in the ranks with the Dragoons. He presents the unconquerable spirit of France in his book: "Impressions and Experiences of a French Trooper." It is dedicated: "To my Captain, Count J. de Tarragon, and to my two comrades, 2nd Lieut. Magrin and 2nd Lieut. Clère--who fell all three on the field of honour in defense of their country." One of his stories is recorded herewith by permission of his publishers, _E. P. Dutton and Company_: Copyright 1916.
[1] I--STORY OF PEASANT GIRL ON THE YSER
The battle finished (September 10, 1914) the pursuit of the conquered army commenced and kept the whole world in suspense, with eyes fixed on this headlong flight towards the north, which lasted till the end of the month, and which was to be the prelude of the great battles of the Yser.
The region round Verberie was definitely cleared of Germans and was become once more French. The little town for some days presented an extraordinary spectacle.
We entered the town after having received the formal assurance of the 5th Chasseurs, who went farther on, that all the country was in our hands. Some divisional cyclists were seated at the roadside. We asked them for news of the 22nd, and their reply wrung our hearts. They knew nothing definite, but they had met a country cart full of our wounded comrades, who had told them that the regiment had been cut up.
No one could tell us where the divisional area was to be found. The division itself appeared to have been dismembered, lost and in part destroyed. We thought that we were the only survivors of a disaster, and, once the horses were in shelter in an empty abandoned farm stuffing themselves with hay, we wandered sadly through the streets destroyed by bombardment and by fire in search of such civilians as might have remained behind during the invasion.
A little outside the town we at last found a farm where two of the inhabitants had stayed on. The contrast between them was touching. One was a paralysed old man unable to leave his fields, the other was a young girl of fifteen, a frail little peasant, and rather ugly. Her strange green eyes contrasted with an admirable head of auburn hair, and she had heroically insisted on looking after her infirm grandfather, though all the rest of the family had emigrated towards the west. She had remained faithful to her duty in spite of the bombardment, the battle at their very door and the ill-treatment of the Bavarian soldiers who were billeted in the farm. Distressed, yet joyous, she prepared a hasty meal and busied herself in quest of food, for it was anything but easy to satiate eleven men dying of hunger when the Germans, who lay hands on everything, had only just left.
She wrung the neck of an emaciated fowl which had escaped massacre, and, by adding thereto some potatoes from the garden, she served us a breakfast, washed down with white wine, which made us stammer with joy, like children. One needs to have fasted for five days to have felt the cutting pains of hunger and of thirst in all their horror, to appreciate the happiness that one can experience in eating the wing of a scraggy fowl and in drinking a glass of execrable wine tasting like vinegar. She bustled about, and her pitying and motherly gestures touched our hearts. While we ate she told us the most astonishing story that ever was, a story acted, illustrated by gestures, which made the scenes live with remarkable vividness.
She told us how, faithful to her oath, she was alone when the Bavarians came knocking at her door, how she lived three days with them, a butt for their innumerable coarsenesses, sometimes brutally treated when the soldiers were sober, sometimes pursued by their gross assiduities when they were drunk; how one night she had to fly half naked through the rain, slipping out through the venthole of the cellar, to escape being violated by a group of madmen, not daring to go to bed again, sleeping fully dressed behind a small copse; how at last French chasseurs had put the Bavarians to flight and had in their turn installed themselves in the farm, and how among them she felt herself protected and respected.
She attached herself to her new companions, whom she looked after like a mother for three days. Then they went away, promising to return, and she was left alone.
But the next day at dawn, uneasy at the row that came from the town, she decided to go in search of news. She put on a shawl and slipped through the brushwood and thickets as far as the first houses. She was afraid of being seen, and made herself as small as possible, keeping close to the walls, crossing gardens and ruined houses. The terrible noise increased, and she went towards it. She wanted to see what was going on, and a fine virile courage sustained her. The shells fell near her; no matter, she had only a few more steps to go to turn the corner of a street. She arrived on the _place_ as the battle was finishing.
Her fifteen chasseurs were there, fifteen corpses at the foot of the barricade. One of them, who still lived, raised himself on seeing her, and held out his arms towards her. Then, forgetting all danger, in a magnificent outburst of feminine pity, she braved the rain of fire and dashed to the centre of the _place_. She knelt by the young fellow, enveloped him in her shawl to warm him and rocked him in her arms till he closed his young eyes for ever, thankful for this feminine presence which had made his last sufferings less bitter.
