Part 38

“And then at last the news of rescue! A French fishing-boat was coming! ‘Women and children first,’ the young Belgians cried. My Belgian succorer roused himself and fetched my stockings and boots. My right boot would not go on. My puttees he could not manage, and so he tied them round me. He was always cool and practical and matter-of-fact. ‘I have been in the Belgian Congo,’ he explained, ‘and in shipwrecks before. I know what to do, and I am not alarmed. You can trust entirely to me.’ And I did. There was a great bump as the fishing-boat came alongside, and a rush upstairs. Once more I was left alone, for my Belgian friend had gone up to see about getting me helped on board. He came back to say that the crush was so great that he would wait till it was over and then take me. It seemed a long time, but he came back at last, only to find he could not lift me. Then he went away calling for an ‘homme de bonne volonté’ to help. A young Chinese responded, and together they staggered up the heaving stairway with me. When they reached the ship’s rail it was to hear that the boat had gone! A British torpedo boat was coming, we were told, and so the fisherman had gone off with as many as he could safely carry to Boulogne. With her went my hope of reaching my own hospital in France. I had been sure the destroyer would take her load to England.

[Illustration:

_Courtesy of Leslies._

Sinking of the _Falaba_

After torpedoing the ship, the U-boat came to the surface and gave the command “Abandon ship.” Shortly afterward the _Falaba_ broke into flames and was destroyed.]

“Perhaps half an hour passed, and then the destroyer came. This time one of the French sailors helped him to carry me, and I was placed on my back, across the ship’s rail, and when the roll brought her near enough to the destroyer, British sailors grasped my arms and pulled me over. For one sickening second my legs dangled between the two ships, but the sailors hauled me in just before the impact came. They carried me to the chart-house and laid me on the couch, and before long the Belgian joined me, and, utterly exhausted, lay down on the floor. From that moment I felt entirely safe. We English are brought up to feel complete confidence in the British Navy, much as they teach us to trust in Providence. And the Navy deserves our confidence.

“It took a long time to transfer all the remaining passengers of the _Sussex_ to H. M. S. ——, for the sea was becoming restless, and the two ships hammered and thumped at each other’s sides to such purpose that the rescuing destroyer had to go into dock for repairs when her labors were over and she had landed us all safely.”

THE VALLEYS OF THE BLUE SHROUDS

(_Where the Valiant Poilus Were Buried in Their Blue Uniforms_)

_By_

John Finley

O shards of walls that once held precious life, Now scattered, like the bones the Prophet saw Lying in visioned valleys of the slain Ere One cried: “Son of Man, can these bones live?”

O images of heroes, saints, and Christs, Pierced, broken, thrust in hurried sepulture In selfsame tombs with tinsel, dross, and dreg, And without time for either shrift or shroud!

O smold’ring embers of Love’s hearthstone fires, Quenched by the fiercer fires of hellish hate, That have not where to kindle flames again To light succeeding generations on!

O ghost-gray ashes of cathedral towers That toward the sky once raised appealing hands To beg the God of all take residence And hold communion with the kneeling souls!

O silent tongues of bells that once did ring Matin and Angelus o’er peaceful fields, Now shapeless slag that will to-morrow serve To make new engines for still others’ woe!

O dust that flowered in finial and foil And bright in many-petaled windows bloomed, Now unto dust returned at cannon’s breath To lay thy faded glories on the crypt!

O wounded cities that have been beloved As Priam’s city was by Hecuba,— Sad Hecuba, who ere in exile borne, Beheld her Hector’s child Astyanax Spitted on spears (as if a Belgian babe) And saw the walls in smoke and flame ascend To hover heav’nward with wide-brooding wings Above the “vanished thing” that once was Troy!

O shards of sanctuaries and of homes! O embers, ashes gray, and glinting dust! Ye who were tile or tower in Laon or Ypres, A village by the Somme, a church in Roye, A bit of glass in Reims, a convent bell In St. Dié, a lycée in Verdun, A wayside crucifix in Mézières, Again I hear a cry: “Can these bones live?”

Yes! As the bones, o’er which the Prophet cried And called the breath from Heav’n’s four winds to breathe. Sprang straightway, bone to bone, each to its place, To frame in flesh the features and the forms They still remembered and still loved to hold Once more on earth—so shall ye rise again!

Out of their quarries, cumulus, the clouds Will furnish back your flame in crystal stone; The cirrus dawns in Parsee tapestries With azure broiderings will clothe your walls; The nimbus noons will shower golden rain And sunset colors fill each Gothic arch;

For o’er thy stricken vales, O valiant France, Our love for thee shall prophesy anew, And Heav’n’s Four Winds of Liberty, allied, Shall breathe unpoisoned in thy streets till they Shall pulse again with life that laughs and sings, And yet remembers, singing through its tears The music of an everlasting song— Remembers, proudly and undyingly, _The hero dust that lies in shrouds of blue But rises as thy soul, immortal France!_

Dr. Finley and _The Yale Review_.

RIZZO SINKS THE _WIEN_

An Italian Lieutenant Braves Batteries and Mines and Harbor Wire in Novel Feat

The Germans and Austrians, knowing that it would be folly for them to risk a naval battle, kept their navies cooped up in harbors and rivers to the intense disgust of real jackies, who thought it quite unbearable at times that while the Allied fleets were roaming about the high seas begging for a fight the enemy was shutting itself up. English and French and American sailors were so hungry for action that they occasionally took unwarranted chances for the sake of getting at the enemy, and more than once these daring leaders were at the same time rebuked for their recklessness and rewarded for their bravery and success.

One of the most brilliant and picturesque of naval adventures fell to the credit of a young Italian who achieved a plan that startled the Austrians and Germans as much as it delighted the Allies.

Lieut. Rizzo is really a Sicilian, strong and handsome. He is about thirty years old—young enough to go through with a daring feat, old enough to be careful. Moreover, there were two boats that carried out the plan, and the second boat was in charge of an elderly man, sixty-two years old, a fire-eater though.

The task was quite definite. In the Trieste harbor the Austrians kept several ships which were a source of great annoyance to the Italians. Especially hateful was the _Wien_ and her sister the _Monarch_. She carried four 10-inch guns and six 6-inch guns and a crew of 441 officers and men. A month before the _Wien_ had shelled the lower Piave line and Italian motor boats had tried their torpedoes on her. She had a narrow escape. Then she was stored at Trieste. She must have felt herself quite safe with her sister ship, the _Monarch_, drawing by her. They were behind steel nets fringed with mines. And all day and all night sentries watched.

Lieutenant’s Rizzo’s plans were all laid. But he had no false hopes. He knew of the Austrian combination of nets and mines, and knew that at best he had great chances of being blown to pieces. He started out, though, with his two little launches—really not much bigger than a ship’s lifeboat.

DUMBFOUNDED AUSTRIANS

There was a mist on the sea. It was after midnight when they crawled in toward the coast. It was in December, and they could just about make out the white city of Trieste. The two boats stole toward the harbor. One of the chief problems of Rizzo was that of the huge steel cables attached to the nets; but these he managed to cut apart, thus making his way through the nets.

They came nearer the harbor. It is an affair of three piers, making two channels. These channels were closed by booms and nets. Mines were linked to the piers by great steel hawsers.

The boats crept up to one pier. Rizzo climbed up and took in the situation. There was nobody on that pier. On the middle pier, however, was a guardroom. There could be heard the sound of voices in that room, and the barking of dogs, and the monotonous rhythms of the sentry patrolling the middle pier.

“Lieutenant Rizzo,” Percival Gibbon wrote to the New York _Times_, “crawled back and gave the order, and up came his men, crawling on hands and knees over the concrete, passing the big cutting tools from hand to hand, groping their way to the cables. Some set to work to cut them, while two men scanned the shore lest some sentry should arrive.