While she remained kneeling on the pavement wet with blood, a last big calibre shell knocked over, almost at her feet, a big corner house, which in its fall buried the German and French corpses in one horrible heap. She fell in a faint on the stones, knocked over by the windage of the shell, which had so nearly done for her.
During the latter part of her discourse she straightened her thin figure to the full, her strange eyes sparkled, and she appeared to be possessed by some strong and mysterious spirit which made us tremble. She became big in her rustic simplicity--big, as the incarnation of grief and of pity, and of the peasant in her gave place to a living image of the war--an image singularly moving and singularly beautiful.
II--WITH THE WARRIORS FROM THE MARNE
From the next day Verberie became in some degree the rallying point for all soldiers who had lost touch with their units. Elements of all sorts of regiments, of all arms, of all races even, arrived on foot, on horseback, on bicycles, in country carts. There were dragoons, cuirassiers, chasseurs, artillerymen, Algerian Light Infantry and English. Bernous, khaki uniform, blue capes, rubbed shoulders with dolmans, black tunics and red trousers.
In this extraordinary crowd there were men from Morocco mounted on Arab horses and wearing turbans; there were "Joyeux" who wore the tarboosh, and ruddy English faces surmounted by flat caps. All the uniforms were covered with dirt and slashed and torn. Many of the men had bare feet, and some carried arms and some were without. It was the hazard of the colossal battle of the Marne, where several millions of men had been at grips, which had thrown them on this point. All were animated by the same desire for information, and particularly of the whereabouts of their respective regiments. From every direction flowed in convoys, waggons, artillery ammunition waggons, stragglers from every division and from every army corps. The mix-up and the confusion were indescribable. One heard shouting, swearing, neighing of horses, the horns of motor-cars, and the rumble of heavy waggons, which shook the houses.
Faces drawn with fatigue were black with dust and mud and framed in stubbly beards. Everyone was gesticulating, everyone was shouting and a bright autumn sun, following upon the storm, threw into prominence amongst the medley of clothing the luminous splashes of gaudy colours and imparted an Oriental effect to the crowd.
III--STORY OF THE PRIEST--AND TWO CHASSEURS
Having eaten, washed and rested, I walked the streets, drinking the morning air and taking deep breaths of the _joie de vivre_, of the strength and vitality mingled with the air. I looked on every side to see whether I could not find some acquaintance in the crowd, some stray trooper from my regiment.
So it was that the hazard of my walk brought me to a scene which moved me to tears and which rests graven so deeply on my memory that I can see its smallest detail with my eyes shut. The Gothic porch of the church, with its fine sculptures of the best period, was open, making in the brightness of the morning a pit of shade, at the foot of which some candles shone like stars. On the threshold of the porch, gaily lighted by the morning sun, a priest, whose fine virile face I can still recall, held in his hand the enamel pyx, and his surplice of lace of a dazzling whiteness contrasted with the muddy boots and spurs. One could guess that after having traversed some field of battle, consoling the wounded and the dying, he had dismounted to officiate in the open air under the morning sun.
Before him, on a humble country cart and lying on a bed of straw, were stretched the rigid bodies, fixed in death, of two chasseurs who had fallen nobly while defending the bridge over the river. All around, kneeling in the mud of the porch, a semicircle of bare-headed soldiers, overcome by gratitude and humility, were assembled to accomplish a last duty and pay their last respects to the two comrades who were lying before them and who were sleeping their last sleep in their bloodstained uniforms, and assisted at the supreme office. The priest finished the _De profundis_, and in a clear voice pronounced the sacred words "_Revertitur in terram suam unde erat et spiritus redit ad Deum qui dedit illum_." The officiant gave the holy-water sprinkler to the priest, who sprinkled the bodies and murmured "_Requiescat in pace_." "Amen," responded the kneeling crowd, and a great wave of religious feeling passed over the kneeling men, the greater part of whom gave way to overmastering emotion.
I can still see a big devil of an artilleryman, with his head between his hands, shaken by convulsive sobs. Having given the absolution, the priest raised the host sparkling in the sunlight for the last time and pronounced the sacramental words. I moved off, deeply affected by the grandeur of the scene.
IV--DEPRAVED SOLDIERS IN A DRAWING ROOM
By the 12th a good number of 22nd Dragoons and some officers of the regiment had rejoined at Verberie. We formed from this débris an almost complete squadron under the command of Captain de Salverte, who had succeeded in getting through the lines by skirting the forest.