“The cutting instruments worked well. It needed only a strong jar to set the mines exploding, but the cutters bit their way through strand after strand of twisted steel wire. Three cables above water were severed without trouble; the five more below; water were grappled and hauled to the surface and cut in their turn.

“At last the weight of the net and its attachments tore the last steel strands asunder, the whole great cobweb of metal and explosives sank, and the harbor lay open. Rizzo and his men crawled back to their boats. Those boats moved like shadows toward the _Wien_ and the _Monarch_. Rizzo backed off till he had his enemy at 150 yards. His second boat, commanded by the old petty officer, shifted out upon his beam to get a line which cleared the _Wien’s_ bow and commanded the _Monarch’s_ great steel flank. Rizzo raised his arm in that gloom and saw the answering gesture of the petty officer. It was the moment to let her go. In a second four long steel devils were sliding through the water for the enemy.

“A roar, a blast of flame, a waterspout raining on them, and a second roar as the _Monarch_, too, got her dose.

“A searchlight flashed out from the _Wien_ and sawed at the darkness. A scream sounded over the water: _Wer da?_ (Who’s there?) There were shoutings and stampings along the deck of the wounded ship, searchlights waking along the shore and on the breakwaters, and anti-aircraft guns arousing everywhere. No one in Trieste knew whence the attack had come, whether from air or sea. The sky was festooned with bursting shell, while the ships in the harbor opened with their guns toward the harbor mouth, shelling the mist of the Adriatic at random. By the light of that furious illumination the Italian sailors saw the great bulk of the _Wien_ listing toward them.

“By this time they were making for the harbor mouth. Shells spouted all around them, but not one hit them, and both boats saw before they left that last subsidence, that wriggle and resignation with which a great ship goes under.”

EDITH CAVELL

_By_

Laurence Binyon

She was binding the wounds of her enemies when they came— The lint in her hand unrolled. They battered the door with their rifle-butts, crashed it in: She faced them gentle and bold.

They haled her before the judges where they sat In their places, helmet on head. With question and menace the judges assailed her, “Yes, I have broken your law,” she said.

“I have tended the hurt and hidden the hunted, have done As a sister does to a brother, Because of a law that is greater than that you have made, Because I could do none other.

“Deal as you will with me. This is my choice to the end, To live in the life I vowed.” “She is self-confessed,” they cried; “she is self-condemned. She shall die, that the rest may be cowed.”

In the terrible hour of the dawn, when the veins are cold, They led her forth to the wall. “I have loved my land,” she said, “but it is not enough: Love requires of me all.

“I will empty my heart of the bitterness, hating none.” And sweetness filled her brave With a vision of understanding beyond the hour That knelled to the waiting grave.

They bound her eyes, but she stood as if she shone. The rifles it was that shook When the hoarse command rang out. They could not endure That last, that defenseless look.

And the officer strode and pistoled her surely, ashamed That men, seasoned in blood, Should quail at a woman, only a woman,— As a flower stamped in the mud.

And now that the deed was securely done, in the night When none had known her fate, They answered those that had striven for her, day by day: “It is over, you come too late.”

And with many words and sorrowful-phrased excuse Argued their German right To kill, most legally; hard though the duty be, The law must assert its might.

Only a woman! yet she had pity on them, The victim offered slain To the gods of fear that they worship. Leave them there, Red hands, to clutch their gain!

She bewailed not herself, and we will bewail her not, But with tears of pride rejoice That an English soul was found so crystal-clear To be triumphant voice

Of the human heart that dares adventure all But live to itself untrue, And beyond all laws sees love as the light in the night, As the star it must answer to.

The hurt she healed, the thousands comforted—these Make a fragrance of her fame. But because she stept to her right on through death It is Victory speaks her name.

From _The Cause_. Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company.

AS OF OLD

An Engagement When Pistol and Cutlass Revived Memories of Notable Sea Fights of the Past

A friendly ghost of the old grappling and boarding days at sea came to give the color of romance to one of the encounters between British and German ships in the latter part of April, 1917. And a touch of ancient charm is given to the experience in the fact that the hero of the engagement was a gallant and daring midshipman, for the honors really fall to Midshipman Donald Gyles of the good ship _Broke_—a British destroyer.

Appropriately too, it was a dark and calm night. The _Broke_ (whose commander was Capt. Evans, the antarctic explorer) and the sister destroyer _Swift_ were steaming leisurely in a westerly course on patrol duty. Suddenly, quite in the vein of romance, the lookout of the _Swift_ made out, not more than six hundred yards distant, a flotilla of six German destroyers. Here was a how-d’ye-do, when you consider that a distance of a thousand yards is a disagreeably close range in these days of far-speaking guns. The Germans were the first to fire, but the _Swift_ lost no time in making reply and also put on steam in an attempt to ram the foremost enemy destroyer. She failed of her purpose and ran beyond the enemy line, but turning about she sent a torpedo into one of the enemy ships and made a second dash at the leader, which again escaped a ramming and took to flight. The _Swift_ gave chase.

The _Broke_ was giving excellent account of herself meanwhile. She had torpedoed one of the enemy and then opened fire with every gun. The other enemy destroyers were frantically working for full speed. The _Broke_ swung around and rammed one of them square abreast the after funnel, so that the two boats were locked. Then began the desperate hand-to-hand conflict reminiscent of ancient days. The _Broke_ raked the enemy’s decks point blank with fire from big guns, maxims, rifle and pistol. Two other German destroyers came to the rescue and poured a furious fire on the _Broke_, killing twelve of the eighteen men of the gun crew.

A HAND-TO-HAND FIGHT ON DECK

It might have been that at such a disadvantage the _Broke_ would fall speedy victim to superior numbers. But something more than numbers and preponderance of force enter into the audit of the militant; and the “something more” in this instance was the spirit and understanding of Midshipman Gyles. Although wounded in the eye he kept all the foremost guns in action, himself helping the sorely reduced crew to load. While he was occupied in this way Germans began swarming over the _Broke’s_ forecastle from the rammed destroyer, and to escape the blinding flashes of the forecastle guns began pushing aft, roaring and shouting like a frenzied mob. A graphic account of what happened was published right after the event:

“The midshipman, amid the dead and wounded of his own gun-crews, and half blinded himself by blood, met the onset single-handed with an automatic revolver. He was grappled by a German, who tried to wrest the revolver away. Cutlasses and bayonets being among the British equipment in anticipation of such an event, the German was promptly bayoneted by Seaman Ingleson. The remainder of the invaders, except two who feigned death, were driven over the side, the two being taken prisoner.

“Two minutes after ramming, the _Broke_ wrenched herself free from her sinking adversary and turned to ram the last of the three remaining German boats. She failed in this object but, in swinging around, succeeded in hitting the boat’s consort on the stem with a torpedo. Hotly engaged with the two fleeing destroyers, the _Broke_ attempted to follow the _Swift_ in the direction she was last seen, but a shell struck the _Broke’s_ boiler-room, disabling her main engines.”

[Illustration:

_Courtesy of Hunter._

Through the North Sea

Night and day the Allied Fleets patrolled the North Sea, watching for U-boats and waiting for the German Navy to act.]

Thus freed from pursuit the enemy ships made off swiftly and disappeared in the darkness. In spite of her disability the _Broke_ made such headway as her crippled engines were capable of in quest of the _Swift_. Soon a burning German destroyer was sighted and immediately its crew saw the _Broke_ they rushed to the rails shouting for mercy and begging to be saved. Disregarding the danger and unsuspicious of treachery the _Broke_ steered slowly toward the burning ship. The German crew redoubled their plea, “Save, Save,” and then suddenly opened fire on the vessel coming to their rescue.