I again found my officer, M. Chatelin, whom I had last seen in the little clearing near Gilocourt, surrounded by lurking enemies, and whom I had hardly dared hope to see again alive; also M. de Thézy, my comrade Clère and others.
We were all sorry to hear that Lieutenant Roy had fallen on the field of battle with several others, and that Major Jouillié had been taken prisoner. As for Captain de Tarragon, it was stated that he might have escaped on foot with his orderly and that he might be somewhere in the neighbourhood with a contingent of escaped men, but any precise information was wanting.
The night before I had slept in the drawing-room of the château belonging to M. de Maindreville, the mayor. Its appearance merits some brief description, so that those who are still in doubt as to the savagery of the Germans may learn to what degree of bestiality and ignominy they are capable of attaining.
This fine drawing-room was a veritable dung heap. The curtains were torn, the small billiard-table lay upside down in the middle of the room, a litter of rotting food covered the floor, the furniture was in matchwood, the chairs were broken, the easy-chairs had had their stuffing torn out of them and the glass of the cabinets was smashed. One could see that all small objects had been carried off and all others methodically broken. On the first floor the sight was heart-breaking. Fine linen, trimmed with lace, was soiled with excrement; excrement was everywhere, in the bath, on the sheets, on the floor. They had vomited on the beds and urinated against the walls; broken bottles had shed seas of red wine on the costly carpets. An unnamable liquid was running down the staircase, obscene designs were traced in charcoal on the wall-papers and filthy inscriptions ornamented the walls.
I have told enough to give an idea of the degrading traces left by a contemptible enemy. I have exaggerated nothing; if anything, I have understated the truth.
And this is the people that wants to be the arbiter of culture and of civilisation! May it stand for ever shamed and reduced to its true level, which is below that of the brute beast.
V--THE SEARCH FOR CAPTAIN DE TARRAGON
On the morning of the 12th, under the command of Captain de Salverte we crossed the Oise by a bridge of boats, the stone bridge having been destroyed by dynamite some days before. We went north to billet at Estrée-Saint Denis, which was to be the definite rallying point of the 22nd Dragoons. We were followed by several country carts, full of dismounted troopers, saddles, lances, cloaks and odds and ends of equipment.
## Acting on very vague information, I set out on the 13th to look for
Captain de Tarragon. I was mounted on a prehistoric motor bicycle, requisitioned from the village barber. I scoured the country seeking information from everyone I met. I received the most contradictory reports, made a thousand useless detours and was exasperated when overtaken by night without having found any trace of him.
I followed the road leading to Baron and to Nanteuil-le-Haudoin, along which but a few days before the corps of Landwehr, asked for by von Kluck, had marched with the object of enveloping our army, and along which it had just been precipitately hustled back. The sky was overcast and the day was threatening. At each step dead horses with swelled bellies threatened heaven with their stiff legs. A score of soldiers were lying in convulsed attitudes, their eyes wide open, with grimacing mouths twisted into a terrifying smile, and with hands clasping their rifles. Involuntarily I trembled at finding myself alone at nightfall in this deserted country, where no living being was to be seen, where not a sound was to be heard except the cawing of thousands of crows and the purr of my motor, which panted on the hills like an asthmatic old man, causing me the liveliest anxiety.
Fifteen hundred mètres from Baron, after a last gasp, my machine stopped for ever, and, as I was ignorant of its mechanics, I was compelled to leave it where it was and continue my journey on foot through the darkness.
The proprietor of the château of Baron put me up for the night. As at Verberie, everything had been burnt, soiled and destroyed. Nothing remained of the elegant furniture beyond a heap of shapeless objects. Next morning with the aid of a captain on the staff who requisitioned a trap for me, I got back to Verberie and found Captain de Tarragon there. He had slept at the farm of La Bonne Aventure, quite near to where I lay.
When he saw me, after the mortal anxieties through which he had lived, believing his squadron lost and cut up, he was overcome by such a feeling of gratitude and joy that I saw tears rise to his eyes while he shook me vigourously by the hand. He had already sent forward my name for mention in the order for the day with reference to the affair at Gilocourt and the death of poor Dangel. I was recommended for the military medal, and my heart swelled with pride and joy, while I was carried back to Estrée-Saint-Denis, stretched out in a country cart with a score of dismounted comrades.
A few days afterwards I was promoted corporal and proudly sported the red flannel chevrons bought at a country grocer's shop.
VI--TALES OF THE DRAGOONS