The _Broke_ in her crippled condition was not able to maneuver for safety, but she had her guns and happily they served her. She silenced the German with four shots and then, the desert of baseness, torpedoed the German amidships.

The _Swift_ had a somewhat different experience. She had, owing to impaired speed, abandoned the pursuit of the first destroyer, and began a search for other quarry. After a time she sighted a motionless destroyer from which came calls for help. She approached cautiously with guns ready for instant action and presently made out that it was the destroyer that the _Broke_ had rammed. The Germans were shouting, “We surrender,” but the _Swift_ was wary, suspecting treachery, and waited. In a little while the destroyer keeled and went down stem first, the crew jumping into the water.

The _Swift_ switched on her searchlights and there being no enemy ship visible, lowered her boats and rescued the Germans swimming toward her. Then the _Broke_ and the _Swift_ reported to each other on the details of the engagement and those who remained of the two crews cheered each other well nigh as long a time as the thrilling engagement itself had lasted.

And let not be forgotten, when quiet heroisms are remembered, the conduct of Seaman William Rowles, helmsman of the _Broke_. Though hit four times by shell fragments he stuck to the wheel during the entire action and only betrayed the fact that he was wounded by fainting as he reported to his captain, “I’m going off now, Sir.”

DEATH IN A SUBMARINE

One of a Crew That Was Saved Tells of the Thrilling Moments Just Before the Final Plunge

Many submarines, rammed or shot, were sent to the bottom with their crews, and for the most part the world has been left to imagine how the doomed men met their fate. There is always a desire, deeper than mere curiosity, to know how men behave in such circumstances; now and then the desire is gratified, and we have learned that brave men go down to death cooped in a submarine with the same resolute calm with which brave men meet death in any guise. That the spirit of man is a wondrous thing the war has given new proof in myriad ways.

A survivor tells the story of the crew of the _Monge_, a French submarine commanded by Lieutenant Morillot, rammed by an Austrian warship and sunk in the Adriatic, Dec. 29, 1915. It was more than a year after that date before any of the details became known. Then the letter of one of the crew released from an Austrian military prison was published, giving the thrilling particulars. After telling how the warship smashed into the submarine the letter continued:

“The water enters in torrents. The safety hatch is closed, but the _Monge_ descends very swiftly; it reaches a depth of 200 feet, and the plates crack under the pressure of the water. We give ourselves up as forever lost. Our vessel is being crushed; we feel it flattening in upon us. No one says a word, but everybody works. Orders are executed as in ordinary times; no panic, not a cry.

“We are facing the most certain and perhaps the most hideous death, yet our commander is superb in his coolness, and he has a crew that is worthy of him. The steel braces supporting the hull—bars as thick as my fist—are twisted like so many wires. The accumulators fall down on each other; the electric current is intensified, the fuses burn out, the acid decomposes—it is the second phase; after the crushing comes asphyxiation.

“‘Courage! Courage! We are rising!’ That is the cry of the second torpedo master, for to him belongs the most delicate and certain of all our remedies. In fact, we feel that we are rising, and in a minute or two we have gone from a depth of 200 feet to the surface. We are saved!

“Alas! A third ordeal! The Austrians have seen us and begin shelling us at short range. A single shell pierces our hull. The commandant orders for the third time: ‘To your posts for the dive!’ This time all is indeed ended; the motors no longer act, none of the machinery runs, and the water keeps pouring in. Everybody goes to his post without a murmur, and yet we all know that this time death awaits us—and what a death! The commandant changes his mind. Our vessel is lost; why sacrifice the crew? He lets his arms drop, and two big tears roll down his cheeks, tears of pride and of impotence.

“In a calm voice, however, he tells us to save ourselves. The impossible had been attempted; we could give up with a light heart.

[Illustration: The Conning Tower of a New British Submarine of the “L” Type]